Читать книгу Ranchero - Stewart Edward White - Страница 14

Table of Contents

They rode on again. Whether from fatigue or reaction, Don Ramón’s ebullient spirits had dropped. For some time he said nothing; nor did it occur to Andy’s mountain taciturnity to break silence. Finally Ramón aroused himself with a laugh.

“We ride like friars telling our beads!” said he. He turned to Andy with engaging frankness. “Do you know, Don Largo,” he said, conferring on Andy his nickname, “I will tell you truth. I am sulk like a child, because why? Because you have show me what you can do and I cannot do these things. And I have not show you what I can do. Is that not foolish?”

“I think you’ve shown me considerable,” Andy assured him sincerely.

“Ah, that!” Ramón shrugged sadly, “but you say yourself that is harebrain.” He laughed at himself, but it was evident that his mood was genuine, for small boys strange to one another must show off. It is a necessity to making acquaintance; and obviously, for the moment at least, these two had somehow slipped back to the magic of that age. Andy had showed off last; now it was Ramón’s turn, and there was nothing to show off on.

As yet the two, though they had divined a natural affinity, knew practically nothing of each other’s circumstances. Outward details had not yet assumed enough importance to have become the subject of curiosity. That would come when the fundamentals had been properly finished off.

For some time now the plain of the great valley had been gradually dropping away to the left. The broken country encompassed them. They were traveling along a winding dry watercourse from which arose to right and left low hills, soft and round like the flanks of brown beasts. On their slopes, scattered widely, grazed a sprinkling of cattle. They were wild-looking creatures, with long horns and staring eyes, and the nearest of them ran like deer at sight of the horsemen. José and Panchito looked them over with professional attention, commenting to one another low toned. Ramón’s eye lighted and he began to hum under his breath.

At this point the hill on one side had drawn too near the watercourse and had, in consequence, been sheared away by flood and wind until it stood over them as a cliff, or rather as a slide of loose deep shale but little off the perpendicular. On its top stood a lordly bull looking down at them, secure in his scorn of inaccessibility.

“Hah!” said Ramón. “Stop here, and you shall see some esport.”

“What are you going to do now?” demanded Andy uneasily. He was beginning to distrust that word. What next? Was Ramón going to tackle also this beast with his sword? But Ramón negatived that idea by unfastening the weapon, which, with the guitar, he thrust into Andy’s hands.

“Guard these for me,” he cried, struck spurs to the palomino, and dashed away out of sight around the curve of the hill’s base.

“What will he do now?” Andy turned a troubled face to the vaqueros. They smiled at him reassuringly.

“That you shall see, señor. Paciencia,” returned Panchito.

The bull continued to stare fixedly down on the three horsemen below him. He was curious, and quite serene on his elevation. Once his attention seemed about to wander, but José whistled, both vaqueros moved their horses sharply, and it was recalled.

Suddenly the quiet air was rent by a wild yell. Ramón appeared, riding straight as a thunderbolt at the startled animal. The bull, bewildered and frightened out of his wits, leaped straight forward and over the edge, caught his footing, and half fell, half wallowed down the precipitous shale. Without hesitation the palomino leaped after him. It seemed that nothing could save him from rolling over and over, his rider with him, to the foot of the precipitous slope. But in midair the palomino gathered its four hoofs together, sank back on its haunches. It struck the precipice at exactly the angle of the slope, plunged ten feet with stiffened legs, its head high, its rump fairly seated against the rattling shale. At the same instant Ramón’s reata hissed through the air to encircle a hind leg of the staggering bull. Ramón threw up his arm to tighten the loop. The bull fell, rolled over and over, entangling itself, gathering speed and momentum in a fearful tumble down the precipitous incline. And Ramón and the palomino followed, the man coolly hauling in and paying out the reata as occasion demanded, the horse, alert in every fiber, even to his small quivering ears, following in a series of short buck plunges, a marvel of grace and equilibrium.

The bull, now bawling with fear and anger, rolled out on the flat ground in a cloud of dust and a rattle of loose stones. Before he could scramble to his feet the reata was wrapped about the wide pommel; the palomino, unguided, was backing away, holding the slack. Ramón held up both hands. Andy, shaken from his customary gravity, stood up in his stirrups and cheered.

After a moment Ramón spoke to his mount. The horse stepped forward. Ramón flipped the slackened loop free. The bull staggered to its feet and dashed away, thoroughly chastened. Ramón trotted back to his companions, gathering in the coils. His handsome face was alight.

“You like?” he asked.

Andy expressed his enthusiasm. Ramón glowed with satisfaction. Everybody was happy. The small boys were quits at showing off. They could now get acquainted.