“Well?” he queried.
Glendin poured his drink with a shaking hand, spilling
much liquor across the varnished wood. He drained
his glass at a gulp.
“I dunno; what d’you think, Murphy?”
“You heard him talk, Glendin. You ought
to know what’s best.”
“Let’s hear you say it.”
“I’d climb the best hoss I owned and start
west, and when I come to the sea I’d take a
ship and keep right on goin’ till I got halfway
around the world. And then I’d climb a
mountain and hire a couple of dead-shots for guards
and have my first night’s sleep. After that
I’d begin thinkin’ of what I could do
to get away from Drew.”
“Murphy,” said the other, “maybe
that line of talk would sound sort of exaggerated
to some, but I ain’t one of them. You’ve
got a wooden leg, but your brain’s sound.
But tell me, what in God’s name makes him so
thick with the tenderfoot?”
He waited for no answer, but started for the door.
PARTNERS
If Drew had done hard things in his life, few were
more remorseless than the ride on the great bay horse
that day. Starting out, he reckoned coldly the
total strength of the gallant animal, the distance
to his old house, and figured that it was just within
possibilities that he might reach the place before
evening. From that moment it was certain that
the horse would not survive the ride.
It was merely a question as to whether or not the
master had so gaged his strength that the bay would
not collapse before even the summit of the range had
been reached. As the miles went by the horse loosened
and extended finely to his work; sweat darkened and
polished his flanks; flecks of foam whirled back and
spattered his chest and the legs of his rider; he
kept on; almost to the last the rein had to be drawn
taut; to the very last his heart was even greater
than his body.
Up the steep slopes Drew let the horse walk; every
other inch of the way it was either the fast trot
or a swinging gallop, not the mechanical, easy pace
of the cattle-pony, but a driving, lunging speed.
The big hoofs literally smashed at the rocks, and the
ringing of it echoed hollowly along the rock face
of the ravine.
At the summit, for a single moment, like a bird of
prey pausing in mid circle to note the position of
the field mouse before it closes wings and bolts down
out of the blue, Drew sat his horse motionless and
stared down into the valleys below until he noted
the exact location of his house—the lake
glittered back and up to him in the slant light of
the late afternoon. The bay, such was the violence
of its panting, literally rocked beneath him.
Then he started the last downward course, sweeping
along the treacherous trail with reckless speed, the
rocks scattering before him. When they straightened
out on the level going beneath, the bay was staggering;
there was no longer any of the lilt and ease of the
strong horse running; it was a succession of jerks
and jars, and the panting was a sharper sound than
the thunder of the hoofs. His shoulders, his flanks,
his neck—all was foam now; and little by
little the proud head fell, reached out; still he
drove against the bit; still the rider had to keep
up the restraining pressure.
