Читать книгу Red Devil of the Range - Max Brand - Страница 5

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NED WINTON considered this idea for a moment. Then he replied:

"I dunno, Martha. It's hard to know what's on the inside of a man like Clay, that don't talk nothing except what he wants to talk. I've always noticed that.But leave him be. People like Clay—you're always best off to leave 'em be. Even when he was a kid, we all of us noticed that it was best to let him alone. He'd set as quiet as a mouse till somebody came and riled him. Then he'd raise trouble. Nobody ever raised as much trouble as he could raise."

"Hush!" said Mrs. Winton. "I guess they're comin' back now. There they are, beyond the oak tree. Now, Ned, I don't ask you to do nothin' except about the tiding of that Red Pacer. That's all I ask. You lay down the law there. You tell Everard that he don't dare to try to ride that horse. There's gotta be a time when a boy learns that what his parents say is law."

"The pacer is a murderin' beast," declared the father. "I know that, all right. I'll tell Ever not to go and try to ride him."

"Lay down the law!" whispered Mrs. Winton. "Go and tell him that—that he's gotta obey—or get something that'll bring him to his senses. Something that'll show him that his Uncle Clay is leadin' him all wrong."

She hurried back into the house and left Ned Winton squirming a little. He disliked the duty that had been laid upon him; on the other hand, he was not one to shirk responsibilities. Like most men, he felt that his wife knew more than he did about the proper raising of youngsters.

Through the gate that opened on the road came the figures of his brother—easily recognized, even in silhouette, by his slouching walk—and the erect, light-stepping form of his son. They moved down the path, and Ned hastily packed a pipe and lighted it, as a means of letting them know he was there.

"Hello, father," said Everard, in the quiet voice of one who has been thinking of important things.

"Hello, Ever," said he. "Come here a minute, will you?"

The boy came to the foot of the steps and paused there. It was hard to see him by the dimness of the night light, for there was no moon in the sky; but it seemed to the father that his features stood out more clearly than if the sun had been beating all about him. From his infancy, there had been something clean and fresh and radiant about the lad. Sometimes Ned Winton thought it was because he was their only child; that all their love and yearning for a family had been poured into this one mold.

"It's about that Red Pacer," said the father. "You know, Ever, that's a damn dangerous hoss."

"I've heard that," said the boy, his tone constrained. "But you know the saying?"

"What saying?"

"'Every horse can be rode—every man can be throwed.'"

"I've heard that," said the father, "and there's sense in it, too—which is more than there is in a lot of things. Speakin' about throwin', you know what the Pacer done to Indian Murphy? He broke six or seven ribs and smashed a leg and a collar bone.

"You know what kind of a collar bone Murphy's got now? Silver, or something. That bone was busted so bad that it couldn't be hitched together again. They had to splice up the pieces with a silver tube, is what they had to do. Murphy, every time he has a fall nowadays, he gets a dent in his chest—and the dent don't go away. He's gonna die of consumption before long, I hear."

"I'm sorry for that," said Everard Winton.

"Well," remarked his father, I was just leading up to a point. Don't you go and be a fool and try to ride that stallion."

"But you see, father," the boy replied, "I sent word to Harry Lawson I'd be sure to come over and try my hand with the Pacer."

"Then you send him word that you've changed your mind, said Winton.

He noticed that his brother was saying nothing, his head turning a little from side to side as he marked the conversation.

Then the boy was saying, "It's hard to send him word I've changed my mind. He'd think"

"It ain't no matter what he thinks," said the father. "What I think and what your ma thinks is what you oughta do, just now. There's no good in a wild-caught mustang stallion. Sometimes they've been rode, but I dunno one that ever gave no satisfaction to his master. Likely to turn any minute and put a hoof through you. Likely to get you off and savage you. Ever seen a man savaged?"

"No," said Everard.

"Well, you don't want to see it—and no more do you wanta be it. Don't you go near that hoss and make a fool of yourself, Ever."

He settled back in his chair and sighed. He drew out a bandanna and mopped his wet brow. Later, he was sorry that he had done this. It showed that he was too worked up over the matter. He had wanted to make it a casual affair and not underline its importance.

The boy answered, "It wouldn't matter, father, very much, except that I've said I'd be there. And besides"

"Besides what?" snapped Ned Winton. "I'll drop by the Lawson place, tomorrow. And I'll tell him that I wouldn't let you go. I reckon I'm old enough to know what's right for you to do."

"But you haven't seen the Red Pacer," remarked the boy, quietly.

"I've seen plenty of hosses," said the father. "One's as good as another—pretty mean."

The boy did not answer at once. These pauses that he made were somehow characteristic. They made all of his words seem to come from his heart.

"A man on that horse," he said, "would be like a king on a throne, father!"

Ned Winton struck his fist into his open palm.

"I tell you," he said, "that it's come to a point where you got to know that you ain't your own master till you're of age. Don't you go near that damn hoss! Understand? Don't you dare to go near it!"

He waited. He could hear his heart thumping. The wind stirred and the moist, warm breath from the fields of spring reached him with the scents of growing grass and the kind, fruitful earth.

"Wait a minute, Ever," murmured Clay Winton, as the boy turned to leave.

"It's no good waiting," replied the boy. "I'm afraid I know already that I have to ride the Red Pacer—or break my neck trying!"