Bred of the Desert: A Horse and a RomanceHorton, Charles M. (Charles Marcus)
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Bred of the Desert: A Horse and a Romance
Horton, Charles M. (Charles Marcus)
Adventure stories; Horses -- Fiction; Love stories; New Mexico -- Fiction
The others said nothing. Each sat smoking reflectively, gazing into the
dying flames, until one arose and prepared to turn in. Stephen was the
last except the Professor and the man with the scrubby beard. And
finally the Professor gained his feet and, with a glance at the last
figure remaining at the fire, took off his boots and rolled up in his
blanket. For a long moment he stared curiously at the other bowed in
thought.
"Ain't you goin' to turn in?" he finally inquired. "You ain't et up by
nothin', be you?"
The lean man slowly lifted his head. "I was thinkin'," he said, half to
himself, "of a--a kind of horse's prayer I once see in a harness-shop in
Albuquerque."
The other twisted himself under his blanket. "How did it go?" he asked,
encouragingly. "Let's all have it!"
The lean man arose. "'To thee, my master,' it started off," he began,
moving slowly toward his blanket. Suddenly he paused. "I--I don't just
seem to remember it all," he said, and sat down and pulled off one of
his boots. He held it in his hands absently.
The Professor urged him on. "Let her come," he said, his face now hidden
in the folds of his covering. "Shoot it--let's hear."
"'To thee, my master, I offer my prayer,'" presently continued the
other, turning reflective eyes toward the flickering coals. "'Feed me,
water me, care for me, and, when the--the day's work is done, provide me
with shelter and a clean, dry bed, and, when you can, a stall wide
enough for me to lie down in in comfort. Always be kind to me. Talk to
me--your voice often means as much to me as the reins. Pet me sometimes,
that I may serve you the more gladly and know that my services are
appreciated, and that I may learn to love you. Do not jerk the reins,
and do not whip me when going up-hill. And when I don't understand you,
what you want, do not strike or beat or kick me, but give me a chance to
understand you. And if I continue to fail to understand, see if
something is not wrong with my harness or feet.'"
The Professor's blanket stirred. "Go on!" he yelled. "Sounds all right.
Go ahead! Is that all?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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