Mexico -- History -- Revolution, 1910-1920 -- Fiction; Texas, South -- Fiction; Western stories
David Law was watering his horse, grooming the animal meanwhile with a
burlap doth. Such attention was unusual in a stock country where horses
run wild, but this horse, Mrs. Austin saw, justified unusual care. It
was a beautiful blood-bay mare, and as the woman looked it lifted its
head, then with wet, trembling muzzle caressed its owner's cheek.
Undoubtedly this attention was meant for a kiss, and was as daintily
conferred as any woman's favor. It brought a reward in a lump of sugar.
There followed an exhibition of equine delight; the mare's lips
twitched, her nose wrinkled ludicrously, she stretched her neck and
tossed her head as the sweetness tickled her palate. Even the nervous
switching of her tail was eloquent of pleasure. Meanwhile the owner
showed his white teeth in a smile.
"Good morning," said Mrs. Austin.
Law lifted his hat in a graceful salute as he approached around the
edge of the pool, his spurs jingling musically. The mare followed.
"You have a fine horse, there."
"Yes'm. Her and me get along all right. I hope we didn't wake you,
ma'am."
"No. I was too tired to sleep well."
"Of course. I heard you stirring about during the night." Law paused,
and the mare, with sharp ears cocked forward, looked over his shoulder
inquisitively. "Tell the lady good morning, Bessie Belle," he directed.
The animal flung its head high, then stepped forward and, stretching
its neck, sniffed doubtfully at the visitor.
"What a graceful bow!" Mrs. Austin laughed. "You taught her that, I
presume."
"Yes'm! She'd never been to school when I got her; she was plumb
ignorant. But she's got all the airs of a fine lady now. Sometimes I go
without sugar, but Bessie Belle never does."
"And you with a sweet tooth!"
The Ranger smiled pleasantly. "She's as easy as a rockin'-chair. We're
kind of sweethearts. Ain't we, kid?" Again Bessie Belle tossed her head
high. "That's 'yes,' with the reverse English," the speaker explained.
"Now you just rest yourself, ma'am, and order your breakfast. What 'll
it be--quail, dove, or cottontail?"
"Why--whatever you can get."
"That ain't the kind of restaurant we run. Bessie Belle would sure be
offended if she understood you. Ever see anybody call a quail?"
"Can it really be done?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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