ANOTHER CHANGE OF MASTERS
The next morning Pat had a change from the tedium of the desert. With
the others he struck into a narrow canyon that led out to a beaten trail
upon a rolling mesa. The trail wound diagonally across the mesa from the
south and lost itself in snake-like twistings among hills to the north.
Guided to the right into this trail, Pat found himself, a little before
noon, in a tiny Mexican settlement. It was a squat hamlet, nestling
comfortably among the hills, made up of a few adobes, a lone well, and a
general store. The store was at the far end, and toward this his young
master directed him.
As they rode on Pat noticed a queer commotion. Here and there a door
closed violently, only to open again cautiously as they drew opposite,
revealing sometimes two, sometimes three, sometimes five pairs of black
eyes, all ranged timidly one pair over another in the opening. Dogs
skulked before their approach, snarling in strange savagery, while whole
flocks of chickens, ruffling in dusty hollows, took frantically to wing
at their coming, fleeing before them in unwonted disorder. And finally,
as they moved past the well, a half-grown boy, only partly dressed,
hurtled out of the side door of one house, raced across a yard to the
front door of another house, and slammed the door shut behind him in a
panic.
It was all very strange, and it made a deep impression upon him. Also it
evidently impressed the men, for as they drew rein in front of the
store, with its dust-dry shelves and haunting silence, all asked quick
questions of the proprietor, a little wizened, gimlet-eyed Mexican who
was leaning in the doorway. After glancing over their accoutrements with
a nod of understanding, he answered, explaining the reason for the
agitation.
It was all the result of a raid. Three days before a band of marauders
had swept down from the north, ransacked pigstys and chicken-coops and
corrals, and galloped off madly to the south. Yes, they had plundered
the store also. Indian renegades--yes. He could not say from what
reservation. Yes, they were armed, and in warpaint, and riding good
horses--all of them. No, he could not say--about thirty in the band,
perhaps. He--What? Yes, he had alfalfa and, if they wished, other
things--beans and rice and canned goods. No, the renegades had not
wholly cleaned out the store. Yes, he had matches. No, they had not--
What? _Vino?_ To be sure he had _Vino_! He would get--how many
bottles?--right away! It was in the cellar, where he kept it cool, and
reasonably safe from all marauders--including himself. With this slight
witticism he disappeared into the store.
The men dismounted. They sat down upon the porch, and one of them, the
large man, removed his hat, produced a blue bandana, and fell to mopping
his red face. The day was warm, and the settlement, lying low under
surrounding peaks, received none of the outside breezes. Also, it was
inert now, wrapped in the quiet of a frightened people. There was no
movement anywhere save that of ruffling hens in the dust of the trail,
and the nearer switching of horses' tails. Once this stillness was
broken. Among the houses somewhere rose feminine lamentations, wailing
sobs, the outburst cutting the quiet with a sharpness that caused the
men to turn grave eyes in its direction. And now the keeper of the store
reappeared, bearing three bottles of wine in his arms, and numerous
supplies, which the men accepted and paid for. Then all led their horses
back to the well, which was in a little clearing, and there prepared to
make camp, throwing off saddle-bags and accoutrements and building a
fire while they planned a real meal.
Pat was enjoying all this. The settlement had a faintly familiar look,
and he half expected to see a swarthy Mexican, whip in hand, approach
him with abusive tongue. Also, after weeks of far horizons and unending
sweeps of desert, he found in this nearness of detail pleasurable
relief. It was good to see something upright again without straining
across miles of desolation, even as it was good to see adobes once more,
with windows and doors, and smoke curling up out of chimneys. He felt a
deep sense of security, of coziness, which he had been fast losing on
the broad reaches, together with his sight for short distances. For his
eyes had become affected since leaving the white corral beside the
river, although with this he was aware of a peculiar gain. His sense of
hearing now was most acute, and he could hear the least faint
sounds--sounds which, before his taking to the open, he could not have
heard. So he was enjoying it all, feeling real comfort, a kind of
fitness, as if he belonged here and would better remain here for ever.
Then, with a generous supply of alfalfa tossed to him, as to the other
horses, he became convinced that he should remain in this little
settlement for all time.
Along in the afternoon the storekeeper, accompanied by a native woman,
who was tear-stained and weeping, crossed the settlement. At the moment
the men, lounging about on blankets, were discussing ways and means for
Stephen. He need not continue with them now, they informed him, unless
he wanted to. Arrangements could be made here to get him to a railroad
in some kind of vehicle, leading Pat behind. But it was up to him. They
weren't hurrying him away, by any means, yet it sure was up to him to
get proper treatment for his arm, which showed slow signs of recovery.
Stephen was considering this when the two Mexicans approached. The
proprietor of the store started to explain, when the little woman draped
in a black mantilla interrupted him with further sobbing and a pointing
finger--pointing back across the settlement.
"_Caballeros_," she began, "you coom please wit' me, I--I haf show
you soomt'ing." Then again she burst into weeping.
Startled, Stephen arose, and the others gained their feet. They set out
across the settlement. They struck between some adobe houses, crossed
some back yards, dodged under clothes-lines, and found themselves in a
tiny graveyard. The woman brought them to a stop before a fresh mound of
earth. Here she knelt in another outburst of tears, while the
gimlet-eyed storekeeper explained.
It was a little boy twelve years old. The marauders had stolen his pig.
He had bitterly denounced them, and one--evidently the leader--had shot
him. It was too bad! But it was not all. In one of the houses, the large
house they had passed in coming here, lay an old man, seventy-eight
years of age, dying from a rifle-shot. Yes, the renegade Indians had
shot him also. What had he done? He had defended his chickens against
theft. It was too bad! It was all too bad! Could not there something be
done? To live in peace, to live in strict accord with all known laws,
such was the aim and such had been the conduct of these people. And then
to have a band of cutthroats, murderers, thieves, descend upon their
peace and quiet in this fashion! It was all too bad!
The rangers turned away from the scene. All save the woman set out
across the settlement, returning to the camp in silence. Seated once
more, they fell to discussing this situation. And discussing the
tragedy, they reverted to Stephen and his own troubles, light in
comparison. They themselves, they acknowledged, had their work all cut
out for them. It was what they got their money for. But there was hardly
any use, they pointed out, in Stephen's accompanying them on this
mission. Yet he could go if he wanted to. What did he say?
And Stephen, gazing off thoughtfully toward the tiny mound of fresh
earth, and seeing the little woman prostrated with grief upon the grave,
knew that Helen, herself bitter with loss, and no doubt needing Pat as
much almost as this woman needed her own lost one, would have him do
what he wanted to do. And what he wanted to do, felt as if he must do,
was to accompany these men, go with them, disabled though he was, and
help as best he could to bring down retribution upon the renegades. And
he made known his wishes to the others, finally, expressing them with a
note of determination.
As they bridled and saddled, leaving all equipment not actually
required, the proprietor of the store, his small eyes eager, stood close
and frequently repeated his opinion that murder in even more gruesome
form had been committed to the north. Then they set out, following the
direction taken by the Indians, riding briskly, keyed up to energy
through hope of encounter, although Stephen suffered not a little from
the jolting of his arm. Dropping down from the hills, they swung out
upon the mesa, and thence made into the south along a winding trail.
Ordinarily they would have lingered to accept the strained hospitality
of the settlement. But this was duty, duty large and grave, and,
conscious of it all, they pressed forward in silence. The renegades'
tracks stood out clearly, and the rangers noted that some of the horses
were shod, others only half shod, while the greater number were without
shoes at all. This told of the marauders' nondescript collection of
mounts, and also acquainted them with the fact that many of the animals
had been stolen. On through the afternoon they rode, making but little
gain, since the tracks became no fresher. When darkness fell, though
still in the open without protection of any kind save that offered by a
slight rise of ground, they dismounted and prepared to make camp.
Throughout the afternoon Pat had felt something of the grim nature of
this business. This not only because of the severe crowding which he had
endured--though that had told him much--but because of the unwonted
silence upon the men. So he had held himself keenly to the stride,
rather liking its vigor after long days of walking, finding himself
especially fit to meet it after his recent change of food. And although
the sun had been swelteringly hot, yet the desert had been swept with
counteracting breezes, and, with night finally descending, he had felt
more than ever his fine mettle, and now, even though his master was
painfully dismounting, he felt fit to run his legs off at the least
suggestion.
This fitness remained with him. When his young master turned him loose
at the end of a generous tether, he stepped eagerly away from the
firelight and out into the light of a rising moon, not to graze, for he
felt no desire to graze, having eaten his fill and more at noon, but to
give vent to his high spirits in unusual rolling in the sands. This he
quickly proceeded to do, kicking and thrashing about, and holding to it
long after the men about the fire had ceased to come and go in preparing
their meal, long after they had seated themselves in the cheerful glow,
smoking and talking as was their habit.
The Professor noticed it. He looked at the man with the beard pointedly.
"That Pat hoss he's workin' up another job o' cleanin' for you," he
observed. "Seemed in an awful hurry, too," he added, then dropped his
eyes innocently.
The other was punching new holes in his belt with an unwieldy
jack-knife. He suddenly gave off twisting the point of the knife against
the leather and lifted it menacingly in the direction of his tormentor.
"Look-a-here, Professor," he retorted, "I ain't feelin' any too pert
right now, and I'll take a hop out o' you if you don't shet up!"
The Professor looked grieved. "What's the matter of you?" he inquired.
"Never you mind!" The knife went back to the leather again. "Let that
horse roll if he wants to! It ain't any skin off your hands!"
Which was the key-note of all assembled save the Professor. All except
him appeared tense and nervous and in no way inclined to joke. For a
time after the lean man's rebuke they engaged in casual talk, then one
after another they drew off their boots and rolled up in their blankets.
All but Stephen. His arm was throbbing with unusual pain. It was still
in splints, and still bandaged in a sling around his neck, and since it
always hurt him to change positions, he remained seated beside the fire,
wrapped in sober thought. Outside, in the green-white light of the moon,
he heard the horses one by one sink to rest. Around him the desert,
gripped in death-stillness, pressed close, while overhead the
star-sprinkled dome of heaven, unclouded, arched in all its wonted
glittering majesty. A long time he sat there, keenly alive to these
things, yet thinking strange thoughts, thoughts of his loneliness, and
what might have been, and where he might have been, had he never met the
girl. These were new thoughts, and he presently arose to rid himself of
them and turned in, and soon was in a doze.
Some time later, he did not know how much later, he was aroused by a
sound as of distant thunder. But as he lifted his head the sound
disappeared. Yet when he dropped his head back again he heard it. He
pressed his left ear close to earth. The sound grew louder and seemed to
come nearer. Again he lifted his head. As before, he could hear nothing
save the snoring of the large man and the dream-twitching of the
Professor. He gazed about him. The camp was still. He peered outside in
the moonlight. The horses were all down--at rest. At length he dropped
back once more, closed his eyes sleepily, and soon dozed a second time.
But again he was aroused. He whipped up his head. The sound was
thundering in his ears. He heard trampling hoofs--many
hoofs--immediately outside. He leaped to his feet. He saw
horsemen--Indians--the renegades--crowding past, riding frantically to
the north. He called sharply to the others, who were already waking and
leaping to their feet. He turned to the horses. They were all there,
standing now, alert and tense. Wheeling, he stared after the Indians.
They were speeding away like the wind, close huddled, fleeing in a
panic. He watched them, dazed, saw them ascend a rise, become a
vacillating speck in the moonlight, and drop from view in a hollow
beyond the rise. He turned to the men. All stood in mute helplessness,
only half comprehending. He opened his mouth to speak, but as he did so
there came a sudden interruption.
It was a bugle-call, rollicking across the desert, crashing into the
death-like hush which had settled upon the camp. He turned his eyes
toward the sound--to the south. Over a giant sand-dune, riding grouped,
with one or two in the lead, swept a company of cavalrymen. Down the
slope they galloped, moonlight playing freely upon them, bringing out
every detail--the glint of arms, the movement of hat-brims, the lift and
fall of elbows--pounding straight for the camp. Another blast of the
bugle, crisp and metallic, and they swerved; they drew near, nearer
still, came close on the right, and swept past in a whirlwind of sounds,
thundering hoofs, cursing men, slamming carbines, creaking saddles,
snorting horses. So they swept on into the north, pushing, crowding,
jostling, throwing back flying gravel, odors of sweat, swirling
dust-clouds. They mounted rapidly over the rise, and became, as the
pursued, vacillating specks, and then disappeared in the hollow beyond.
Stephen recovered himself. He swept his eyes again over the horses. He
saw a change among them. Three were calm, but not the other two. Both of
them were weaving faintly, and, even as he sprang to them, one sank
slowly to the ground. Wondering, dazed, gripped in apprehension, he bent
over it. The horse was a stranger, and it was gasping its last breath.
Dismayed, he turned to the other. This horse also was a strange horse,
and it was white with foam and panting, also run to death. Astonished,
cold with apprehension, he looked for Pat. But neither Pat nor the
sorrel was to be seen. Then the truth overwhelmed him. The renegades,
seeing fresh horses here, had made a swift change. Pat was gone!
For one tense moment he stood spellbound. Then he sprang into action. He
dressed as best he could, called to the others to bridle and saddle a
horse, and leaped into the saddle. His whole body rebelled at the
movement. But he set his jaw grimly, and, clutching at his bandaged arm,
yet keeping his grip on the reins, he spurred frantically after the
cavalry. As he dashed away he shouted back his purpose.
But the men, standing with wide eyes turned after him, heard only the
end:
"I'll get him in spite of hell!"