Читать книгу Tomahawk, Fighting Horse of the Old West - Thomas C. Hinkle - Страница 4

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Early the next morning all the men walked up to the small corral where White Face and Tomahawk stood. They opened the gate and Dan and Jim Arnold walked inside. White Face uttered a loud snort and looked at them defiantly. Jim said, “Well, Old Lady, I see you are as wild as ever and I reckon you’ll stay that way but we’ll be able to tame the little feller anyway.” Jim edged up to the place where Tomahawk’s rope was tied. He unfastened the rope and tied Tomahawk farther away from White Face. Dan held out some brown sugar in one hand while he walked toward Tomahawk.

Tomahawk snorted as he looked intently at Dan walking toward him. Dan held his hand out with the sugar. He got close to Tomahawk and stood talking to him. Tomahawk looked at the outstretched hand. At this time he wanted nothing but milk to drink, yet he was curious as Dan stood holding out the sugar at arm’s length. Tomahawk reached his head out and touched his nose to the sugar in Dan’s palm, snorted, backed away and stood looking. Dan still stood with his arm outstretched. Tomahawk again moved nearer. Dan did not move. Tomahawk looked at him and again he touched the sugar with his tongue, then stepped back and licked his lips.

Dan tossed the sugar in one of the buckets near White Face and he and Jim began to rub Tomahawk. White Face snorted and threw her head about wildly but she did not try to break away. Tomahawk was not as scared now as he had been the day before, and, while he trembled a little, he stood still after jumping about once or twice. He allowed Dan to rub his neck while Jim rubbed his back and hips. White Face uttered a few snorts at first but then she became quiet and only looked with wide eyes at the procedure.

The other men did not come close although it was a great temptation to do so since they wanted to get their hands on the attractive Tomahawk. But they did not want to trouble White Face too much. With smiles and twinkling eyes they watched Dan and Jim getting Tomahawk used to the feel of human hands.

While Jim rubbed Tomahawk he also looked at White Face and the buckets that had been put where she could reach them. Jim saw she had drunk the water and eaten all the oats. He said to Dan and the men, “She has drunk all the water and eaten her oats but my guess is, by her looks, she won’t tame down. But she’ll eat and drink because she knows she’s got this little feller to take care of. We’ll leave her in here for about three weeks so Dan can work with the colt and try to get him tame. After that I think we can tie White Face out on the grass. But we’ll have to tie her with a double rope, and we’ll have plenty of trouble getting her to the grass. And we’ll also tie Tomahawk on a rope so if she does break loose he can’t go with her.”

Jim Arnold stepped back from Tomahawk and looked at White Face. She was a tall, beautiful chestnut sorrel with trim legs and great muscles that rippled under her glossy skin as she began to step nervously about. Jim and the men noted the dapples on a part of her coat in the morning sun. But some of her coat was matted down with dried sweat from the day before. The men knew that many of the wild horses, if captured when three or four or, even five years old, could be tamed, and often they made splendid saddle horses. But now and then there was a wild horse, fully matured, with a fighting spirit that would never be tamed, one that would watch and, no matter how much time had passed in captivity, would, at the least chance, break away for freedom. While Jim Arnold, the man who knew horses, stood and looked at the blazing eyes of White Face he was sure she was the kind that could never be tamed. She had been too long in the wild when captured and she was naturally the fighting kind. He said to the men standing near the gate of the corral, “Well, we’ll keep her here until Tomahawk no longer needs her milk. Then if she’s wild as ever, I’ll let her go free.”

Dan was holding Tomahawk’s halter and rubbing him on top of his withers. Jim and the men saw that Tomahawk submitted to this more quickly than the average two-weeks-old colt. It was plain that he actually liked to have Dan rub his withers. Dan knew where to rub. It was a queer thing about how a colt might stand for rubbing though he couldn’t bear to have anyone touch the end of his nose, and this was true of most grown horses. Not many colts of two weeks would have stood here as Tomahawk did while Dan rubbed the palm of his hand across the top of his withers. All the men knew this. Jim Arnold said, “Dan, he’s a smart little feller and he’s going to make a smart horse. Just keep being easy and careful with him and my guess is that in time you’ll have him following you around like a dog.”

All of a sudden White Face lunged back hard on her rope. She almost sat down in throwing her whole weight against it. She jerked her head and shook it like a wild bucking bronco. She lunged back again and again, and if the rope had not been double she might have broken it. Seeing it held, she whirled, snorted and looked with eyes flashing at Dan rubbing Tomahawk. The men all understood. White Face knew Dan was not harming Tomahawk. It was only that she saw her colt being tamed by the men, and somehow, to her, they were getting him to like them. She wanted him to snort and show fear as she did. It seemed to her that if Tomahawk would do this she might yet get herself loose and so run away with him, wild and free.

The days went by during which White Face and Tomahawk were not once taken from the corral. Plenty of feed and water were given to the fighting old mare and the men were careful when they put water, oats and hay within her reach. They watched her like a hawk, remembering her long, sharp teeth. But these men did not hold this against her. After all they had captured her and her colt. These men were fighters, too, fighters all, because they had to struggle against the cold of winter, the storms of summer, the half-wild longhorn cattle. And they often rode the fighting, hard-bucking broncos. To Jim and the men it seemed quite in order for this old wild mare to fight. Jim said one morning, “We can’t blame her. It’s her nature. She’d be plumb rough on us if she could. She’d chew us up like a dog if she could get her teeth on us but that’s her right. All she wants is to get that colt and run plumb away with him. That’s her way, but we got different plans.”

During the three weeks that went by Dan, to his delight, had tamed Tomahawk considerably and this was plainly disturbing White Face. At the end of this time Dan was so much in favor with Tomahawk that he evidently wanted to be with Dan even more than with White Face, except when he wanted his milk. Each morning Dan would go into the corral, untie Tomahawk and lead him outside.

One morning, near the end of the three weeks, Dan led Tomahawk to the kitchen door of the ranch house and called for Old Ben, the cook, to come out and look. Old Ben came out. Dan said, “Ben, Tomahawk wants to see what’s going on around here.” And to Dan and Old Ben this seemed so. Tomahawk pricked up his ears, looked at Old Ben, then looked around at the yard. Old Ben said, “Now ain’t he the purtiest little horse, him wanting as much as fellers to see everything, I reckon.” Old Ben walked around to the side of Tomahawk and smoothed the hair down on his shoulder and said, “Dan, you’ve made a plumb pet out of him. I don’t reckon we’ve ever had a little colt as purty and smart as he is.”

Jim Arnold and several other men came up. Jim went in the kitchen and brought out some brown sugar in his hand and held it up to Tomahawk. Tomahawk promptly licked up all the sugar, for Dan had already taught him to like it, and Tomahawk was like all horses, old or young, he was fond of sugar. After licking up the sugar he reached out and playfully nipped Jim on the arm. Tomahawk often did this to Dan. This was one of the things a pet colt early learned to do. It was hard to keep from spoiling him. Jim said, “Dan, I reckon we’ll plumb spoil him so when he grows up he’ll want his own way in everything, like a spoiled kid, but he’s a smart little feller and I think he’ll come out all right.” Then Jim added, “Well, fellers, we got a fight on our hands this morning. It’s time we took that wild Old White Face out on the grass and I don’t reckon she’ll appreciate it at all but you fellers get your ropes ready.”

When the men walked up to the corral with their ropes Jim spoke to White Face, “Well, Old Lady, we are going to put you out to eat grass today and we’re going to see that you get to eat grass every day from now on. But by the looks of your eyes I don’t reckon we’ll run right up and pet you. It would be like a feller trying to pet a rattlesnake.”

None but these men, skilled with horses, would have had success with what they were planning to do. But to them there was no horse whatever that they could not handle once it was captured. As they moved toward White Face they were reminded that she was much bigger than the average wild horse.

Dan had already led Tomahawk out and tied him some distance away to a tree on the grassland. White Face was tied with a long double rope on her neck. This rope was arranged so that a man could stand outside the corral and play it out. A man stood outside ready for this. Jim Arnold and Buck Benson now went into the corral and swung their loops over White Face’s head. She dived for Buck with her teeth but he sprang away and the men grinned. Jim and Buck came out of the corral now, holding the ends of their ropes. Other hands took hold of their ropes to help. Then the men holding the long double rope on her neck let it loose and shouted, “She’s loose now! Look out!”

White Face seemed to know. She came running from the corral. The men holding the two looped ropes on her neck dug their boot heels in the ground and held the ropes. As she ran out of the corral two men quickly grabbed the end of the long double rope. White Face tried to charge first one way and then another but the men managed her by pulling the ropes on either side. But they found it a difficult job and they were a considerable time getting her where they wanted her on the grassy plain. They tied the end of the long double rope to a tree, then worked for some time to get the other ropes off her neck. She tried to fight them at every turn with both her teeth and her heels, but the men succeeded with the work.

In the meantime Tomahawk stood some distance away close beside Dan and watched the proceedings. Tomahawk was not afraid, and he looked on in curiosity at the actions of White Face. The men moved back and stood near Dan and Tomahawk.

White Face could now walk about and get all the exercise and grass she needed. At the same time she could come near enough to Tomahawk so that he could get his milk. Some men might have tied White Face and allowed Tomahawk to go free but Jim Arnold used unusual care here. He said, “Unless the old mare breaks loose, Tomahawk will stay to get his milk but if White Face broke loose he would naturally go with her.” The men wanted to be kind to the old mare, as they said, “Because she’s got her little feller and wants to take care of him.”

After standing for a time and looking at White Face all the men, including Dan, saddled their horses and started out to work on the range for the day. Old Ben, the cook, said, “I’ll take a look now and then from the kitchen door to see how White Face and Tomahawk are getting along.”

When evening came and Dan and the men rode in, all had been well. White Face had grazed on the grass during the day and she had several times moved up so Tomahawk could get his milk.

So it was that the summer slipped by. September came over the land. If a colt is born early in the spring he will shed his colt coat in the fall and show his true horse color. This happened to Tomahawk. He had shed his first coat and he was now a beautiful chestnut sorrel with two front white stocking legs, the white clear up to his knees and he had a white, or blaze, face that came from the roots of his ears down over his nose, so that his lips were white.

Each evening Dan led Tomahawk up to the ranch yard and rubbed him and talked to him. Tomahawk was not afraid of any of the men and he would nip them now and then playfully as they put their hands on him. And he had such good teeth now that he could pinch decidedly, but the men only laughed at his antics. Tomahawk had become the pet of all the men, including Old Ben. But it was seen now that Tomahawk knew Dan from all the others and he would come up to Dan first. At times, when Dan held Tomahawk on a long rope, he would stand off a distance while Tomahawk stood among the men. Often, at such times, Tomahawk seemed to miss Dan. He would look around, and seeing Dan a little distance away he would kick up his heels, run up to Dan and stand beside him while looking back at the men. While he could be handled by any of the men, Dan was so much with him, working with him, giving him sugar and biscuits from the kitchen, that Tomahawk made it plain that he wanted to be with Dan. It was interesting to watch Tomahawk eat a biscuit. He munched on it with his head moving in regular nods after the manner of a grown horse trying to chew a piece of bread when his teeth find little to chew on.

But tame and “sociable” as Tomahawk now was he had already shown that he had the fighting quality of Old White Face. There were other colts that sometimes came up to the ranch with their mothers. One of these colts was older and heavier than Tomahawk. One evening when the men came in they saw this big colt come up to Tomahawk and bite him. Tomahawk laid back his ears and ran for that colt with open mouth. The big colt ran off a little way, stopped, and looked back in curiosity at Tomahawk.

While the men stood looking at the two colts they saw a large bull calf standing only a little away staring dumbly at Tomahawk. The bull calf seemed to think Tomahawk should be chased away. The big calf suddenly ran at Tomahawk to butt him with his short horns. Tomahawk saw the animal coming at him. He turned and let fly both hind feet against the calf, then whirled and set his small teeth at the root of the calf’s tail. The bull calf ran with a loud bellow. Tomahawk stopped and looked at it as he stamped a front foot on the ground and snorted. The men all laughed and their eyes twinkled in admiration.

Dan called Tomahawk. He turned his head, looked at Dan, then came trotting up. The men came up to Tomahawk, rubbed him, patted him and told him he was “a fine fighting little horse.” Presently they all started to the house for supper and Tomahawk followed Dan like a dog. Tomahawk wanted his brown sugar or biscuit or both, and he was never disappointed in this.

That night, at the supper table, Jim Arnold said, as he had once before, that since White Face was already getting on in years and since she was as wild as ever, it would not pay to try to saddle her or try to tame her, and he had decided to let her go free. For a considerable time past, at Jim’s suggestion, Dan had tied Tomahawk alone in a small corral at night. This precaution was taken so that if White Face broke loose some time Tomahawk could not follow her. Jim went on talking. “White Face has seen for a long time that we have been weaning Tomahawk away from her and she can’t understand it. She’s as wild as ever and she’s an old fighting mare, but even now, with us getting Tomahawk to forget about her, she’d fight for him if she had him with her out on the range and something tackled him. I think she’d fight for him till she died if necessary. That old mare has always been plumb game to fight for her rights. And now, although we’ve got Tomahawk to give all his attention to us and none to her, she’d take him away if she could and she’d go on fighting for him. So I aim to do the best I can with her. She’s as wild as ever. I appreciate her and I’m going to turn her loose in the morning and let her do what she wants.”

The next morning Tomahawk was tied securely in the corral. Jim purposely left the gate of the corral open. The men went out to the tree where White Face was tied. They had to rope and throw her to get her free of the rope on her neck. Then she found herself free. She sprang up, ran away for a quarter of a mile, stopped and looked back. She stood still for a short time, just stood still and looked at the group of men standing on the prairie watching her. Suddenly she let out a wild nicker to Tomahawk. It was a loud, piercing call. Again, and still the third time she let out a loud, piercing nicker. But Tomahawk only pricked up his ears and looked out in mild curiosity.

White Face went no farther but she did not nicker again. She only stood there. Jim Arnold said, “Look at that now. She don’t want to give Tomahawk up although he’s satisfied with us. She can’t understand. We’ll leave him tied in the corral today and Old Ben can keep an eye on what happens. I think she’ll go away in time.”

Jim gave Old Ben his instructions to see what happened, then Jim, Dan and all the men rode out on the range for the day’s work.

Old Ben went on with his morning’s work in the kitchen for some time but, now and then, he would pause to look out at the corral where Tomahawk was tied. All at once he saw White Face come up to the corral gate and he heard her whinnying to Tomahawk. Tomahawk raised his head and looked at her but he seemed only mildly interested. White Face looked quickly toward the house, but seeing none of the men, she walked into the corral, and Old Ben saw her put her nose on Tomahawk. Old Ben heard her making low, whinnying sounds. He knew what she wanted. She wanted her colt to come with her but Tomahawk could not, for he was tied. White Face walked out of the corral, again looked at the silent house and then looked off across the plain in the direction that the men had taken that day. Again she went back in the corral and in her own way talked to Tomahawk. But Old Ben saw he paid little attention to her. He would look at her when she put her nose on him but it was plain to Old Ben that Tomahawk was completely tamed, not feeling at all about his freedom as White Face did. And he was the more contented because he was now living on grass and oats.

As the hours went by White Face hovered around not far from the corral. She would go out on the prairie and nibble a little grass then she would come back, go in the corral and “talk” to Tomahawk.

At noon Old Ben went out toward the corral with two buckets. He was carrying both oats and water. When White Face saw Old Ben she ran away some distance, stopped and looked. She saw him go in and set the buckets down for Tomahawk, then she saw Tomahawk put his nose down as if eating, and she saw Old Ben rub him and go all over him with his hands. She also saw that Tomahawk seemed to be pleased. Old Ben got another bucket of water and set it outside the corral. He then went back into the house and sat on a stool and watched from a kitchen window. He saw White Face come up near the corral gate. She stood for a time looking at Tomahawk. He was contentedly drinking water from the bucket. White Face looked at the house, looked searchingly but saw nothing. She turned with her face toward Tomahawk for a time, then Old Ben saw her head drop. It dropped low and she stood as he had never seen her. She stood like a horse that had been driven hard all day, one that was very, very tired. But Old Ben, who had long known horses, knew that White Face was not tired. He understood this unusual old wild mare as only an old horseman could understand. He said under his breath, “Now, ain’t that too dog-gone bad. That old fighting mare’s plumb bogged down feeling us fellers have changed Tomahawk somehow so he’d rather be with us than with her!”

Old Ben waited and watched. White Face stood for some time in that same position. Then Old Ben saw her walk slowly into the corral, look at Tomahawk for a minute, and turn and walk away. She did not drink of the water left outside the corral. She did not run but walked away, walked away slowly, with her head down, and she kept on walking. Old Ben went outside to watch.

White Face walked on and on. She did not quicken her pace nor did she raise her head. On and on she walked. Old Ben turned and looked at Tomahawk. He was quietly and contentedly munching his oats.

Old Ben looked at White Face as her form grew smaller and smaller in the distance, and, at last, he saw her disappear in the distance toward the west. As Old Ben saw her disappear he said, “Now look at that! She can’t understand.” Old Ben walked back to the corral where Tomahawk stood. He walked into the corral and stood looking at Tomahawk’s eyes and he began to talk. He said, “Tomahawk, your old fighting mammy has gone but you won’t notice. Now, from the way you tackled that colt that come at you, and that bull calf, too, we know you have got the fighting blood of your wild mammy. My guess is you are going to be mighty faithful to Dan. I believe when you grow up you would fight for Dan if the time ever came when that was needed. Anyway you’re a smart colt and an awful purty one. We’ll see how you act when you’re a grown horse because you are going to make a powerful big horse in time.”