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
As they bridled and saddled, leaving all equipment not actually
required, the proprietor of the store, his small eyes eager, stood close
and frequently repeated his opinion that murder in even more gruesome
form had been committed to the north. Then they set out, following the
direction taken by the Indians, riding briskly, keyed up to energy
through hope of encounter, although Stephen suffered not a little from
the jolting of his arm. Dropping down from the hills, they swung out
upon the mesa, and thence made into the south along a winding trail.
Ordinarily they would have lingered to accept the strained hospitality
of the settlement. But this was duty, duty large and grave, and,
conscious of it all, they pressed forward in silence. The renegades'
tracks stood out clearly, and the rangers noted that some of the horses
were shod, others only half shod, while the greater number were without
shoes at all. This told of the marauders' nondescript collection of
mounts, and also acquainted them with the fact that many of the animals
had been stolen. On through the afternoon they rode, making but little
gain, since the tracks became no fresher. When darkness fell, though
still in the open without protection of any kind save that offered by a
slight rise of ground, they dismounted and prepared to make camp.
Throughout the afternoon Pat had felt something of the grim nature of
this business. This not only because of the severe crowding which he had
endured--though that had told him much--but because of the unwonted
silence upon the men. So he had held himself keenly to the stride,
rather liking its vigor after long days of walking, finding himself
especially fit to meet it after his recent change of food. And although
the sun had been swelteringly hot, yet the desert had been swept with
counteracting breezes, and, with night finally descending, he had felt
more than ever his fine mettle, and now, even though his master was
painfully dismounting, he felt fit to run his legs off at the least
suggestion.
This fitness remained with him. When his young master turned him loose
at the end of a generous tether, he stepped eagerly away from the
firelight and out into the light of a rising moon, not to graze, for he
felt no desire to graze, having eaten his fill and more at noon, but to
give vent to his high spirits in unusual rolling in the sands. This he
quickly proceeded to do, kicking and thrashing about, and holding to it
long after the men about the fire had ceased to come and go in preparing
their meal, long after they had seated themselves in the cheerful glow,
smoking and talking as was their habit.
The Professor noticed it. He looked at the man with the beard pointedly.
"That Pat hoss he's workin' up another job o' cleanin' for you," he
observed. "Seemed in an awful hurry, too," he added, then dropped his
eyes innocently.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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