Bred of the Desert: A Horse and a Romance Read online

  CHAPTER X

  THE STRANGER AGAIN

  Meantime, Helen was becoming desperate over her loss. Unwilling toaccept the theory of her household, which was that Pat had been stolenby a band of organized thieves and ere this was well out of theneighborhood and probably the county, she had held firmly to heroriginal idea, _viz._, that the horse was in the possession of hisrightful owners, and so could not be far out of the community.Therefore, the morning following his disappearance, having with soberreflection lightened within her the seriousness of it all, she had setout in confident search for him, mounted on her brown saddler. Butthough she had combed the town and the trails around the town, quietlyinterviewing all such teamsters and horsemen as might by any chance knowsomething about it, yet in answer to her persistent inquiries all shehad received was a blank shake of the head or an earnest expression ofwillingness to assist her. So, because she had continued her search forthree days without success, inquiring and peering into every nook andcorner of the community, she finally had come to regard her quest ashopeless, and to become more than ever an image of despair.

  The evening of the fourth day there was a dance. It was one of theregular monthly affairs, and because Helen was a member of the committeeshe felt it her duty to attend. One of the young men, accompanied by hismother and sister, drove out for her, but she left the house withreluctance and a marked predisposition not to enjoy herself. But sheforgot this when she presently beheld the young man from the East whomshe had encountered on the mesa. He was standing close beside a ratherfrail little woman, undoubtedly his mother, who with the matrons of thetown was seated near a fireplace watching the dancers. He wasintroduced. Later they sat out one of his numbers alone together in acorner behind some potted palms. In the course of their conversationHelen informed him of the disappearance of her horse, and asked him, asshe asked everybody she met now, if he knew anything or had heardanything concerning the loss. The young man knew nothing of the greatdisappearance, however, though he did offer it as his belief that ahorse of Pat's obvious value could not long remain in obscurity. Thiswas encouraging, and Helen felt herself become hopeful again. But whenhe offered his services in the search, as he did presently, she felt notonly hopeful again, but somehow quite certain now that it would all becleared up. For there was that in this young gentleman which causedconfidence. What she told him, however, was that she was grateful forhis offer, and should be greatly pleased to have him with her.

  And thus it was that, on the morning of the fifth day, Helen Richardsand Stephen Wainwright--the young man's name--together with two ofHelen's close friends, were riding slowly across the mesa, alert for anycombination in harness which might reveal the lost Pat. Helen andStephen were well in the lead, and Helen had broken the silence byaddressing Stephen as a native, recalling their first meeting. Whereuponthe young man, smiling quietly, had wanted to know why; but after shehad explained that it was because he had enlisted himself in the searchfor a horse, adding that in doing so he had conformed with one of theunwritten laws of the country, he still confessed himself in the dark.This had been but a moment before, and she now settled herself toexplain more fully.

  "A horse is, or was, our most valued property," she began. "I reckon thepast tense is better--though we'll never quite live down our interest inhorses." She smiled across at him. "Long ago," she went on, "in the daysof our Judge Lynch, you know, a stolen horse meant a hanged man--or twoor three--as not infrequently happened. But all that is history now. Yetthe feeling remains. And whenever one of our horses disappears--it israre now--we all take it more or less as a personal loss. In yourwillingness to help find Pat, therefore, you declare yourself one ofus--and are gladly admitted."

  He rode along in silence. "Why was the feeling so intense in the olddays?" he inquired, after a time.

  "It was due to physical conditions," she replied--"the geography of thecountry. Water-holes were few and very far apart, and to get from one toanother often entailed a journey impossible to a man without a horse. Tosteal his horse, therefore, was to deprive him of his sole means ofgetting to water--practically to deprive him of his life. If he didn'tdie of thirst, which frequently he did, at best it was a very graveoffense. It isn't considered so now--not so much so, at any rate--unlessin the desert wastes to the west of us. Yet the feeling still lurkswithin us, and a stolen horse is a matter that concerns the wholecommunity."

  He nodded thoughtfully, but remained silent. Suddenly Helen drew rein.Before her was a horned toad, peculiarly a part of the desert, blinkingup at them wickedly. He drew rein and followed her eyes.

  "A horned toad, isn't it?"

  Helen shook her head. "Are you interested in such things?" she inquired.

  "In a way--yes," he affirmed, doubtfully. "Though I can't see goodreason for their existence." His eyes twinkled. "Can you?"

  Helen was thoughtful a moment. "Well, no," she admitted, finally. "Yetthere must be a good reason. Reptiles must live for some good purpose.All things do--don't you think?" Then, before he could make a rejoinder,she went on: "I sometimes feel that these creatures were originallyplaced here to encourage other and higher forms of life to come andlocate in the desert--were placed here, in other words, to prove thatlife is possible in all this desolation."

  He glanced at her. "Certainly it has worked out that way, at any rate,"he ventured. "Good old Genesis!" He smiled.

  "It seems to have," she agreed, thoughtfully. "Because you and I arehere. But it goes a long way back--to Genesis--yes. Following theinitial placing, other and higher organisms, finding in their migratorytravels this evidence of life, accepted the encouragement to remain, anddid remain, feeding upon the life found here in the shape of toads andlizards--to carry the theory forward a step--even as the toads andlizards--to carry it back again--fed upon the insects which they intheir turn found here. Then along came other forms of life, higher inthe cosmic setting, and these, finding encouragement in the presence ofthe earlier arrivals, fed upon them and remained. And so on up, to theforerunners of our present-day animals--coyotes and prairie-dogs. Andafter these, primitive man--to find encouragement in the coyotes andprairie-dogs--and to feed upon them and remain. Then after primitiveman, the second type--the brown man; and after the brown man, the redman; and after the red man, the white man--all with an eye tosustenance, and finding it, and remaining."

  Stephen's eyes swept around the desert absently. He knew--this youngman--that he was in the presence of a personality. For he could not helpbut draw comparisons between the young woman beside him and the youngwomen of his acquaintance in the East. While he had found Eastern girlsvivacious, and attractive with a kind of surface charm, never had heknown one to take so quiet and unassuming an outlook upon so broad atheme. It was the desert, he told himself. Here beside him was a typeunknown to him, and one so different from any he had as yet met with, hefelt himself ill at ease in her presence--a thing new to him, too--andwhich in itself gave him cause to marvel. Yes, it was the desert. It_must_ be the desert! In this slender girl beside him he saw aperson of insight and originality, a girl assuredly not more than twentyyears of age, attractive, and thoroughly feminine. How ever did they doit?

  He harked back in his thoughts to her theory. And he dwelt not so muchupon the theory itself as upon her manner of advancing it. Running backover these things, recalling the music of her voice, together with herspoken musings, he came to understand why, with that first encounter, hehad found himself almost instantly curious concerning desert folk. Notthat he had known why at the time, or had given that phase of itconsideration. He did remember that he had been strongly impressed bythe way she had managed her bolting horse. But aside from that, therehad been something in her personality, an indefinable calm and sureness,a grip upon herself, that he had felt the very first moment. Undoubtedlyall this had flicked him into a novel curiosity. He pulled himselftogether with an effort.

  "I like your theory," he answered, smiling. "And it must be true,because I am told horned toads are fast disappearing. E
vidently theyhave served their purpose. But tell me," he concluded, "what is becomingof them? Where are they going?"

  She laughed. "I can't tell you that. Perhaps they just vanish into thefourth--or maybe the fifth--dimension!"

  And this was the other side of her, a side he had come to learn whilewith her at the dance, and which made her lovable as well as admirable.But she was speaking again, and again was serious.

  "I have yet another theory," she said--"one as to why these creaturesare here, you know." She smiled across at him. "It is all my very own,too! It is that in their presence among us--among mankind--theyunwittingly develop us through thought. Thinking exercises the brain, weare told, and exercising the brain makes for world-advancement--we aretold." Then, suddenly, "I hope you don't think me silly--Mr. Native?"

  But he remained sober. "Tell me," he asked, after a time, "what it isabout this country--I mean other than friendships, of course--that getsunder a fellow's soul and lifts it--to the end that he wants to remainhere? I know there is something, though I can't for the life of me placeit. What is it, anyway?"

  She turned upon him sharply. "Do you really feel that way?" she asked,evidently pleased.

  "I feel that way. But why do I feel that way? What is it? You know whatI mean. There is something--there must be!"

  "I know what you mean--yes," she replied, thoughtfully. "Yet I doubt ifI myself, even after all these years, can define it. What you 'feel'must be our atmosphere--its rarity, its power to exhilarate. Though thatreally doesn't explain it. I reckon it's the same thing--only much morehealthful, more soulful--that one feels in large cities after nightfall.I mean, the glare of your incandescent lights. I honestly believe thatthat glare, more than any other single thing, holds throngs of people toan existence not only unnatural, but laden with a something that crushesas well." She was silent.

  Again Stephen felt the strange pull on his interest, but he saidnothing. After a time she went on.

  "City-dwellers," she explained, "don't begin their day till the approachof dark. It's true of both levels of society, too--lower as well asupper. And I believe the reason for this lies, as I have said, in theatmosphere--their man-made atmosphere--just as the secret of yourfeeling the way you do lies in our atmosphere--God-made. Were thisatmosphere suddenly to disappear, both out of your cities and out of mydeserts, both your world and my own would lose all of their charm."

  Stephen bestirred himself. "What psychology do you find in that?" heasked, dwelling upon the fact that she knew his East so well.

  "Merely the effect of softening things--for the soul as well as theeye--through the eye, indeed, to the soul. Our atmosphere here doesthat--softens the houses, and the trees, and the cattle, and themountains, and the distant reaches. It softens our nights, too. Perhapsyou have noticed it? How everything appears shrouded in a kind of hazy,mellow, translucent something that somehow reacts upon you? I have. AndI believe that is the secret of one's wanting to remain in the country,once he has exposed himself to it. It is a kind of spell--a hypnosis.When out of it one wants to get back into it.

  "I know I felt it when I was East, attending school," she went on,quietly. "Living always in this atmosphere, I somehow had forgotten itscharm--as one will forget all subtle beauty unless frequently andforcibly reminded of it. But in the East I missed it, and found myselfrestless and anxious to get back into it. Indeed, I felt that I must getback or die! So one day, when your Eastern spirit of sudden change wasupon me, I packed and came home. It was a year short of my degree, too.But I could not remain away another day--simply had to get back--andback I came. My degree--my sheepskin"--she was smiling--"couldn't holdme!"

  "Then you've spent some time in the East?" he asked, tentatively.

  "Yes," she replied, "that much--three years. And I didn't like it."

  "Why?" he asked, a little surprised.

  She regarded him curiously. He saw a look of mild annoyance in her eyes,one that seemed to tell of her inability to understand so needless aquestion.

  "I just didn't," she rejoined, after a moment. "I discovered that youEasterners value things which are diametrically opposite to the thingswe value, and that you value not at all those things which we value mostof all."

  He had to laugh. "What are they?" he wanted to know.

  For an instant she showed shyness. "Oh, I can't say," she declared,finally. "Some day I may tell you."

  Stephen realized that it must be serious. He was hesitating whether topress her further, when he saw her tighten her reins, put spurs to herhorse, and go flashing off in the direction of the mountain trail. Asshe dashed off he heard her call out:

  "Pat!" she cried. "Pat! It's Pat!" Then she glanced to the rear. "Adele!Sam! It's Pat! Come, quick!"

  Stephen spurred on with the others. He galloped after this hard-ridinggirl--so intensely alive--a girl past his understanding. Over dunes andacross flats he charged, followed closely by the others, urging hishorse to his utmost. But, try as he might, he could not overtake her oreven lessen the distance between them, so furious was her race for herlost horse. Finally he burst out upon the trail and drew rein besideher, standing with the others in the path of an oncoming wood-wagon,anxiously awaiting its slow approach.

  It was a curious outfit. One of the team, an aged and decrepit horse,was laboring along with head drooping and hoofs scuffling the trail,while beside it, with head erect and nostrils aquiver and hoofs liftingeagerly, stepped the glorious Pat! Both horses were draped in adisreputable harness, crudely patched with makeshift string and wire,and both were covered with a fine coating of dust. Atop all this, highand mighty upon an enormous load of wood, sat a Mexican, complacentlysmoking a cigarette and contentedly swinging his heels, evidently elatedwith this prospect of parading his horse before a group of Americans.But as he drew close a look of uneasiness crept over him, and he pulledup his team and shrugged his shoulders, as a preliminary, no doubt, todisappearance behind the Mexican shield of "No sabe!"

  Helen swung close to him. There was a choice between a contest anddiplomatic concession. She decided to offer to purchase the horse atonce, believing this to be the easiest way out of the trouble.

  "_Senor_," she began in Spanish, "_deseo comprar_ _aquelcaballo negro. Puedo pagar cualquire cantidad razonable por el. Seperdio y nosotros lo cuidamos, y he aprendido a quererlo mucho. Si ustedquiere venderlo me haria un gran favor. Siento mucho que me lo hayanquitado._"

  The Mexican looked relieved. He slowly removed his hat with trueCastilian courtesy.

  "_Senorita_," he replied, "_lo venderia con gusto pero pienso queme paga lo que quiero por el_."

  Which delighted Helen. "_Pagare lo que sea._"

  The Mexican hesitated a moment. "_?Pagara cuarenta pesos?_" heasked, finally. "_Yo tambien quiero al caballo mucho_," he added."_Pero por cuarenta pesos pienso--pienso que lo olvido._" And hegrinned.

  Helen turned to the others. For Stephen's benefit she explained what hadbeen said, and the men promptly offered to make up the required fortydollars. Helen turned to the Mexican, accepted his price, and requestedhim to release Pat from the harness. Whereat the Mexican smiled broadly;shrugged his shoulders suddenly; forgot his role of "No sabe."

  "How," he burst out--"how I'm gettin' thees wagon to town? I'm pullin'eet myself?"

  The others laughed. Then Helen, deciding upon another arrangement,instructed him to drive forward. She could see her father in town, sheexplained to the others, and there also, after the exchange of money,the Mexican could purchase another horse. Which closed the matter. TheMexican started the team forward, while the others fell in alongside,ranging themselves on either side. Thus they journeyed into town--astrange cavalcade--Pat prancing, the mare drooping, the Mexican visiblypleased, the others gratified by their unexpected success. In town theyturned into a side street, and there Helen left them, going off in thedirection of her father's office. When she returned, the Judge was withher. He read the Mexican a brief but stern lecture on the law pertainingto the recovery of lost property, and closed th
e deal. Whereupon thewood-hauler unharnessed Pat, bestowed him smilingly upon Helen, and tookhimself off, evidently in quest of another horse, for he headed straightas a plumb-line for the city pound.

  * * * * *

  Pat was home again. He knew it from many things--the white fence, theclean stable, the Mexican hostler with broom in hand. And though he wasat home where he wanted to be, yet he found himself filled with vagueuneasiness. After a time he sought to relieve it. He made his way intothe stable, but he found no relief there. He returned to the corral, andbegan slowly to circle inside the fence, but neither did this relievehim. Finally he took up his old stand in the sunlit corner, where hefell to listening with ears and eyes attentive to least sounds. But eventhis did not relieve him.

  Nor would anything ever relieve him. Never would he find absolute solacefrom his inner disquiet. For what he sought and could not find, what helistened for and could not hear, was another of those sounds which hadrelieved the tedium of his brief stay in the mountains, the friendlynicker of the aged mare, gone to toil out her life in the rackingtreadmill between town and mountain.