In the meantime when Benjy Wilson left the train at Red Riverton, he
glanced about anxiously hoping that his brother Harry would be there
to meet him. He had been the only passenger to descend to the
platform and, almost at once, the station master hurried up to him
to say that his brother had been in a few days before and had told
him to keep on the watch-out for Benjy. “He said he mightn’t be able
to get in to meet you an’ if he didn’t, you’d find yer little horse
Clipper over to the stables waitin’ for yo’.” Then the kindly man
searched in the pockets of his blue denim coat and drew from one of
them a letter. “Likewise he left this for you to sorto’ explain
things.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hendrix. I’ll go at once after Clipper,” the boy
said with a break in his voice, which drew from the sympathetic old
man the query. “Yo’ ma wan’t any worse last yo’ heard, was she? Hal
was in a hurry t’other day, I didn’t get to ask.”
“I’m afraid mother isn’t very well,” then fearing that he would cry
from dread and loneliness, (never before had his older brother
failed to meet him), the lad picked up his bags and hurried away
toward the stables that were just beyond the station.
The boy naturally happy and optimistic was sadly troubled. The pony
was glad indeed to see his young master and showed it in every way
that he could.
It was not until the town had been left behind and Benjy was riding
on a desert trail that he opened the letter which the station master
had given him. With tear dimmed eyes he read:
“Dear Ben,
“I have not wanted to worry you needlessly and I have not been sure,
(even now I am not sure), that there is real need for alarm, but I
decided that I must warn you before you arrive, that you may be
prepared for a great change in our mother’s appearance. She was
strong and well when you left eleven months ago, but now she is
frail and wearies at the least exertion. I am telling you, not to
frighten you, (for it may merely mean that our mother is growing
older or that she needs a complete rest), but I want you to be
prepared for the change so that you will not exclaim about it when
you arrive. It would be a great shock to our father, who, (perhaps
because it has come so gradually), seems as yet unconscious of it.
In mother’s own brave, cheerful way, she hides it from him. When he
comes home each night, weary from a hard day’s work on the ranch,
she is always at the head of the table, with her bright smile, and a
good supper is waiting. Of late I have managed to ride home an hour
earlier each night that I might help to prepare it.
“The one thing which has prevented my being greatly worried is
mother’s own attitude in the matter. She insists that there is
nothing radically wrong; that she is merely tired, as one often is
in the spring, and she laughingly, said last night: ‘When little
Benjy comes home, I’m going to play fine lady for a fortnight. Then
you will see how well and strong I will be.’
“Ben, old pal, don’t take this letter too much to heart, but I do
think best to have you prepared for the change in the mother who is
our all. If I were sure that I could get to the station to meet you,
would not have written this. I’ll be there if I can possibly make
it.
“Your brother, Hal”
But he hadn’t been there.
As the boy rode along over the hard sand trail he thought of his
quiet, dependable brother, who was so like their mother.
“Hal would have come if he could possibly have made it,” he said
with a half sob, as he realized the probable meaning of his older
brother’s absence.
“He never promised to do a thing in all his life but that he did
it.” Then the lad’s thoughts returned to his little boyhood, when he
had learned that the older brother’s word could be trusted
unfailingly.
“If Hal promised to make a kite or whittle a top on the first stormy
day that we were shut in, he never forgot it, never tried to get out
of it. Quite the contrary, Hal would be the first to say: ‘Bring
along your kite materials, little Ben. This is the day I promised
I’d make one for you.’
“I’m going to be just like him,” Benjy thought. “Mother is right.
The man you want for a friend is the one you can trust.”
The first half of the ride was over level desert trails that had
been beaten hard by cattle and horses, but farther on the way grew
rough and rocky and there was a high rugged mountain range to be
crossed, for, on the other side, lay the wide, sheltered valley
belonging to the Wilson ranch.
Reaching the water-hole about noon, Benjy dismounted to permit his
horse to drink.
Again in the saddle, he petted the beautiful pony’s head. “Clipper,
old pal,” he said in a tone of sympathetic understanding, “I’m sorry
to ask you to climb High Pine Mountain trail without giving you a
chance to rest before we start upgrade, but I’ll have to do it this
time. I’ll make it up to you, though, old pal, you see if I don’t.”
The pony seemed pleased to feel his young master’s caress. He tossed
his head, looked back over his shoulder and whinnied a reply. It was
at that moment that the horse stepped on a rolling stone, scrambled
madly to keep his foothold, stepped off the narrow, ascending trail
and rolled with his rider into a shallow ravine. The fall had been
but slight and Benjy leaped to his feet unhurt, but Clipper arose
with more difficulty, and when he attempted to walk he limped and
held his right forefoot as though it pained him.
Poor Benjy felt as though everything was against him, but, just at
that moment he seemed to see his dear mother’s face and to hear her
say as she so often had, “Benjy, Boy, courage wins.”
“I know it, mother,” the lad replied aloud with a half sob, and
putting one arm around the pony’s neck he choked back the tears that
had tried to come, as he said, “I’m awfully sorry you’re hurt,
Clipper. I ought to have let you rest for a while at the water-hole.
I guess we’ll have to keep going somehow, but I won’t ride you. If
you don’t have to carry a load, don’t you think you can climb the
trail, old pal?”
Clipper, looking at his young master, whinnied again, but, though he
tried he could not walk without pain.
Just at that moment, Benjy heard a pounding of horses’ feet. At
first he thought it might be a herd of the small wild ponies that
sometimes were seen near the mountains, but as he waited and watched
around the jutting rocks there appeared a tall Indian lad seated on
a pony, leading another that he had evidently just captured from a
wild herd and followed by a third small horse.
Benjy climbed high on a rock and halooed at the top of his voice but
the rider was going in the direction of the Indian village and away
from Benjy. Again the lad shouted but each second took the galloping
horses farther and farther away from him.
Realizing that his voice could not be heard, the boy stood still
watching the retreating figures and wondering what he ought to do,
when suddenly he became tense and alert.
The wild pony that had been captured by the Indian lad made a sudden
break for liberty. After rearing, it made a backward lunge and the
rope that had been an improvised halter was torn from the hand of
its captor; then snorting shrilly, the small horse galloped away and
back toward the mountains.
The dangling rope, snapping this way and that at his heels,
terrorized him, and, with eyes wild, he raced as he had never raced
before. Plunging blindly, he headed directly for the spot where
Benjy stood watching. In an instant the boy had formed a plan.
Leaping behind a mesquite bush, he crouched waiting the oncoming
horse. Nearer and louder came the swift pounding of hoofs, then,
just as the lad had hoped, the dragging rope was flung toward him.
The boy endeavored to seize it, but the pony had seen him, and,
rearing on his hind feet, he whirled, but that very motion made him
captive, for the rope swung around the stout mesquite bush and held
long enough for Benjy to make it fast.
Then the boy wisely ran out of reach of the wildly plunging horse,
which enraged at his unexpected recapture, snorted and dragged so
hard on the rope that Benjy feared the bush would be uprooted.
The Indian lad was galloping toward them at top speed, followed by
the faithful pony. “Hold him if you can!” was the cry that reached
Benjy’s ears. It was English, which meant that the rider was either
Strong Heart, or Fleet Foot of whom he had not heard.
A lasso whirled through the air as the rider neared. It coiled like
a snake about the forefeet of the rearing pony and pulled him to the
ground.
“What a beautiful little horse you have there,” Benjy said by way of
greeting.
The stoical Indian lad bowed. “I had none and so I have captured him
for my own, but he would have been lost again if you had not made
him fast.”
Then he asked, “What is wrong with your pony?”
Benjy told in a few words about his great anxiety concerning his
mother, of his eagerness to reach her soon as possible and about
poor Clipper’s mishap.
The Indian lad lifted the hurt foot, and taking his soft leather
belt, he wound it tightly about the strain. Rising, Fleet Foot, for
it was that fine Indian lad, bade Benjy place his saddle on the
horse that had been following, adding that he would take Clipper to
the village and give him care. “He will be all right in a few
weeks,” the Indian lad said. “I hope so,” Benjy replied, “Clipper
and I have been pals ever since I was a little shaver.”
Then, having thanked Fleet Foot the boy again started up the long
hard trail.
It was nearly dusk when he reached the summit. Looking down into the
valley, he could see the group of white-washed buildings that were
home to him. With a sob he reached out both arms. “Mother! Mother!”
he said, “I’m coming. I’ll be with you soon now.”