Alcoholics -- Fiction; Children of the rich -- Fiction; Colorado -- Fiction; Love stories; Ranch life -- Fiction; Western stories
But the great stallion was not insensible to the situation. He could
not know the danger, but he did know that he had been led into a
strange place, shut there and left virtually a prisoner; that his
master had burst in upon him atremble with communicable excitement;
that strange voices were raised close to him; that men had been running
to and fro; that the sounds of struggling horses were coming from out
there; that some man was standing on the other side of the door, closer
than most men had ever stood to him. He breathed loudly; then stilled
that breath to listen, his head moving with frequent, short jerks as he
saw objects move past the cracks in the building. He switched his tail
about his hindquarters sharply, and backed a step.
Another voice called softly to Rhues, and Rhues answered:
"Dah! When I rolled him over his holster flopped out of his shirt,
empty. He dropped it in th' s'loon. If he'd had a gun he'd done fer us
'n there, wouldn't he?"
Then his voice was raised in a sharp command: "Help him, Julio! Hang on
to his ear an' he'll stand. _Pronto!_"
Sounds of men grunting, of a horse striving to break from them; a sharp
cry. These things--and emanating from a scene taking place outside the
Captain's sight! He half wheeled and scrubbed the back wall of the
stable with his hip, blowing loudly in fright. He stamped a forefoot
impatiently; followed that by a brisk, nervous pawing. He tossed his
head and chewed his bit briskly; then shook his head and blew loudly
again. He shied violently as a man ran past the door, wheeled, crashed
into the wall again and, crouching, quivered violently.
VB moaned with pain. When the horse under him had shied the boy had
pushed himself erect in the saddle and the effort tore at the wound in
his chest. The pain roused him, and as the Captain again wheeled,
frantic to find a way out of this pen, VB's heels clapped inward to
retain his seat, the spurs drove home, and with a whimper the horse
reared to his hind legs, lunged forward, and the front hoofs, shooting
out, crashed squarely against the closed door!
Under the force of the blow the door swept outward, screaming on its
rusty hinges. A third of the way open it struck resistance, quivered,
seemed to hesitate, then continued on its arc.
A surprised, muffled shout, the sound of a body striking ground, a
shot, its stream of fire spitting toward the night sky. Then the
vicious smiting of hoofs as the Captain, bearing his witless rider,
swung in a short circle and made for the river.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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