Bred of the Desert by Charles Marcus Horton (the lemonade war series .txt) 📕

“I got quality here, Glover–I guess. Can’t never tell, though. He’s a good horse, but he mayn’t pan out good for me.”

There was further silence.

“Johnson,” went on the high-pitched voice again, after a time, “did ye git what Zeke said about the country down there?”

But the leader seemed not to hear. Straight as an arrow, bulking large upon a little gray mare, he moved not the fraction of an inch with the question. Whereupon the little man, after muttering something further about Zeke, relapsed into silence.

Suddenly Pat stumbled and fell to his knees. He quickly regained his feet, however, and resumed the steady forward grind. And grind it now was becoming. His legs burned with a strange distress, his eyes ached from loss of sleep. Throughout his body was a weariness new to him. He was not accustomed to this ceaseless fox-trotting. He could not recall the time when, even on their longest excursion, his mistress had forced him like this. She had always considered him to the extent of granting him many blissful periods of rest. He found himself wanting some such consideration now. He felt that he would like to drop into a walk or to burst into a canter, knowing the relief to be found in any change of gait. But this was denied him. Yet, since the other horses gave no sign of weariness, each appearing possessed of endurance greater than his own, he refrained, through a pride greater even than his distress, from making of his own accord any change in his gait.

Toward noon, as he was brooding over another distress, one caused by gnawing hunger, he felt his master draw down. Also, the others came to a stop. With the men dismounted, he swept eyes over the scene. But he saw nothing that appeared to warrant pause. The place was dead and desolate, barren of all that which had invariably met his gaze when pausing with his mistress. But when one of the men began to build a fire, while the others flung off light saddle-bags from the little gray and the sorrel–an exceptionally rangy horse–he came in a way to understand. Further, with the fire crackling pleasantly and his bridle and saddle removed, he understood fully the cause of this halt. It was time to feed; and, raging with hunger, he forgot all other distress in the thought that now he would have a generous quantity of food, which he believed was due him, since he had more than earned it in his prolonged service through the night. Indeed, so certain was he of reward, he prepared himself for sugar and quartered apples, and, with mouth dripping saliva, stood very still, eyes following every move of his new master.

But he was doomed to bitter disappointment. Instead of sugar and quartered apples, his master tied a rope around his neck and, with a friendly slap, left him to his own devices. Wondering at this, he gazed about him–saw that the other horses were grazing. Disappointed, fretful, stung into action by hunger pangs, he set out in their direction, curious to learn what it was they were feeding upon so eagerly. But, as had happened the night before, he found himself checked with a jerk. He did not like it, for it made him conscious again of his master’s suspicions. So he turned a sour gaze upon his unrestricted companions until, forced to it by inner yearnings amounting to acuteness now, he himself lowered his head and fell to grazing.

But he found it all too insufficient. His stomach urgently demanded grain and alfalfa. And he yearned for a little bran-mash. But there were none of these. He saw not even a tiny morsel of flower to appease his inner grumblings, and finally, lifting his head in a kind of disgust, he ceased to graze altogether. As he did so, the men made ready to resume the journey, replacing bridles and saddles and saddle-bags. Pat found himself hopeful again, believing that with the end of this prolonged service, which in view of the distance already traversed must be soon, he would have those things for which his body and soul cried out. And thus he set forth, occupying his former place in the order of advance, moving, as before, at a fox-trot and amid silence from the men. He was still hopeful of better things to come. But it was all a drear experience.

The grind began to tell upon him. As he trotted along, thirst-stricken, miserably nourished, weary from loss of sleep and this ceaseless toil, he sought frankly for cause to rebel, as he had done in the first hour of this strange call to new duty. And he found it. He found it not only in the man’s weight, and the infrequent contact of spurs, and the tight grip on the reins, all as on that first occasion, but he found it as well in other things–in the dust thrown up by the little gray ahead, in the sun’s rays slanting into his eyes from the west, in the scorching, blistering heat of this same ruthless orb beating down upon his back. Suddenly, cost him what it would, he dropped out of the fox-trot into a walk, prepared to fight for this change of stride to the last breath.

He did not hold to it, however, even though his master, curiously enough, permitted him the change. Pride asserted itself, and after a time, of his own volition, finding the gap between himself and the others much too wide to please him, he broke into a canter and quickly closed the gap, crowding back into his place between the other two horses. That was all of rebellion, though the mood still remained. Bitter, disappointed, nervous, and irritable, he continued forward, wanting things–wanting food and water, wanting sounds of voices, wanting a respite from this unnerving grind. But he made no effort to get them or to show that he wanted them. And he knew why he maintained this attitude of meek acceptance. He was too weak to enforce his demands. He knew that it required energy to buck and pitch, and he knew that he lacked this energy. So he continued along in sullen resignation until, accepting the hint of his instincts, he closed his eyes. This brought relief, and after a time, his movements becoming ever more mechanical, he found himself adrift upon a peaceful sea of semi-coma, oblivious to all trouble–hunger pangs, thirst, weariness. When he returned to full consciousness, somewhat refreshed and fit for farther distances, he found the sun well down the western sky, the cool of evening wrapping him about in delightful zephyrs, and he was still keeping his place between the two horses.

Dusk found him in a small oasis. His master slipped to earth, and with relief Pat gazed about him. He saw a clump of trees, and in their depths, glinting out at him between the trunks, a shimmering pool of water. Also, near these trees, on the edge of the grove, he saw a shack made up of rough logs. But he was interested only in the pool, and, when his master removed his saddle, eagerly and with a soft nicker he stepped toward it. But the man jerked him back. So he waited, realizing that he had been hasty, till his bridle was removed, when again he stepped toward the pool. But again he was jerked back, this time by a firm grip on his forelock. So again he waited while the man placed the disagreeable rope around his neck. With this secure, he found himself led into the grove, where he soon was quenching his raging thirst, and where, after drinking, he felt more kindly not only toward the man, but toward the whole world. When he was conducted back into the open, and the end of the rope made fast to a stake, he lifted his voice in a shrill nicker proclaiming his satisfaction. Then he stood very still, watching the man enter the shack, utterly absorbed in getting that long-delayed reward of sugar and quartered apples.

But again he waited in vain. The man did not reappear; indeed, none of the men reappeared. So after a time, swallowing his disappointment, he turned his eyes upon the other horses. As at noon, they were grazing industriously, and he knew what was in store for him. He regarded them a long moment, trying to bring himself to graze also, but finding that his knowledge of better things would not permit him. Yet there was one pleasant surprise. The little gray, sounding a soft whinny, made her way slowly toward him. This was unexpected friendliness, for the horse had seemed hostile earlier, and he promptly showed his pleasure by licking her neck with lavish attention. And though he found her coat gritty with dust, he continued this generous attention till she lowered her head and resumed her grazing. This reminded him of his own fierce hunger, and he promptly lowered his own head, following her example with a kind of gratitude, and fell to grazing with her, finding in her interest the one ray of light in all the darkness of his distress and continued disappointment. And thus he fed, keeping with her to the limits of his tether, until, soon after the candlelight had whisked out in the shack, she lay down in the yielding sand with a restful sigh. Pat understood this, but he regarded it with uncertainty, knowing that he himself with the coming of night always had protection in a stable. Then, deciding that it was right and fitting, especially as the sorrel also sank into the sand, he himself bent his knees and lay down to rest in the warmth of the desert.

But his lesson in the open was not yet fully learned. Next morning, with the other horses astir, and with the men moving in and out of the shack, he saw his master coming toward him. Reaching him, the man untied the rope from the stake, led him to the pool of water, and permitted him to drink. Then he returned him to the open, and there removed the rope from him entirely. But despite this he found that he was not free from suspicion. For now the man tied a short rope around his fore ankles, and strode back into the shack, leaving him, as before, to his own devices.

Half expecting the man to return with sugar and apples, Pat watched him take himself off with mild anticipation. But as the man did not return he bethought him after a time of his sterner hunger, and took prompt step in the direction of a tuft of grass. Instantly he felt a sharp twitch at his ankles and fell headlong. For a moment he lay dazed, utterly at a loss to understand, thrashing about frantically in futile effort to regain his feet. Then he became calm again, and brought craftiness instead of brute force to bear upon the trouble. He regained his feet. Then he studied the cause of the disaster, and finally stepped out again, cautiously now, having learned his lesson. So he did not stumble. But he did feel the check around his ankles again. Steadying himself, he saw clearly the cause of his previous discomfiture, but he did not accept it as defeat. Casting his eyes toward the other horses, he awoke to the fact that they, as well as himself, were hobbled. Watching them, studying them, he finally saw one rear, strike out with his front legs, and draw his hind legs up to meet the advance. So that was it! He now knew what he himself must do. Feeling out his hobbles