Chapter 21

FIDELITY

Meantime Pat was running at top speed across the desert. Yet he was trying to understand this strange call to duty. Roused from fitful slumber by trampling hoofs, he had felt an excited hand jerking him to his feet, and after that a slender rope looped round his lower jaw. Then he had been urged, with a wriggling form on his bare back, frantic heels drumming his sides, and a strange voice impelling him onward past a surging crowd of horsemen, still only half awake, out into the open. When he was well in the fore, he had found himself crowded to his utmost--over sand-dune, into arroyo, across the level--around him thundering hoofs, panting horses, silent men, all speeding forward in the glorious moonlight. It was a strange awakening, yet he had not entertained thoughts of rebellion, despite the fact that he had not liked the flaying rope, the soft digging heels, the absence of bridle and saddle. It was strange; it was not right. None of it had checked up with any item of his experience. Yet, oddly enough, he had not rebelled.

Nor was he harboring thoughts of rebellion now. Racing onward, smarting with each swing of the lash, he found himself somehow interested solely in holding his own with the other horses. Suddenly, alert to their movements, he saw a cleft open in their surging ranks, made by the fall of an exhausted horse. Yet the others did not stop. They galloped on, unheeding, though he himself was jerked up. Then followed a swift exchange of words, and then the unhorsed man mounted behind Pat's new master. Carrying a double load now, Pat nevertheless dashed ahead at his former speed, stumbling with his first steps, but soon regaining his stride and overtaking the others. And though it cost him straining effort, he felt rewarded for his pains when one of the men uttered a grunt which he interpreted as approval. But it was all very strange.

A canyon loomed up on his left. He had hardly seen the black opening when he was swung toward it. He plunged forward with the other horses, and was the first to enter the canyon's yawning mouth. Between its high walls, however, he found himself troubled by black shadows. Many of them reached across his path like projections of rock, and more than once he faltered in his stride. But after passing through two or three in safety he came at length to understand them and so returned to his wonted self-possession.

But he was laboring heavily now. His heart was jumping and pounding, his breath coming in gasps, but he held to the trail, moving ever deeper into the hills, until he burst into a basin out of which to the right led a narrow canyon. Then he slowed down and, turning into the canyon, which wound and twisted due north and south in the bright moonlight, he continued at a slower pace. But his heart no longer was in the task. The weight on his back seemed heavier; there was a painful swelling of his ankles. He knew the reason for this pain. It had come from unwonted contact with hard surfaces and frequent stepping on loose stones in this strange haste with a strange people in the hills. Yet he kept on, growing steadily more weary, yet with pride ever to the fore, until a faint light began to streak the overhead sky, stealing cautiously down the ragged walls of the canyon. Then he found himself pulled into a walk.

He was facing a narrow defile that wound up among the overhanging crags. Glad of the privilege of resting, for a walk was a rest with him now, he set forward into the uninviting pass. Up and up he clambered, crowding narrowly past boulders, rounding on slender ledges, up and ever up. As he ascended he saw gray-white vales below, felt the stimulus of a rarer air, and at last found his heart fluttering unpleasantly in the higher altitude. Yet he held grimly to his task, and, when broad daylight was streaming full upon him, he found himself on a wide shelf of rock, a ledge falling sheer on one side to unseen depths, towering on the other to awe-inspiring heights. Here he came to a halt. And then, so tired was he, so faint with exhaustion, so racked of body and spirit, that he sank upon the cool rock even before the men could clear themselves from him, and lay there on his side, his eyes closed, his lungs greedily sucking air.

The glare of full daylight aroused him. Regaining his feet, he stared about him. He saw many strange-looking men, and near them many dirty and bedraggled horses. He turned his eyes outward from the ledge. He saw around him bristling peaks, and below them, far below, a trailing canyon, winding in and out among hills toward the rising sun, and terminating in a giant V, beyond which, a connecting thread between its sloping sides, lay an expanse of rolling mesa. It was far from him, however--very, very far--and he grew dizzy at the view, finding himself more and more unnerved by the height. At length he turned away and swept his eyes again over the horses, where he was glad to find the rangy sorrel. Then he turned back to the men, some of whom were standing, others squatting, but all in moody silence.

As he looked he grew aware that a pair of dark eyes were fixed upon him. He stared back, noting the man's long hair and painted features and the familiar glow of admiration in his eyes. Believing him to be his new master, he continued to regard him soberly until the man, with a grunt and a grimace, rose and approached him. Pat stood very still under a rigid examination. The man rubbed his ankles, turned up his hoofs, looked at his teeth; and at the conclusion of all this Pat felt that he had met with approval. Also, he realized that he rather approved of the man. Then came a volley of sounds he did not understand, and he found himself touched with grave apprehension. But not for long. The man led him across the ledge to a tiny stream trickling down the rocks, walking with a quiet dignity he long since had learned to connect with kindliness. This and the fact that he led him to water determined his attitude.

Toward noon, as he was brooding over hunger pangs, he was startled by excited gutturals among the men. Gazing, he saw one of the men standing on the edge of the shelf, pointing out through the long canyon. With the others, Pat turned his eyes that way. Between the distant V dotting the mesa beyond rode a body of horsemen. They were not more than specks to his eyes, proceeding slowly, so slowly, in fact, that while he could see they were moving he yet could not see them move as they crawled across the span between the canyon's mouth. Interested, gripped in the contagion of the excitement round him, he kept his eyes upon the distant specks until the sun had changed to another angle. But even after this lapse of time, so distant were the horsemen, so wide the canyon's mouth, they had traveled only half-way across the span. Yet he continued to watch, wondering at the nervousness around him, conscious of steadily increasing heat upon him, until the last of the slow-moving specks, absorbed one by one by the canyon's wall, disappeared from view. Then he turned his eyes elsewhere.

The men also turned away, but continued their excited talk. But even they after a time relapsed into silence. What it was all about Pat did not know. He knew it was something very serious, and suddenly fear came to him. He saw some of the men lie down as if to sleep, and he feared that they intended to remain here for ever, in this place absolutely destitute of herbage. But after a time, made sluggish by the attitude of the men, he himself attempted to drowse. But the heat pulsating up off the rocks discouraged him, and he soon abandoned the attempt, standing motionless in the hot sun.

A change came over him. He took to brooding over his many discomforts--hunger pangs, loss of sleep, bothersome flies, the pain of his swollen ankles. As the day advanced his ankles swelled more, and grew worse, the flies became more troublesome, and his inner gnawings more pronounced. So the time went on and he brooded through the still watches of the afternoon, through the soft stirrings of evening, on into night again. With the coming of night light breezes rose from the spaces below to spur his fevered body into something of its wonted vigor. And the night brought also preparations among the men to journey on. This he welcomed, even more than the cooling zephyrs.

There was some delay. His master entered upon a dispute with the horseless man. The voices became excited and rose to vehement heights. But presently they subsided when Pat himself, anxious to be active, sounded a note of protest. Yet the argument proved to his benefit. Instead of mounting him behind his master, the odd man swung up behind another man on the sorrel. Then he was permitted to move forward, and as he approached the narrow defile he sounded another nicker, now of gratification.

The pass dropped almost sheer in places. As he descended, more than once he was compelled to slide on stiffened legs. In this at first he felt ecstatic danger thrills. But only at first. Soon he wearied of it, and he was glad when he struck the bottom, where, after being guided out of shadow and into broad moonlight, he found himself moving to the west in a deep canyon. With the other horses he burst into a canter, and continued at a canter hour after hour, following the winding and twisting canyon until daylight, with its shadows creeping away before him, revealed to his tired eyes a stretch of mesa ahead, dotted with inviting clumps of bunch-grass. Then of his own volition he came to a stop and fell to grazing. Soon all the horses were standing with mouths to earth, feeding eagerly.

The men, sitting for a time in quiet conversation, finally dismounted, laughing now and then, and casting amused glances toward the black horse.

Soon they mounted again to take the trail. Instead of riding with the other on the sorrel, the odd man swung up on Pat's back behind his master. But as Pat no longer suffered from hunger, he complacently accepted the return of the double load. Then all moved forward. Pat jogged out of the canyon, turning to the right on the desert, and moved rapidly north in the shadow of the hills. He held to his stride, and toward noon, rounding a giant ridge projecting into the desert from the hills, he saw ahead on his right, perhaps two miles distant across a basin, the mouth of another canyon. Evidently his master saw it also, and obviously it contained danger, for he jerked Pat down to a walk. Almost instantly he knew that the danger was real, for the man, sounding a sharp command to the others, brought him to a full stop. Then followed an excited discussion, and, when it ended, Pat, gripped in vague uneasiness, found himself urged forward at top speed. Yet in a dim way he knew what was wanted of him. He flung himself into a long stride and dashed across the wide basin, across the mouth of the canyon, into the shadow of the hills again. Breathless, he slackened his pace with thirty excited horses around him, mad swirling clouds of dust all about, and before him the oppressive stillness of the desert. They were safely past the danger zone.

He pressed on at a slow canter. Ahead the mesa revealed numerous sand-dunes, large and small, rising into the monotonous skyline. Plunging among them, he mounted some easily, others he skirted as easily, and once, to avoid an unusually large one, he dropped down into the bed of an arroyo, traveled along its dry course, and then clambered up on the desert. But it was wearying work, and, becoming ever more aware of his double load, he began to chafe with dissatisfaction. Yet he held to his gait, hopeful of better things--he was always hopeful of better things now--until he reached another dune, larger than any as yet encountered, when once more he broke out of his stride to circle its bottom. As he did so, of his own volition he checked himself. Dead ahead he saw horses scattered about, and beyond the horses, rising limply in the noon haze, a thin column of smoke. Also, he felt both his riders stiffen. Then on the midday hush rose the crack of firearms from the direction of the camp.

His master lifted a shrill voice. He felt a mighty pull at his head. He swung around like a flash. Then came the flaying of a rope and frantic urging of heels. He plunged among the surging horses, dancing and whirling excitedly, and out into the open beyond. He set his teeth grimly, and raced headlong to the south, galloping furiously, tearing blindly over the desert. He headed straight for the distant basin, straight for the mouth of the canyon, hurtling forward, struggling mightily under his double load. He did not know it, but he was speeding into a tragic crisis.

The others overtook him. They were carrying but single loads. But they did not pass him. He saw to that. He burst forward into even greater speed, clung to it grimly, forged into a position well in the lead. And he held this place--around him frenzied horses, frantic riders; behind him, to the distant rear, shot after shot echoing over the desert; before him the baking sands, shimmering heat-waves, sullen and silent. He raced on, swinging up over dunes, dropping into hollows, speeding across flats, mounting over dunes again, on and on toward the basin and the mouth of the canyon--and protection.

But again disaster.

Suddenly, out of the canyon poured the cheerful notes of a bugle. On the vibrant wings of the echoes, streaming into the basin from the canyon, swept a body of flying horsemen. Instantly he checked himself. Then his master sounded a shrill outcry, swung his head around violently, and lashed him forward again. He hurtled headlong, dashing toward the distant ridge, the peninsula jutting out into the desert. Grimly he flung out along this new course. But he kept his eyes to the left. He saw the horsemen there also swerve, saw them spread out like a fan, and felt his interest kindle joyously. For this was a race! It was a race for that ridge! And he must win! He must do this thing, for instinctively he knew that beyond it lay safety. There he could flee to some haven, while cut off from it, cut off by these steady-riding men on his left, he must submit to wretched defeat. So he strained himself harder and burst into fresh speed, finding himself surprised that he could. In the thrill of it he forgot his double load, forgot the close-pressing horses, forgot irritating dust. On he galloped, racing forward with machine-like evenness--on his left the paralleling horsemen, to his rear yelling and shooting, on his right his own men and horses, and for them he felt he must do big things.

Suddenly the shooting in his rear ceased. Evidently these men had received some warning from the riders on his left. Then he awoke to another truth. The horsemen on his left were gaining. It troubled him, and he cast measuring eyes to the front. He saw that he was pursuing a shorter line to the ridge; he believed he still could reach it first. So again he strained on, whipping his legs into movement till they seemed about to snap. But the effort hurt him and he discovered that he was becoming woefully tired. Also, the double weight worried him. It had not become lighter with the miles, nor had he grown stronger. Yet he galloped on with thundering hoofs, the tranquil desert before him, the thud of carbines against leather to the left, behind him ominous silence. But he kept his eyes steadily to the left, and presently he awoke to something else there, something that roused him suddenly and in some way whipped his conscience. For now he saw a white figure amid the khaki, racing along with them--a part of them and yet no part of them--a familiar figure wearing a familiar bandage. This for a brief moment only. Then he took to measuring distances again; saw that the cavalrymen were holding to the course steadily, racing furiously as he himself was racing for the ridge. Would he win?

A shrill outcry from his master, and he found himself checked with a jerk. It was unexpected, sudden, and he reared. The movement shook off the second man. Dropping back upon all-fours, Pat awoke to the relief the loss of this load gave him. Grimly determining to hold to this relief, he dashed ahead, following the guidance of his master in yet another direction, hurtled away before the second man could mount again.

He found that he was speeding in a direction almost opposite from the ridge. He did not understand this. But his regret was not long lived. Casting his eyes to his left in vague expectancy of seeing the familiar spot of white again, he saw only his own men and horses, and beyond them the smiling desert. Puzzled, he gazed to the right. Here he saw the cavalrymen, and though puzzled more, he yet kept on with all his power. As he ran he suddenly awoke to the presence of a new body of horsemen on his distant left, a smaller band than the cavalrymen, men without uniforms, most of them hatless, all yelling. He remembered this yell, and now he understood. He was speeding toward the mouth of the canyon; had been turned completely around. And thus it was, he knew, that the horsemen once on his left were now on his right, and the madly yelling group at his rear was now on his left. He awoke to another realization. This was a race again, a race with three new entrants now--all three making toward the canyon. Would he win?

He fell to studying the flanking groups. On his right, riding easily, bent to the winds, their heavy horses swinging rhythmically, their accoutrements rattling, galloped the cavalry--steady, sure of themselves, well in hand. On his left, riding furiously, without formation, dashed the smaller group of riders--their horses wrangling among themselves, one or two frequently bucking, all flinging forward in excited disorder. This disorder, this evident nervousness, he feared. He knew somehow that the first real trouble would come from this source. He knew men to that extent. And suddenly his fears were realized. With the three converging lines of direction drawing closer, and the mouth of the canyon but a short distance away, out of this group on his left came a nasty rifle-fire, followed by a mighty chorus of yells. There was a result at once. Close beside him a horse stumbled; the man astride the horse was thrown headlong; from the cavalrymen on his right came a single shrill, piercing outcry--a cry to desist! But he did not understand this. Nor did he heed it. Galloping forward, eyes upon the ever-nearing canyon, he at length became grimly conscious of approaching defeat--of the firm and ruthless closing in upon him from either side of the two bands. And now, and not till now, realizing as he did that the thing was beyond him, that he could not reach the canyon first--now, and not till now, though soul and body were wrecked by exhaustion, Pat abated his speed.

Instantly pandemonium broke loose. He heard the firing on his left increasing. He felt his master make ready to return it. He saw others around him, twisting vengefully into position, open with repeating rifles. Then the cavalrymen, evidently forced into it by the others, swung to the fray with their carbines, which began to boom on his right. The whole basin echoed and re-echoed sharp reports. Across his eyes burst intermittent flames. His ears rang with shots and yells. The shooting became heavier. Bullets sang close about him--seemed centered--as if the enemy would cut down his master at once and disrupt the others through his loss. The bullets sang closer still. And now immediately about him men and horses dropped, upsetting other riders, tumbling over sound horses--all in a seething chaos. He became dazed. His eyes were blinded with the flashes, and his ears ached with the crash and tumult. He grew faint. A dizziness seized him. But on he labored, his head aching, his eyes growing dimmer, his limbs numb and rebellious, his heart thumping in sullen rebellion, his ears bursting with the uproar.

Another change swept over him. Mist leaped before his eyes. The roaring in his ears subsided. His legs flew off--he had no legs! The mist became a film. Yet he could see--see faintly. He saw a mad jumble of flying men and horses--a riotous mixture of color, arms, and firearms whirling and interlaced, a grim, struggling mass in death-grips. It swept close--crashed over him, struck him full. He felt the impact--then another. The ground rose and struck him. And now there fell upon him a great and wonderful peace--and a blank--then a voice, a familiar voice, and he drifted into unconsciousness.

He was wakened by a fiery liquid in his throat. He slowly opened his eyes. He saw men and horses, many of them, standing or reclining in small groups. He saw them between the legs of a group immediately around him--men gazing down at him pitifully. As he lay thus dazed he heard the familiar voice again. It was sounding his name. He struggled to his feet. Steadying himself against his dizziness, he looked curiously at the young man standing before him. And suddenly he recognized him. This was his young master with the white around his arm and neck--the young man who had ridden him into the Mexican settlement, and who had been so good to him there, giving him generous quantities of alfalfa. He--But the voice was sounding again.

"You poor dumb brute!" said Stephen, quietly; and Pat liked the petting he received. "You've just come through hell! But--but if they get you again--anywhere, friend of mine--they'll wade through hell themselves to do it." He was silent. "Pat, old boy," he concluded, finally, "you're going back home! I--I'm through!"

A strange thing took place in Pat. Hearing this voice now, and seeing the owner of it, though he had seen him and heard his voice many times just before this last heartbreaking task under a strange master, he suddenly found himself thinking of the little ranch beside the river, and of his loving mistress, and also the cold and cruel Mexican hostler. And, thinking of them, he found himself thinking also of another, one who had accompanied him and his mistress on many delightful trips in the valley and up on the mesa in the shadow of the mountains. And now, thinking of this person, he somehow recognized this young man before him fully, and wondered why this had not come to him before. For this was the same young man--curiously pale, curiously drawn and haggard--but yet the same man. Understanding, understanding everything, he nickered softly and pressed close, mindful of yet another thing--something that had helped to make his life on the little ranch so pleasant and unforgettable. What he was mindful of, and what he now sought, was sugar and quartered apples.