VIII. The Breaker of Wild Mustangs

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

　　FOR a few days after the capture of Silvermane, a time full to the brimof excitement for Hare, he had no word with Mescal, save for morning andevening greetings. When he did come to seek her, with a purpose whichhad grown more impelling since August Naab's arrival, he learned to hisbewilderment that she avoided him. She gave him no chance to speak withher alone; her accustomed resting-place on the rim at sunset knew her nomore; early after supper she retired to her tent.

　　Hare nursed a grievance for forty-eight hours, and then, taking advantageof Piute's absence on an errand down to the farm, and of the Naabs'strenuous day with four vicious wild horses in the corral at one time, hewalked out to the pasture where Mescal shepherded the flock.

　　"Mescal, why are you avoiding me?" he asked. "What has happened?"

　　She looked tired and unhappy, and her gaze, instead of meeting his,wandered to the crags.

　　"Nothing," she replied.

　　"But there must be something. You have given me no chance to talk toyou, and I wanted to know if you'd let me speak to Father Naab."

　　"To Father Naab? Why--what about?"

　　"About you, of course--and me--that I love you and want to marry you."

　　She turned white. "No--no!"

　　Hare paused blankly, not so much at her refusal as at the unmistakablefear in her face.

　　"Why--not?" he asked presently, with an odd sense of trouble. There wasmore here than Mescal's habitual shyness.

　　"Because he'll be terribly angry."

　　"Angry--I don't understand. Why angry?"

　　The girl did not answer, and looked so forlorn that Hare attempted totake her in his arms. She resisted and broke from him.

　　"You must never--never do that again."

　　Hare drew back sharply.

　　"Why not? What's wrong? You must tell me, Mescal."

　　"I remembered." She hung her head.

　　"Remembered--what?"

　　"I am pledged to marry Father Naab's eldest son."

　　For a moment Hare did not understand. He stared at her unbelievingly.

　　"What did you say?" he asked, slowly.

　　Mescal repeated her words in a whisper.

　　"But--but Mescal--I love you. You let me kiss you," said Hare stupidly,as if he did not grasp her meaning. "You let me kiss you," he repeated.

　　"Oh, Jack, I forgot," she wailed. "It was so new, so strange, to haveyou up here. It was like a kind of dream. And after--after you kissedme I--I found out--"

　　"What, Mescal?"

　　Her silence answered him.

　　"But, Mescal, if you really love me you can't marry any one else," saidHare. It was the simple persistence of a simple swain.

　　"Oh, you don't know, you don't know. It's impossible!"

　　"Impossible!" Hare's anger flared up. "You let me believe I had won you.What kind of a girl are you? You were not true. Your actions werelies."

　　"Not lies," she faltered, and turned her face from him.

　　With no gentle hand he grasped her arm and forced her to look at him.But the misery in her eyes overcame him, and he roughly threw his armsaround her and held her close.

　　"It can't be a lie. You do care for me--love me. Look at me." He drewher head back from his breast. Her face was pale and drawn; her eyesclosed tight, with tears forcing a way out under the long lashes; herlips were parted. He bowed to their sweet nearness; he kissed them againand again, while the shade of the cedars seemed to whirl about him. "Ilove you, Mescal. You are mine--I will have you--I will keep you--I willnot let him have you!"

　　She vibrated to that like a keen strung wire under a strong touch. Allin a flash the trembling, shame-stricken girl was transformed. Sheleaned back in his arms, supple, pliant with quivering life, and for thefirst time gave him wide-open level eyes, in which there were now notears, no shyness, no fear, but a dark smouldering fire.

　　"You do love me, Mescal?"

　　"I--I couldn't help it."

　　There was a pause, tense with feeling.

　　"Mescal, tell me--about your being pledged," he said, at last.

　　"I gave him my promise because there was nothing else to do. I waspledged to--to him in the church at White Sage. It can't be changed.I've got to marry--Father Naab's eldest son."

　　"Eldest son?" echoed Jack, suddenly mindful of the implication. "Why!that's Snap Naab. Ah! I begin to see light. That--Mescal--"

　　"I hate him."

　　"You hate him and you're pledged to marry him! . . . God! Mescal, I'dutterly forgotten Snap Naab already has a wife."

　　"You've also forgotten that we're Mormons."

　　"Are you a Mormon?" he queried bluntly.

　　"I've been raised as one."

　　"That's not an answer. Are you one? Do you believe any man under God'ssky ought to have more than one wife at a time?"

　　"No. But I've been taught that it gave woman greater glory in heaven.There have been men here before you, men who talked to me, and I doubtedbefore I ever saw you. And afterward--I knew."

　　"Would not Father Naab release you?"

　　"Release me? Why, he would have taken me as a wife for himself but forMother Mary. She hates me. So he pledged me to Snap."

　　"Does August Naab love you?"

　　"Love me? No. Not in the way you mean--perhaps as a daughter. ButMormons teach duty to church first, and say such love comes--to thewives--afterward. But it doesn't--not in the women I've seen. There'sMother Ruth--her heart is broken. She loves me, and I can tell."

　　"When was this--this marriage to be?"

　　"I don't know. Father Naab promised me to his son when he came home fromthe Navajo range. It would be soon if they found out that you and I--Jack, Snap Naab would kill you!"

　　The sudden thought startled the girl. Her eyes betrayed her terror.

　　"I mightn't be so easy to kill," said Hare, darkly. The words cameunbidden, his first answer to the wild influences about him. "Mescal,I'm sorry--maybe I've brought you unhappiness.

　　"No. No. To be with you has been like sitting there on the rim watchingthe desert, the greatest happiness I have ever known. I used to love tobe with the children, but Mother Mary forbade. When I am down there,which is seldom, I'm not allowed to play with the children any more."

　　"What can I do?" asked Hare, passionately.

　　"Don't speak to Father Naab. Don't let him guess. Don't leave me herealone," she answered low. It was not the Navajo speaking in her now.Love had sounded depths hitherto unplumbed; a quick, soft impulsivenessmade the contrast sharp and vivid.

　　"How can I help but leave you if he wants me on the cattle ranges?"

　　"I don't know. You must think. He has been so pleased with what you'vedone. He's had Mormons up here, and two men not of his Church, and theydid nothing. You've been ill, besides you're different. He will keep mewith the sheep as long as he can, for two reasons--because I drive thembest, he says, and because Snap Naab's wife must be persuaded to welcomeme in her home."

　　"I'll stay, if I have to get a relapse and go down on my back again,"declared Jack. "I hate to deceive him, but Mescal, pledged or not--Ilove you, and I won't give up hope."

　　Her hands flew to her face again and tried to hide the dark blush.

　　"Mescal, there's one question I wish you'd answer. Does August Naabthink he'll make a Mormon of me? Is that the secret of his wonderfulkindness?"

　　"Of course he believes he'll make a Mormon of you. That's his religion.He's felt that way over all the strangers who ever came out here. Buthe'd be the same to them without his hopes. I don't know the secret ofhis kindness, but I think he loves everybody and everything. And Jack,he's so good. I owe him all my life. He would not let the Navajos takeme; he raised me, kept me, taught me. I can't break my promise to him.He's been a father to me, and I love him."

　　"I think I love him, too," replied Hare, simply.

　　With an effort he left her at last and mounted the grassy slope andclimbed high up among the tottering yellow crags; and there he battledwith himself. Whatever the charm of Mescal's surrender, and theinsistence of his love, stern hammer-strokes of fairness, duty, honor,beat into his brain his debt to the man who had saved him. It was along-drawn-out battle not to be won merely by saying right was right. Heloved Mescal, she loved him; and something born in him with his newhealth, with the breath of this sage and juniper forest, with the sightof purple canyons and silent beckoning desert, made him fiercely tena-cious of all that life had come to mean for him. He could not give herup--and yet--

　　Twilight forced Hare from his lofty retreat, and he trod his waycampward, weary and jaded, but victorious over himself. He thought hehad renounced his hope of Mescal; he returned with a resolve to be trueto August, and to himself; bitterness he would not allow himself to feel.And yet he feared the rising in him of a new spirit akin to that of thedesert itself, intractable and free.

　　"Well, Jack, we rode down the last of Silvermane's band," said August, atsupper. "The Navajos came up and helped us out. To-morrow you'll seesome fun, when we start to break Silvermane. As soon as that's done I'llgo, leaving the Indians to bring the horses down when they're broken."

　　"Are you going to leave Silvermane with me?" asked Jack.

　　"Surely. Why, in three days, if I don't lose my guess, he'll be like alamb. Those desert stallions can be made into the finest kind ofsaddle-horses. I've seen one or two. I want you to stay up here withthe sheep. You're getting well, you'll soon be a strapping big fellow.Then when we drive the sheep down in the fall you can begin life on thecattle ranges, driving wild steers. There's where you'll grow lean andhard, like an iron bar. You'll need that horse, too, my lad."

　　"Why--because he's fast?" queried Jack, quickly answering to the impliedsuggestion.

　　August nodded gloomily. "I haven't the gift of revelation, but I've cometo believe Martin Cole. Holderness is building an outpost for his ridersclose to Seeping Springs. He has no water. If he tries to pipe mywater--" The pause was not a threat; it implied the Mormon's doubt ofhimself. "Then Dene is on the march this way. He's driven some ofMarshall's cattle from the range next to mine. Dene got away with abouta hundred head. The barefaced robber sold them in Lund to a buyingcompany from Salt Lake."

　　"Is he openly an outlaw, a rustler?" inquired Hare.

　　"Everybody knows it, and he's finding White Sage and vicinity warmer thanit was. Every time he comes in he and his band shoot up things prettylively. Now the Mormons are slow to wrath. But they are awakening. Allthe way from Salt Lake to the border outlaws have come in. They'll neverget the power on this desert that they had in the places from whichthey've been driven. Men of the Holderness type are more to be dreaded.He's a rancher, greedy, unscrupulous, but hard to corner in dishonesty.Dene is only a bad man, a gun-fighter. He and all his ilk will get runout of Utah. Did you ever hear of Plummer, John Slade, Boone Helm, anyof those bad men?"

　　"No."

　　"Well, they were men to fear. Plummer was a sheriff in Idaho, a man highin the estimation of his townspeople, but he was the leader of the mostdesperate band of criminals ever known in the West; and he instigated themurder of, or killed outright, more than one hundred men. Slade was abad man, fatal on the draw. Helm was a killing machine. These men alltried Utah, and had to get out. So will Dene have to get out. But I'mafraid there'll be warm times before that happens. When you get in thethick of it you'll appreciate Silvermane."

　　"I surely will. But I can't see that wild stallion with a saddle and abridle, eating oats like any common horse, and being led to water."

　　"Well, he'll come to your whistle, presently, if I'm not greatlymistaken. You must make him love you, Jack. It can be done with anywild creature. Be gentle, but firm. Teach him to obey the slightesttouch of rein, to stand when you throw your bridle on the ground, to comeat your whistle. Always remember this. He's a desert-bred horse; he canlive on scant browse and little water. Never break him of those bestvirtues in a horse. Never feed him grain if you can find a little patchof browse; never give him a drink till he needs it. That's one-tenth asoften as a tame horse. Some day you'll be caught in the desert, and withthese qualities of endurance Silvermane will carry you out."

　　Silvermane snorted defiance from the cedar corral next morning when theNaabs, and Indians, and Hare appeared. A half-naked sinewy Navajo with aface as changeless as a bronze mask sat astride August's blindfoldedroan, Charger. He rode bareback except for a blanket strapped upon thehorse; he carried only a long, thick halter, with a loop and a knot.When August opened the improvised gate, with its sharp bayonet-likebranches of cedar, the Indian rode into the corral. The watchers climbedto the knoll. Silvermane snorted a blast of fear and anger. August'shuge roan showed uneasiness; he stamped, and shook his head, as if to ridhimself of the blinders.

　　Into the farthest corner of densely packed cedar boughs Silvermanepressed himself and watched. The Indian rode around the corral, circlingcloser and closer, yet appearing not to see the stallion. Many rounds hemade; closer he got, and always with the same steady gait. Silvermaneleft his corner and tried another. The old unwearying round broughtCharger and the Navajo close by him. Silvermane pranced out of histhicket of boughs; he whistled; he wheeled with his shiny hoofs lifting.In an hour the Indian was edging the outer circle of the corral, with thestallion pivoting in the centre, ears laid back, eyes shooting sparks,fight in every line of him. And the circle narrowed inward.

　　Suddenly the Navajo sent the roan at Silvermane and threw his halter. Itspread out like a lasso, and the loop went over the head of the stallion,slipped to the knot and held fast, while the rope tightened. Silvermaneleaped up, forehoofs pawing the air, and his long shrill cry was neitherwhistle, snort, nor screech, but all combined. He came down, missingCharger with his hoofs, sliding off his haunches. The Indian, his bronzemuscles rippling, close-hauled on the rope, making half hitches round hisbony wrist.

　　In a whirl of dust the roan drew closer to the gray, and Silvermane begana mad race around the corral. The roan ran with him nose to nose. WhenSilvermane saw he could not shake him, he opened his jaws, rolled backhis lip in an ugly snarl, his white teeth glistening, and tried to bite.But the Indian's moccasined foot shot up under the stallion's ear andpressed him back. Then the roan hugged Silvermane so close that half thetime the Navajo virtually rode two horses. But for the rigidity of hisarms, and the play and sudden tension of his leg-muscles, the Indian'swork would have appeared commonplace, so dexterous was he, so perfectlyat home in his dangerous seat. Suddenly he whooped and August Naabhauled back the gate, and the two horses, neck and neck, thundered outupon the level stretch.

　　"Good!" cried August. "Let him rip now, Navvy. All over but the work,Jack. I feared Silvermane would spear himself on some of those deadcedar spikes in the corral. He's safe now."

　　Jack watched the horses plunge at breakneck speed down the stretch,circle at the forest edge, and come tearing back. Silvermane was pullingthe roan faster than he had ever gone in his life, but the dark Indiankept his graceful seat. The speed slackened on the second turn, and de-creased as, mile after mile, the imperturbable Indian held roan and grayside to side and let them run.

　　The time passed, but Hare's interest in the breaking of the stallionnever flagged. He began to understand the Indian, and to feel what therestraint and drag must be to the horse. Never for a moment couldSilvermane elude the huge roan, the tight halter, the relentless Navajo.Gallop fell to trot, and trot to jog, and jog to walk; and hour by hour,without whip or spur or word, the breaker of desert mustangs drove thewild stallion. If there were cruelty it was in his implacable slowpatience, his farsighted purpose. Silvermane would have killed himselfin an hour; he would have cut himself to pieces in one headlong dash, butthat steel arm suffered him only to wear himself out. Late thatafternoon the Navajo led a dripping, drooping, foam-lashed stallion intothe corral, tied him with the halter, and left him.

　　Later Silvermane drank of the water poured into the corral trough, andhad not the strength or spirit to resent the Navajo's caressing hand onhis mane.

　　Next morning the Indian rode again into the corral on blindfoldedCharger. Again he dragged Silvermane out on the level and drove him upand down with remorseless, machine-like persistence. At noon he took himback, tied him up, and roped him fast. Silvermane tried to rear andkick, but the saddle went on, strapped with a flash of the dark-skinnedhands. Then again Silvermane ran the level stretch beside the giantroan, only he carried a saddle now. At the first, he broke out with freewild stride as if to run forever from under the hateful thing. But asthe afternoon waned he crept weariedly back to the corral.

　　On the morning of the third day the Navajo went into the corral withoutCharger, and roped the gray, tied him fast, and saddled him. Then heloosed the lassoes except the one around Silvermane's neck, which hewhipped under his foreleg to draw him down. Silvermane heaved a groanwhich plainly said he never wanted to rise again. Swiftly the Indianknelt on the stallion's head; his hands flashed; there was a scream, aclick of steel on bone; and proud Silvermane jumped to his feet with abit between his teeth.

　　The Navajo, firmly in the saddle, rose with him, and Silvermane leapedthrough the corral gate, and out upon the stretch, lengthening out withevery stride, and settling into a wild, despairing burst of speed. Thewhite mane waved in the wind; the half-naked Navajo swayed to the motion.Horse and rider disappeared in the cedars.

　　They were gone all day. Toward night they appeared on the stretch. TheIndian rode into camp and, dismounting, handed the bridle-rein to Naab.He spoke no word; his dark impassiveness invited no comment. Silvermanewas dust-covered and sweat-stained. His silver crest had the same proudbeauty, his neck still the splendid arch, his head the noble outline, buthis was a broken spirit.

　　"Here, my lad," said August Naab, throwing the bridle-rein over Hare'sarm. "What did I say once about seeing you on a great gray horse? Ah!Well, take him and know this: you've the swiftest horse in this desertcountry."