THE DOMINANT ANIMAL
The chance to sell his stock, ostensibly his reason for delaying
departure, came to Scotty Baker much more quickly than he had
anticipated. Within a week after the hunt--in the very first mail he
received, in fact--came an offer from a Minneapolis firm to take every
scrap of horse-flesh he could spare. With much compunction and a doleful
face he read the letter aloud in the family council.
"That means 'go' for sure, I suppose," he commented at its conclusion.
Involuntarily Florence laughed. "You look as though you'd just got word
that the whole herd had stampeded over a ravine, instead of having had a
wave of good fortune," she bantered. "I believe you'd still back out if
you could."
Scotty's face did not lighten. "I know I would," he admitted.
"We'll not give you the chance, though," broke in Mollie, with the first
indication of enthusiasm she had shown in many a day. "Florence and I
will begin packing right away, and you can carry the things along with
you when you drive the horses to town."
Scotty looked at his wife steadily and caught the trace of excitement in
her manner.
"Yes, that is a good suggestion," he replied slowly. "It's liable to
turn cold any time now, and as long as we're going it may as well be
before Winter sets in." He filled a stubby meerschaum pipe with tobacco,
and put on cap and coat preparatory to going out of doors. "I spoke to
Rankin about the place the other day," he added, "and he says he'll take
it and pay cash whenever I'm ready. I'll drive over and see him this
morning."
Rankin was not at home--so Ma Graham told Scotty when he arrived--and
probably he wouldn't return till afternoon; but Ben was around the barn
somewhere, more than likely out among the broncos. He usually was, when
he had nothing else in particular to do.
Following her direction the Englishman loitered out toward the stock
quarters, looked with interest into the big sheds where the haying
machinery was kept, stopped to listen to the rush of water through the
four-inch pipe of the artesian well, lit his pipe afresh, and moved on
reflectively to the first of the great stock-yards that stretched
beyond. A tight board fence, ten feet high, built as a windbreak on two
sides, obstructed his way; and he started to walk around it. At the end
the windbreak merged into a well-built fence of six wires, and, a
wagon's breadth between, a long row of haystacks, built as a further
protection against the wind. These, together with the wires, formed the
third side of the yard. Leaning on the latter, Scotty looked into the
enclosure, at first carelessly, then with interest. A moment later,
without making his presence known, he stepped back to the hay, and,
selecting a pile of convenient height, sat down in the sunshine to
watch.
What he saw was a tall slim young man, in chaparejos and sombrero, the
inevitable "repeater" at his hip, solitarily engaged in the process of
breaking a bronco. Ordinarily in this cattle-country the first time one
of these wiry little ponies is ridden is on a holiday or a Sunday,
whenever a company of spectators can be secured to assist or to applaud;
but this was not Ben Blair's way. By nature solitary, whenever possible
he did his work as he took his pleasure, unseen of men. At present, as
he went methodically about his business, he had no idea that a person
save Ma Graham was within miles, or that anyone anywhere had the
slightest interest in what he was doing.
"Yard One," as the cowboys designated this corral, was the most used of
any on the ranch. Save for a single stout post set solidly in its
centre, it was entirely clear, and under the feet of hundreds of cattle
had been tramped firm as a pavement. At present it contained a
half-dozen horses, and one of these, a little mustang that was Ben's
particular pride, he was just saddling when Scotty appeared; the others,
a wild-eyed, evil-looking lot, scattering meantime as far as the
boundaries of the corral would permit.
Very deliberately Ben mounted the pony, hitched up the legs of his
leather trousers, folded back the brim of the big sombrero, and
critically inspected the ponies before him. One of them, a demoniacal
looking buckskin, appeared more vixenish than the others, and very
promptly the youth made this selection; but to get in touch of the wily
little beast was another matter. Every time the rancher made a move
forward the herd found it convenient likewise to move, and to the limit
of the corral fence. Once clear around the yard the rider humored them;
and Scotty, the spectator, felt sure he must be observed. But Ben never
looked outside the fence.
Starting to make the circle a second time, the rancher spoke a single
word to the little mustang and they moved ahead at a gallop. Instantly
responsive, the herd likewise broke into a lope, maintaining their lead.
Twice, three times, faster and faster, the rider and the riderless
completed the circle, the hard ground ringing with the din, the dust
rising in a filmy cloud; then of a sudden the figure on the mustang
passed from inaction into motion, the left hand on the reins tightened
and turned the pony's head to the side, straight across the diameter of
the circle. Simultaneously the right dropped to the lariat coiled on the
pummel of the saddle, loosed it, and swung the noose at the end freely
in air. On galloped the broncos, unmindful of the trick--on around the
limiting fence, until suddenly they found almost in their midst the
animal, man, whom they so feared, whom they were trying so to escape.
Then for a moment there was scattering, reversal, confusion, a denser
cloud of dust; but for one of their number, the buckskin, it was too
late. Ben Blair rose in his stirrups, the rawhide rope that had been
circling above his sombrero shot out, spread, dropped over the uplifted
yellow head. The little mustang the man rode recognized the song of the
lariat; well he knew what would follow. In anticipation he stopped dead;
his front legs stiffened. There was a shock, a protest of straining
leather which Scotty could hear clear beyond the corral, as, checked
under speed, the buckskin rose on his hind-feet and all but lost his
balance. That instant was Blair's opportunity. He turned his mustang
swiftly and headed straight for the centre-post, dragging the struggling
and half-strangled bronco; he rode around the post, sprang from the
saddle, took a skilful half-hitch in the lariat--and the buckskin was a
prisoner.
Scotty polished his glasses excitedly. He was wondering how the sleek
young men with whom he would soon be mingling in the city would go at a
job like that; and he smiled absently.
To "snub" the bronco up to the post so that he could scarcely turn his
head was an easy matter. To exchange the bridle to the new mount was
also comparatively simple. To adjust the great saddle, with the
unwilling victim struggling like mad, was a more difficult task; but
eventually all these came to pass, and Ben paused a moment to inspect
his handiwork. To a tenderfoot observer it might have seemed that the
battle was about over; but as a matter of fact it had scarcely begun. To
chronicle on paper that a certain person on a certain day rode a certain
bronco for the first time sounds commonplace; but to one who has seen
the deviltry lurking in those wild prairie ponies' eyes, who knows their
dogged fighting disposition, the reality is very different.
Only a moment Ben Blair paused. Almost before Scotty had got his
spectacles back to his nose he saw the long figure spring into the
saddle, observed that the lariat which had held the bronco helpless to
the post had been removed, and knew that the fight was on in earnest.
And emphatically it was on. With his first leap the pony went straight
into the air, to come down with a mighty jolt, stiff-legged; but Ben
Blair sat through it apparently undisturbed. If ever an animal showed
surprise it was the buckskin then. For an instant he paused, looked back
at the motionless rider with eyes that seemed almost green, then
suddenly started away at full speed around the corral as though Satan
himself were in pursuit.
Instantly with the diminutive horse swift anger took the place of
surprise. Scotty, the spectator, could read it in the tightening of the
rippling muscles beneath the skin, in the toss of the sleek head. Fear
had passed long ago, if the little beast had ever really known the
sensation. It was now merely animal against animal, dogged obstinacy
against dogged tenacity, a fight until one or the other gave in, no
quarter asked or accepted.
As before, the bronco was the aggressor. One by one, so swiftly that
they formed a continuous movement, he tried all the tricks which
instinct or ingenuity suggested. He bucked, his hind-quarters in the air
until it seemed he would reverse. He reared up until his front feet were
on the level of a man's head, until Scotty held his breath for fear the
animal would lose his balance backward; but when he resumed the normal
he found the man, ever relentless, firmly in place, impassively awaiting
the next move. He grew more furious with each failure. The sweat oozed
out in drops that became trickling streams beneath the short hair. His
breath came more quickly, whistling through the wide nostrils. A new
light came into the gray-green eyes and flashed from them fiendishly. As
suddenly as he had made his previous attacks he played his last trump.
Like a ball of lead he dropped in his tracks and tried to roll; but the
great saddle prevented, and when he sprang up again, there, as firmly
seated as before, was the hated man upon his back.
Then overpowering and unreasoning anger, the wrath of a frenzied lion in
a cage, of a baited bull in a ring, took possession of the buckskin. He
went through his tricks anew, not methodically as before, but furiously,
desperately. The sweat churned into foam beneath the saddle and between
his legs. He screamed like a demon, until the other broncos retreated in
terror, and Scotty's hair fairly lifted on his head. But one idea
possessed him--to kill this being on his back, this hated thing he could
not move or dislodge. A suggestion of means came to him, and straight as
a line he made for the high board fence. There was no misunderstanding
his purpose.
Then for the first time Ben Blair roused himself. The hand on the rein
tightened, as the lariat had tightened, until the small head with the
dainty ears curled back in a half-circle. Simultaneously the long rowels
of a spur bit deep into the foaming flank, the swish of a quirt sounded
keenly, a voice broke out in one word of command, "Whoa!" and repeated,
"Whoa!"
It was like thunder out of a clear sky, like an unseen blow in the dark.
Within three feet of the fence the bronco stopped and stood trembling in
every muscle, expecting he knew not what.
It was the man's time now--the beginning of the end.
"Get up!" repeated the same authoritative voice, and the hand on the bit
loosened. "Get up!" and rowel and quirt again did their work.
In terror this time the bronco plunged ahead, felt the guiding rein, and
started afresh around the circle of the corral fence. "Get up!" repeated
Ben, and like a streak of yellowish light they spun about the trail.
Round and round they went, the body of the man and horse alike tilted in
at an angle, the other ponies plunging to clear the way. Scotty counted
ten revolutions; then he awaited the end. It was not long in coming. Of
a sudden, as before, directly in front of where he sat, the bridle-reins
tightened, and he heard the one word, "Whoa!" and pony and rider stopped
like figures in clay. For a moment they stood motionless, save for their
labored breathing; then very deliberately Ben Blair dismounted. Not a
movement did the buckskin make, either of offence or to escape; he
merely waited. Still deliberately, the man removed the saddle and
bridle, while not a muscle of the bronco's body stirred. Scotty watched
the scene in fascination. Every trace of anger was out of the pony's
gray-green eyes now, every indication of terror as well. Dozens of
horses the Englishman had seen broken; but one like this--never before.
It was as though in the last few minutes an understanding had come about
between this fierce wild thing and its conqueror; as though, like every
human being with whom he came in contact, the latter had dominated by
the sheer strength of his will. It was all but uncanny.
Slowly Blair laid the bridle beside the saddle, and stepping over to his
late mount he patted the damp neck and gently stroked the silken muzzle.
"I think, old boy, you'll remember me when we meet again," Scotty heard
him say. "Good luck to you meantime," and with a last pat he picked up
his riding paraphernalia and started for the sheds.
Scotty stood up. "Hello," he called.
Ben halted and turned about, looking his surprise.
"Well, in the name of all that's proper!" he ejaculated slowly; "where'd
you drop down from?"
Scotty smiled broadly; frank admiration for the dusty cowboy was in his
gaze.
"I didn't drop down at all; I walked around here about half an hour ago.
You were rather preoccupied at the time and didn't notice me."
Blair came back to the fence and swung over the saddle and bridle. "You
took in the whole show then?" he asked. A trace of color came into his
face, as he vaulted over the rails. "I hope you enjoyed it."
Scotty observed the latest feat, unconscious as its predecessor, with
augmented admiration. "I certainly did," he said, and the subject was
dropped.
The two men walked together toward the ranch-house.
"I came over to see Rankin," remarked the Englishman, "but I'm afraid
I'll have to wait a bit."
"I guess you will," replied Ben. "He went up to the north well this
morning. They're building some sheds up there, and he's superintending
the job. He's as liable to forget about dinner as not. Nothing I can do
for you, is there?"
Scotty thrust his hands into his pockets.
"No, I guess not. I came over to see about selling him my place. We're
going to leave in a few days."
Ben Blair made no comment, and for a moment they walked on in silence;
then an idea suddenly occurred to the Englishman.
"Come to think of it," he said, "there is something you can do for me.
Bill and I have got to drive all the stock over to the station. I'd be a
thousand times obliged if you would help us."
For a half-dozen steps Blair did not answer; then he turned fairly to
his companion.
"You won't be offended if I refuse?" he asked.
"No, certainly not."
"Well, then, I don't want to help you myself, but I'll get Grannis to go
with you. He'll be just as useful."
Ordinarily, despite his assertion to the contrary, Scotty would have
been offended; but he knew this long youth quite too well to
misunderstand.
"Would you mind telling me why you refuse?" he said at last.
Ben shifted the heavy saddle to his other shoulder.
"No, I don't mind," he said bluntly. "I won't help you because I don't
want you to go."
Scotty pondered, and a light dawned on his slow-moving brain. He looked
at Ben sympathetically. "My boy," he said, "I'm sorry for you; by Jove!
I am."
They were even with the horse-barn now, and without a word Ben went in
and hung up the saddle, each stirrup upon a nail. Relieved of his load
he came back, slapping the dust from his clothes with his big gauntlets.
"If it's a fair question," he asked, "why do I merit your sympathy?"
The Englishman's hands went deeper into his pockets.
"Why?" He all but stared. "Because you haven't a ghost of a chance with
Florence. She'd laugh at you!"
Ben's blue eyes were raised to a level with the other's glasses. "She'd
laugh at me, you think?" he asked quietly.
Scotty shifted uneasily. "Well, perhaps not that," he retracted, "but
anyway, you haven't a chance. I like you, Ben, and I'm dead sorry that
she is different. She comes, if I do say it, of a good family, and
you--" of a sudden the Englishman found himself floundering in deep
water.
"And I am--an unknown," Ben finished for him.
At that moment Scotty heartily wished himself elsewhere, but wishing did
not help him. "Yes, to put it baldly, that's the word. It's unfortunate,
damned unfortunate, but true, you know."
Ben's eyes did not leave the other man's face. "You've talked with her,
have you?" he asked.
Scotty fidgeted more than before, and swore silently that in future he
would keep his compassions to himself.
"No, I've never thought it necessary so far; but of course--"
Ben Blair lifted his head. "Don't worry, Mr. Baker, I'll tell her my
pedigree myself. I supposed she already knew--that everybody who had
ever heard of me knew."
Scotty forgot his nervousness. "You'll--tell her yourself, you say?"
"Certainly."
The Englishman said nothing. It seemed to him there was nothing to say.
For a moment there was silence. "Mr. Baker," said Blair at last, "as
long as we've started on this subject I suppose we might as well finish
it up. I love your daughter; that you've guessed. If I can keep her
here, I'll do so. It's my right; and if there's a God who watches over
us, He knows I'll do my best to make her happy. As to my mother, I'll
tell her about that myself--and consider the matter closed."
Again there was silence. As before, there seemed to the Englishman
nothing to say.
Blair turned toward the ranch-house. "I saw Ma Graham motioning for
dinner quite a while ago," he said. "Let's go in and eat."