Читать книгу Selected Short Works - Zane Grey - Страница 7
ОглавлениеFirst published in 1926
PREFACE
FOR years Ben Ide had chased and tried to capture the great stallion, California Red, probably the noblest of all the fifteen thousand horses who roamed the northern California plains. But he had always been unsuccessful. Now his chance had come—and he had to make the devil's bargain with a band of cattle rustlers in order to realize his greatest ambition.
* * * * *
BRIGHT daylight came while the cavalcade drew close to Ben's ranch. They passed between the empty pasture and the frozen river. All the doors of the barn and the gates of the corral were open. Ben was about to declare himself forcibly when he saw Modoc rise in his stirrups as if to peer across the lake, then duck down quickly. Ben, sensing something most unusual, rode quickly by the rustlers to face Modoc, who had turned. Nevada was peeping over the rise of ground to the lake.
"What do you see?" demanded Ben.
"Wild red stallion—way out on ice," replied the Indian impressively.
"California Red... on the ice?" cried Ben poignantly.
"Shore's your born, pard," returned Nevada, lowering himself into his saddle. "Only six hosses with him. The lake's frozen 'cept for circle in center. They're takin' a drink. Look."
"No," whispered Ben, but he had not the will to do what he divined he should. Raising himself in the stirrups, he peered over the edge of the bluff. Wild Goose Lake was white with ice, and everywhere tufts of bleached grass stood up. Far out, perhaps two miles, he espied horses. Wild. He knew the instant his eyes took in the graceful slim shapes, the flowing manes and tails, the wonderful posture of these horses.
California Red stood at the edge of the ice. He was not drinking. Even at that distance Ben saw the noble wild head high.
"Nevada, watch Hall," said Ben, and fumbled at the leather thongs which secured his field-glass to the saddle. He loosened it, got it out of the case, levelled it. But his hands shook so he could see only blurred shapes. Fiercely he controlled himself and brought the round magnifying circle of glass to bear upon horse after horse, until California Red stood clear and beautiful.
Red as flame. Wilder than a mountain sheep. Ben saw him clear and close, limned against the white ice, big and strong, yet clean- limbed as any thoroughbred racehorse. While his band drank he watched. To what extremity had he been brought by the drought?
Ben fell limp into his saddle. Any other time in his life but this. What irony of fate. But he knew in another flash that he could not pass by this opportunity, cost what it might.
"Well, pard, it's shore tougher than any deal we ever got," said Nevada, in distress. "California Red on the ice. We always dreamed we'd ketch him waterin' on a half-froze lake an' lay a trap for him, or get enough riders to run him down."
"We can catch him," shouted Ben hoarsely.
"Nope. We cain't," replied Nevada tragically.
Ben felt something burst within him—a knot of bound emotion —or riot of blood—or collapse of will—he never knew what. But with the spring of a panther he was out of his saddle, confronting Nevada.
"If it's all the same to you, I will," replied this man, cheerfully. "I can't ride hard, but I can yell an' fill up a hole. I've chased wild horses."
Ben ran back to his mount and with nimble fingers lightened his saddle, tightened the cinch, and untied his rope. The rustlers got off to stretch their legs.
"Cinch up," he panted. "Nevada, take two men, and go around to the left. Keep out of sight. I'll take—Hall and another man—with me. We'll cross the river. Modoc, you stay here till we both show on the banks. Then ride in... We'll close in on Red slow... Soon as he gets to running he'll slip—on the ice... He'll fall and slide... That'll demoralize him... Rest will be easy."
Nevada rode off with two of the men, while Ben, calling Hall and Jenks, wheeled back toward the barn and went down to the river. The ice cracked and swayed, but held the horses. Once across, Ben led the way at a swift gallop round to the West of the lake, keeping out of sight of the wild horses. When he reached a point far enough along the lake, he swerved to the height of ground. As he surmounted it he saw Nevada with his two riders come into sight across the lake, and another glance showed Modoc, with his followers, emerging by the mouth of the river.
"We've got four men here. With us it makes seven."
"Aw, my Gawd Ben, you wouldn't."
"I would," hissed Ben. "I'll have that red horse. Say you'll help me."
"I'm damned if I will," yelled Nevada shrilly. His dark face grew dusky red and his eyes dilated.
"I never minded you of your debt to me," went on Ben, in swift inexorable speech. "I remind you now."
"Hell, yes," roared Nevada, "if you put it that way. But you locoed idiot, I'll never forgive you."
"Lighten your horses. Untie your lassoes," ordered Ben, and then, drawing his clasp knife, he opened it and strode back to Hall. He knew that he was under the sway of passion of power of which he had never before been aware. It made him unstable as water. At the same time it strung him to unquenchable spirit and incalculable strength.
"Hall, there's a wild stallion out here on the ice. I've wanted him for years. If I promise to let you and your men go free, will you help me catch him?"
Hall bent his shaggy head to peer the closer into Ben's face, as if he needed scrutiny to corroborate hearing.
"Yes, I will," he boomed.
Without more ado Ben cut his bonds and passed onto the next rustler. Soon he had released them all.
"You needn't go," he said to the cripple.
California Red was a mile out on the ice, coming directly toward Ben. His stride was a stilted trot, and he lost it at every other step. His red mane curled up in the wind. The six horses were strung out behind him. Discovering Ben, the stallion let out a piercing whistle and wheeled. Then his feet flew out from under him and he fell. Frantically he tried to rise, but his smooth hoofs on the slippery ice did not catch hold.
"Ah, my beauty," yelled Ben wildly, with all his might. "It's no square chase, but you're mine, you're mine."
The other wild horses wheeled without losing their footing and soon drew from the slipping, sliding stallion. At last he got upon four feet and turned towards his band. It seemed that he knew he dared not run. At every step one of his hoofs slipped out from under him. Ben caught the yells of his helpers. They were running their horses down the sandy slope toward the ice. Another wild horse went down, and then another. It was almost impossible for them to rise. They slid around like tops.
Meanwhile, swift as the wind, Ben was running his fast horse down to the lake, distancing his followers, who came yelling behind. Hall's heavy voice pealed out full of the wild spirit of the chase. Ben reached the ice. The sharp iron shoes of his horse cut and broke through the first few rods but, reaching solid ice, they held. Ben reined in to wait for the men to spread and form a circle. Nevada was far out on the ice now, and he had closed the one wide avenue to the west. Soon the eight riders had closed in to a half-mile arc, with the open lake as an aid.
California Red turned back from the narrowing gap between Nevada and the lake. When he wheeled to the west, Modoc's group left a gateway for the wild horses nearest. They plunged and ran and slid and fell, got up to plunge again, and at least earned their freedom. This left two besides the stallion on the ice. He appeared at terrible disadvantage. Wild and instinct with wonderful speed, he could not exercise it. The riders closed in. Nevada rode between Red and the open water. Another of the horses escaped through a gap.
"Close in, slow now," bawled Ben, swinging the noose of his lasso.
The moment was fraught with a madness of rapture. How sure the outcome. Presently the great stallion would stampede and try to run. That was all Ben wanted. For when Red tried to run on that glassy ice, his doom was sealed.
He was trotting here, there, back again, head erect, mane curled, tail sweeping a living flame of horse-flesh. Terror would soon master him. His snorts seemed more piercingly acute, as if he protested against the apparent desertion of his band.
"Farther around, Modoc," yelled Ben. "Same for you, Nevada—on other side. Keep him in triangle... Now, men, ride in—yell like hell. And block him when he runs."
Suddenly, the red horse gathered himself in a knot. How grandly he sprang. And he propelled his magnificent body into a convulsive run, with every hoof sliding from under him. Straight toward Ben he came, his nostrils streaming white, his hoofs cracking like pistol shots. It seemed that his wild spirit enabled him to overcome even this impossible obstacle of ice, for he kept erect until he was shooting with incomparable speed.
At the height of it he slipped, plunged on his side with a snort of terror, turned on his back, and as he slid with swift momentum over the ice, his hoofs in the air, Ben's lasso uncurled like a striking snake. The noose fell over the forelegs and tightened.
Lusty yells from leather lungs. California Red had run into a rope. Ben hauled in his skillful horse. The great stallion flopped back on his side. The rope came taut to straighten out his legs, and stop him short. He could not rise. When he raised his beautiful head the Indian's rope circled his neck. His race was run.
Nevada came trotting up, noose in hand, white of face and fierce of eye.
"Pard, he's ruined us, but he's worth it, or I'm a livin' sinner," he shouted.
Ben gazed almost in stupefaction down upon the heaving graceful animal. California Red lay helpless, beaten, robbed of his incomparable speed. Every red line of him spoke to Ben's thrilling soul.
"Wal, Ide," boomed Bill Hall, slapping Ben on the shoulder, "I'm glad you ketched this grand hoss... You're a good sport. Put her thar... If I had time I'd tell you somethin'. But I see riders comin' along the lake an' we must rustle."
