FIDELITY
Meantime Pat was running at top speed across the desert. Yet he was
trying to understand this strange call to duty. Roused from fitful
slumber by trampling hoofs, he had felt an excited hand jerking him to
his feet, and after that a slender rope looped round his lower jaw. Then
he had been urged, with a wriggling form on his bare back, frantic heels
drumming his sides, and a strange voice impelling him onward past a
surging crowd of horsemen, still only half awake, out into the open.
When he was well in the fore, he had found himself crowded to his
utmost--over sand-dune, into arroyo, across the level--around him
thundering hoofs, panting horses, silent men, all speeding forward in
the glorious moonlight. It was a strange awakening, yet he had not
entertained thoughts of rebellion, despite the fact that he had not
liked the flaying rope, the soft digging heels, the absence of bridle
and saddle. It was strange; it was not right. None of it had checked up
with any item of his experience. Yet, oddly enough, he had not rebelled.
Nor was he harboring thoughts of rebellion now. Racing onward, smarting
with each swing of the lash, he found himself somehow interested solely
in holding his own with the other horses. Suddenly, alert to their
movements, he saw a cleft open in their surging ranks, made by the fall
of an exhausted horse. Yet the others did not stop. They galloped on,
unheeding, though he himself was jerked up. Then followed a swift
exchange of words, and then the unhorsed man mounted behind Pat's new
master. Carrying a double load now, Pat nevertheless dashed ahead at his
former speed, stumbling with his first steps, but soon regaining his
stride and overtaking the others. And though it cost him straining
effort, he felt rewarded for his pains when one of the men uttered a
grunt which he interpreted as approval. But it was all very strange.
A canyon loomed up on his left. He had hardly seen the black opening
when he was swung toward it. He plunged forward with the other horses,
and was the first to enter the canyon's yawning mouth. Between its high
walls, however, he found himself troubled by black shadows. Many of them
reached across his path like projections of rock, and more than once he
faltered in his stride. But after passing through two or three in safety
he came at length to understand them and so returned to his wonted
self-possession.
But he was laboring heavily now. His heart was jumping and pounding, his
breath coming in gasps, but he held to the trail, moving ever deeper
into the hills, until he burst into a basin out of which to the right
led a narrow canyon. Then he slowed down and, turning into the canyon,
which wound and twisted due north and south in the bright moonlight, he
continued at a slower pace. But his heart no longer was in the task. The
weight on his back seemed heavier; there was a painful swelling of his
ankles. He knew the reason for this pain. It had come from unwonted
contact with hard surfaces and frequent stepping on loose stones in this
strange haste with a strange people in the hills. Yet he kept on,
growing steadily more weary, yet with pride ever to the fore, until a
faint light began to streak the overhead sky, stealing cautiously down
the ragged walls of the canyon. Then he found himself pulled into a
walk.
He was facing a narrow defile that wound up among the overhanging crags.
Glad of the privilege of resting, for a walk was a rest with him now, he
set forward into the uninviting pass. Up and up he clambered, crowding
narrowly past boulders, rounding on slender ledges, up and ever up. As
he ascended he saw gray-white vales below, felt the stimulus of a rarer
air, and at last found his heart fluttering unpleasantly in the higher
altitude. Yet he held grimly to his task, and, when broad daylight was
streaming full upon him, he found himself on a wide shelf of rock, a
ledge falling sheer on one side to unseen depths, towering on the other
to awe-inspiring heights. Here he came to a halt. And then, so tired was
he, so faint with exhaustion, so racked of body and spirit, that he sank
upon the cool rock even before the men could clear themselves from him,
and lay there on his side, his eyes closed, his lungs greedily sucking
air.
The glare of full daylight aroused him. Regaining his feet, he stared
about him. He saw many strange-looking men, and near them many dirty and
bedraggled horses. He turned his eyes outward from the ledge. He saw
around him bristling peaks, and below them, far below, a trailing
canyon, winding in and out among hills toward the rising sun, and
terminating in a giant V, beyond which, a connecting thread between its
sloping sides, lay an expanse of rolling mesa. It was far from him,
however--very, very far--and he grew dizzy at the view, finding himself
more and more unnerved by the height. At length he turned away and swept
his eyes again over the horses, where he was glad to find the rangy
sorrel. Then he turned back to the men, some of whom were standing,
others squatting, but all in moody silence.
As he looked he grew aware that a pair of dark eyes were fixed upon him.
He stared back, noting the man's long hair and painted features and the
familiar glow of admiration in his eyes. Believing him to be his new
master, he continued to regard him soberly until the man, with a grunt
and a grimace, rose and approached him. Pat stood very still under a
rigid examination. The man rubbed his ankles, turned up his hoofs,
looked at his teeth; and at the conclusion of all this Pat felt that he
had met with approval. Also, he realized that he rather approved of the
man. Then came a volley of sounds he did not understand, and he found
himself touched with grave apprehension. But not for long. The man led
him across the ledge to a tiny stream trickling down the rocks, walking
with a quiet dignity he long since had learned to connect with
kindliness. This and the fact that he led him to water determined his
attitude.
Toward noon, as he was brooding over hunger pangs, he was startled by
excited gutturals among the men. Gazing, he saw one of the men standing
on the edge of the shelf, pointing out through the long canyon. With the
others, Pat turned his eyes that way. Between the distant V dotting the
mesa beyond rode a body of horsemen. They were not more than specks to
his eyes, proceeding slowly, so slowly, in fact, that while he could see
they were moving he yet could not see them move as they crawled across
the span between the canyon's mouth. Interested, gripped in the
contagion of the excitement round him, he kept his eyes upon the distant
specks until the sun had changed to another angle. But even after this
lapse of time, so distant were the horsemen, so wide the canyon's mouth,
they had traveled only half-way across the span. Yet he continued to
watch, wondering at the nervousness around him, conscious of steadily
increasing heat upon him, until the last of the slow-moving specks,
absorbed one by one by the canyon's wall, disappeared from view. Then he
turned his eyes elsewhere.
The men also turned away, but continued their excited talk. But even
they after a time relapsed into silence. What it was all about Pat did
not know. He knew it was something very serious, and suddenly fear came
to him. He saw some of the men lie down as if to sleep, and he feared
that they intended to remain here for ever, in this place absolutely
destitute of herbage. But after a time, made sluggish by the attitude of
the men, he himself attempted to drowse. But the heat pulsating up off
the rocks discouraged him, and he soon abandoned the attempt, standing
motionless in the hot sun.
A change came over him. He took to brooding over his many
discomforts--hunger pangs, loss of sleep, bothersome flies, the pain of
his swollen ankles. As the day advanced his ankles swelled more, and
grew worse, the flies became more troublesome, and his inner gnawings
more pronounced. So the time went on and he brooded through the still
watches of the afternoon, through the soft stirrings of evening, on into
night again. With the coming of night light breezes rose from the spaces
below to spur his fevered body into something of its wonted vigor. And
the night brought also preparations among the men to journey on. This he
welcomed, even more than the cooling zephyrs.
There was some delay. His master entered upon a dispute with the
horseless man. The voices became excited and rose to vehement heights.
But presently they subsided when Pat himself, anxious to be active,
sounded a note of protest. Yet the argument proved to his benefit.
Instead of mounting him behind his master, the odd man swung up behind
another man on the sorrel. Then he was permitted to move forward, and as
he approached the narrow defile he sounded another nicker, now of
gratification.
The pass dropped almost sheer in places. As he descended, more than once
he was compelled to slide on stiffened legs. In this at first he felt
ecstatic danger thrills. But only at first. Soon he wearied of it, and
he was glad when he struck the bottom, where, after being guided out of
shadow and into broad moonlight, he found himself moving to the west in
a deep canyon. With the other horses he burst into a canter, and
continued at a canter hour after hour, following the winding and
twisting canyon until daylight, with its shadows creeping away before
him, revealed to his tired eyes a stretch of mesa ahead, dotted with
inviting clumps of bunch-grass. Then of his own volition he came to a
stop and fell to grazing. Soon all the horses were standing with mouths
to earth, feeding eagerly.
The men, sitting for a time in quiet conversation, finally dismounted,
laughing now and then, and casting amused glances toward the black
horse.
Soon they mounted again to take the trail. Instead of riding with the
other on the sorrel, the odd man swung up on Pat's back behind his
master. But as Pat no longer suffered from hunger, he complacently
accepted the return of the double load. Then all moved forward. Pat
jogged out of the canyon, turning to the right on the desert, and moved
rapidly north in the shadow of the hills. He held to his stride, and
toward noon, rounding a giant ridge projecting into the desert from the
hills, he saw ahead on his right, perhaps two miles distant across a
basin, the mouth of another canyon. Evidently his master saw it also,
and obviously it contained danger, for he jerked Pat down to a walk.
Almost instantly he knew that the danger was real, for the man, sounding
a sharp command to the others, brought him to a full stop. Then followed
an excited discussion, and, when it ended, Pat, gripped in vague
uneasiness, found himself urged forward at top speed. Yet in a dim way
he knew what was wanted of him. He flung himself into a long stride and
dashed across the wide basin, across the mouth of the canyon, into the
shadow of the hills again. Breathless, he slackened his pace with thirty
excited horses around him, mad swirling clouds of dust all about, and
before him the oppressive stillness of the desert. They were safely past
the danger zone.
He pressed on at a slow canter. Ahead the mesa revealed numerous
sand-dunes, large and small, rising into the monotonous skyline.
Plunging among them, he mounted some easily, others he skirted as
easily, and once, to avoid an unusually large one, he dropped down into
the bed of an arroyo, traveled along its dry course, and then clambered
up on the desert. But it was wearying work, and, becoming ever more
aware of his double load, he began to chafe with dissatisfaction. Yet he
held to his gait, hopeful of better things--he was always hopeful of
better things now--until he reached another dune, larger than any as yet
encountered, when once more he broke out of his stride to circle its
bottom. As he did so, of his own volition he checked himself. Dead ahead
he saw horses scattered about, and beyond the horses, rising limply in
the noon haze, a thin column of smoke. Also, he felt both his riders
stiffen. Then on the midday hush rose the crack of firearms from the
direction of the camp.
His master lifted a shrill voice. He felt a mighty pull at his head. He
swung around like a flash. Then came the flaying of a rope and frantic
urging of heels. He plunged among the surging horses, dancing and
whirling excitedly, and out into the open beyond. He set his teeth
grimly, and raced headlong to the south, galloping furiously, tearing
blindly over the desert. He headed straight for the distant basin,
straight for the mouth of the canyon, hurtling forward, struggling
mightily under his double load. He did not know it, but he was speeding
into a tragic crisis.
The others overtook him. They were carrying but single loads. But they
did not pass him. He saw to that. He burst forward into even greater
speed, clung to it grimly, forged into a position well in the lead. And
he held this place--around him frenzied horses, frantic riders; behind
him, to the distant rear, shot after shot echoing over the desert;
before him the baking sands, shimmering heat-waves, sullen and silent.
He raced on, swinging up over dunes, dropping into hollows, speeding
across flats, mounting over dunes again, on and on toward the basin and
the mouth of the canyon--and protection.
But again disaster.
Suddenly, out of the canyon poured the cheerful notes of a bugle. On the
vibrant wings of the echoes, streaming into the basin from the canyon,
swept a body of flying horsemen. Instantly he checked himself. Then his
master sounded a shrill outcry, swung his head around violently, and
lashed him forward again. He hurtled headlong, dashing toward the
distant ridge, the peninsula jutting out into the desert. Grimly he
flung out along this new course. But he kept his eyes to the left. He
saw the horsemen there also swerve, saw them spread out like a fan, and
felt his interest kindle joyously. For this was a race! It was a race
for that ridge! And he must win! He must do this thing, for
instinctively he knew that beyond it lay safety. There he could flee to
some haven, while cut off from it, cut off by these steady-riding men on
his left, he must submit to wretched defeat. So he strained himself
harder and burst into fresh speed, finding himself surprised that he
could. In the thrill of it he forgot his double load, forgot the
close-pressing horses, forgot irritating dust. On he galloped, racing
forward with machine-like evenness--on his left the paralleling
horsemen, to his rear yelling and shooting, on his right his own men and
horses, and for them he felt he must do big things.
Suddenly the shooting in his rear ceased. Evidently these men had
received some warning from the riders on his left. Then he awoke to
another truth. The horsemen on his left were gaining. It troubled him,
and he cast measuring eyes to the front. He saw that he was pursuing a
shorter line to the ridge; he believed he still could reach it first. So
again he strained on, whipping his legs into movement till they seemed
about to snap. But the effort hurt him and he discovered that he was
becoming woefully tired. Also, the double weight worried him. It had not
become lighter with the miles, nor had he grown stronger. Yet he
galloped on with thundering hoofs, the tranquil desert before him, the
thud of carbines against leather to the left, behind him ominous
silence. But he kept his eyes steadily to the left, and presently he
awoke to something else there, something that roused him suddenly and in
some way whipped his conscience. For now he saw a white figure amid the
khaki, racing along with them--a part of them and yet no part of them--a
familiar figure wearing a familiar bandage. This for a brief moment
only. Then he took to measuring distances again; saw that the cavalrymen
were holding to the course steadily, racing furiously as he himself was
racing for the ridge. Would he win?
A shrill outcry from his master, and he found himself checked with a
jerk. It was unexpected, sudden, and he reared. The movement shook off
the second man. Dropping back upon all-fours, Pat awoke to the relief
the loss of this load gave him. Grimly determining to hold to this
relief, he dashed ahead, following the guidance of his master in yet
another direction, hurtled away before the second man could mount again.
He found that he was speeding in a direction almost opposite from the
ridge. He did not understand this. But his regret was not long lived.
Casting his eyes to his left in vague expectancy of seeing the familiar
spot of white again, he saw only his own men and horses, and beyond them
the smiling desert. Puzzled, he gazed to the right. Here he saw the
cavalrymen, and though puzzled more, he yet kept on with all his power.
As he ran he suddenly awoke to the presence of a new body of horsemen on
his distant left, a smaller band than the cavalrymen, men without
uniforms, most of them hatless, all yelling. He remembered this yell,
and now he understood. He was speeding toward the mouth of the canyon;
had been turned completely around. And thus it was, he knew, that the
horsemen once on his left were now on his right, and the madly yelling
group at his rear was now on his left. He awoke to another realization.
This was a race again, a race with three new entrants now--all three
making toward the canyon. Would he win?
He fell to studying the flanking groups. On his right, riding easily,
bent to the winds, their heavy horses swinging rhythmically, their
accoutrements rattling, galloped the cavalry--steady, sure of
themselves, well in hand. On his left, riding furiously, without
formation, dashed the smaller group of riders--their horses wrangling
among themselves, one or two frequently bucking, all flinging forward in
excited disorder. This disorder, this evident nervousness, he feared. He
knew somehow that the first real trouble would come from this source. He
knew men to that extent. And suddenly his fears were realized. With the
three converging lines of direction drawing closer, and the mouth of the
canyon but a short distance away, out of this group on his left came a
nasty rifle-fire, followed by a mighty chorus of yells. There was a
result at once. Close beside him a horse stumbled; the man astride the
horse was thrown headlong; from the cavalrymen on his right came a
single shrill, piercing outcry--a cry to desist! But he did not
understand this. Nor did he heed it. Galloping forward, eyes upon the
ever-nearing canyon, he at length became grimly conscious of approaching
defeat--of the firm and ruthless closing in upon him from either side of
the two bands. And now, and not till now, realizing as he did that the
thing was beyond him, that he could not reach the canyon first--now, and
not till now, though soul and body were wrecked by exhaustion, Pat
abated his speed.
Instantly pandemonium broke loose. He heard the firing on his left
increasing. He felt his master make ready to return it. He saw others
around him, twisting vengefully into position, open with repeating
rifles. Then the cavalrymen, evidently forced into it by the others,
swung to the fray with their carbines, which began to boom on his right.
The whole basin echoed and re-echoed sharp reports. Across his eyes
burst intermittent flames. His ears rang with shots and yells. The
shooting became heavier. Bullets sang close about him--seemed
centered--as if the enemy would cut down his master at once and disrupt
the others through his loss. The bullets sang closer still. And now
immediately about him men and horses dropped, upsetting other riders,
tumbling over sound horses--all in a seething chaos. He became dazed.
His eyes were blinded with the flashes, and his ears ached with the
crash and tumult. He grew faint. A dizziness seized him. But on he
labored, his head aching, his eyes growing dimmer, his limbs numb and
rebellious, his heart thumping in sullen rebellion, his ears bursting
with the uproar.
Another change swept over him. Mist leaped before his eyes. The roaring
in his ears subsided. His legs flew off--he had no legs! The mist became
a film. Yet he could see--see faintly. He saw a mad jumble of flying men
and horses--a riotous mixture of color, arms, and firearms whirling and
interlaced, a grim, struggling mass in death-grips. It swept
close--crashed over him, struck him full. He felt the impact--then
another. The ground rose and struck him. And now there fell upon him a
great and wonderful peace--and a blank--then a voice, a familiar voice,
and he drifted into unconsciousness.
He was wakened by a fiery liquid in his throat. He slowly opened his
eyes. He saw men and horses, many of them, standing or reclining in
small groups. He saw them between the legs of a group immediately around
him--men gazing down at him pitifully. As he lay thus dazed he heard the
familiar voice again. It was sounding his name. He struggled to his
feet. Steadying himself against his dizziness, he looked curiously at
the young man standing before him. And suddenly he recognized him. This
was his young master with the white around his arm and neck--the young
man who had ridden him into the Mexican settlement, and who had been so
good to him there, giving him generous quantities of alfalfa. He--But
the voice was sounding again.
"You poor dumb brute!" said Stephen, quietly; and Pat liked the petting
he received. "You've just come through hell! But--but if they get you
again--anywhere, friend of mine--they'll wade through hell themselves to
do it." He was silent. "Pat, old boy," he concluded, finally, "you're
going back home! I--I'm through!"
A strange thing took place in Pat. Hearing this voice now, and seeing
the owner of it, though he had seen him and heard his voice many times
just before this last heartbreaking task under a strange master, he
suddenly found himself thinking of the little ranch beside the river,
and of his loving mistress, and also the cold and cruel Mexican hostler.
And, thinking of them, he found himself thinking also of another, one
who had accompanied him and his mistress on many delightful trips in the
valley and up on the mesa in the shadow of the mountains. And now,
thinking of this person, he somehow recognized this young man before him
fully, and wondered why this had not come to him before. For this was
the same young man--curiously pale, curiously drawn and haggard--but yet
the same man. Understanding, understanding everything, he nickered
softly and pressed close, mindful of yet another thing--something that
had helped to make his life on the little ranch so pleasant and
unforgettable. What he was mindful of, and what he now sought, was sugar
and quartered apples.