The Max Brand Megapack (299 page)

“I have told him everything,” said Ephraim, turning again to Connor and shaking his head in sympathy. “And how Abra came to you, but though the horse trusted you, Joseph does not wish you to stay. I am sorry.”

Connor looked through the gate into the darkness of the Garden of Eden; at the entrance to his promised land he was to be turned back. In his despair he opened his palm and looked down absently at the little grinning ape head of ivory. Even while he was deep in thought he felt the silence which settled over the three men, and when he looked up he saw the glittering eyes of Joseph fixed upon the trinket. That instant new hope came to Connor; he closed his hand over the ape head, and turning to Ephraim he said:

“Very well. If there’s nothing else for me to do, I’ll take the chance of getting through the mountains with my lame nags.”

As he spoke he threw the reins over the neck of the chestnut; but before he could put his foot in the stirrup Joseph was beside him and touched his shoulder.

“Wait!” said he, and the gambler paused with astonishment. The mask of the mute which he had hitherto kept on his face now fell from it.

“Let me see,” the giant was saying, and held out his hand for the ivory image.

The pulse of Connor doubled its beat—but with his fingers still closed he said:

“The ivory head is an old companion of mine and has brought me a great deal of luck.”

The torchlight changed in the eyes of Joseph as the sun glints and glimmers on watered silk.

“I would not hurt it,” he said, and made a gingerly motion to show how light and deft his fingers could be.

“Very well,” said Connor, “but I rarely let it out of my hand.”

He stepped closer to the firelight and exposed the little carving again. It was a curious bit of work, with every detail nicely executed; pinpoint emeralds were inset for eyes, the lips grinned back from tiny fangs of gold, and the swelling neck suggested the powerful ape body of the model. In the firelight the teeth and eyes flashed.

Joseph grinned in sympathy. Ephraim and Jacob also had drawn close, and the white man saw in the three faces one expression: they had become children before a master, and when Connor placed the trinket in the great paw of Joseph the other two flashed at him glances of envy. As for the big man, he was transformed.

“Speak truth,” he said suddenly. “Why do you wish to enter the Garden?”

“I’ve already told you, I think,” said Connor. “It’s to rest up until the horse and mule are well again.”

The glance of the huge man, which had hitherto wandered from the trinket to Connor’s face, now steadied brightly upon the latter.

“There must be another reason.”

Connor felt himself pressed to the wall.

“Look at the thing you have in your hand, Joseph. You are asking yourself: ‘What is it? Who made it? See how the firelight glitters on it—perhaps there is life in it!’”

“Ah!” sighed the three in one breath.

“Perhaps there is power in it. I have used it well and it has brought me a great deal of good luck. But you would like to know all those things, Joseph. Now look at the gate to the Garden!”

He waved to the lofty and dark cleft before them.

“It is like a face to me. People live behind it. Who are they? Who is the master? What does he do? What is his power? That is another reason why I wish to go in; and why should you fear me? I am alone; I am unarmed.”

It seemed that Joseph learned more from Connor’s expression than from his words.

“The law is the will of David.”

The Garden became to Connor as the forbidden room to Bluebeard’s wife; it tempted him as a high cliff tempts the climber toward a fall. He mustered a calm air and voice.

“That is a matter I can arrange with your master. He may have laws to keep out thieves, but certainly he has nothing against honest men.”

Joseph shrugged his big shoulders, but Ephraim answered: “The will of David never changes. I am no longer young, but since I have been old enough to remember, I have never seen a man either come into the valley or leave it except Joseph.”

The solemnity of the old man staggered Connor. He felt his resolution to enter at any cost waver, and then Abra, the young stallion, came to his side and looked in his face.

It was the decisive touch. The life which the devotee would risk for his God, or the patriot for his country, the gambler was willing to venture for the sake of a “sure thing.”

“Let us exchange gifts,” said Connor; “I give you the ivory head. It may bring you good luck. You give me the right to enter the valley and I accept any good or evil that comes to me.”

The huge fingers of Joseph curled softly over the image.

“Beware of the law!” cried Ephraim. “And the hand of the master!”

The giant shrank, but he looked at Ephraim with sullen defiance.

“Come,” he said to Connor. “This is on your own head.”

CHAPTER TE
N

“It is a long ride to the house of David,” said Jacob. “Your horse is footsore; take Abra.”

But Ephraim broke in: “If you care for speed and wise feet beneath you, Tabari herself is there.”

He whistled as Jacob had done before, but with another grace-note at the end.

“Those of my household answer when they are called,” continued the old man proudly. “Listen!”

A soft whinny out of the darkness, and Tabari galloped into the firelight, and stopped at the side of her master motionless.

“Choose,” said Ephraim.

He smiled at Jacob, who in return was darkly silent.

The mare tugged at the heartstrings of Connor, but he answered, slipping carefully into the formal language which apparently was approved most in the valley.

“She is worthy of a king, but Abra was offered to me first. But will he carry a saddle?”

“He will carry anything but a whip,” said Jacob, casting a glance of triumph at Ephraim. “You will see!” He was already busy at the knot under the flap of Connor’s saddle, and presently he slipped the saddle from the back of the chestnut. “Come!” he called.

Abra came, but he came like a fighter into the ring, dancing, ready for trouble.

“Fool!” shouted Jacob, stamping. “Fool, and grandson of a fool, stand!”

The ears of Abra flicked back along his neck and he trembled as the saddle was swung over him. Under its impact he crouched and shuddered, but the outbreak of bucking for which Connor waited did not come. The jerk on the cinch brought a snort from him, but that was all.

“We may not put iron in his mouth,” said Jacob, as Connor came up with the bridle, “but a touch on this will turn him or stop him, as you wish.”

As he spoke he picked up a small rope, which he knotted around the neck of Abra close to the ears, and handed the end to Connor.

“Look!” he said to the horse, pointing to Connor. “This is your master to-night. Bear him as you would bear me, Abra, without leaping or stumbling, smoothly, as son of Khalissa should do. And hark,” he added in the ear of the young stallion; “if the mare of Joseph outruns you, you are no horse of my household, but a mongrel, a bloodless knave.”

Joseph was already trotting through the gate and growing dim beyond, so Connor put his foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. He landed as upon springs, all the lithe body of the stallion giving under the shock; and Connor felt a quivering power beneath him like the vibration of a racing motor. Abra’s eyes glinted as he threw his head high to take stock of the new master.

“Go,” commanded Jacob; “and remember your speed, for the honor of him who trained you!”

The last words were whipped away from the ear of Connor and trailed into a murmur behind him, for without a preliminary step Abra sprang from a stand into a full gallop. That forward lurch swayed Connor far back; he lost touch with his stirrups, but, clinging desperately with his knees, he was presently able to right himself. There was hard gravel beneath them, but the gait was as soft as if Abra ran in deep sand without labor; there was no more wrench and shock than the ghost of a man riding a ghost of a horse.

A column of black shot by on either hand; Connor was through the gate to the Garden of Eden and rushing down the slope beyond. He knew this dimly, but chiefly he was aware only of the whipping of the wind. Something Ephraim had said came into his memory: “If there were ten like Abra in one corral, and one like Tabari in another, a wise man—” But, no doubt, Ephraim had jested.

For, glancing up, he saw the tops of tall trees rushing past him against the sky, and for the first time he knew the speed of that gallop. In his exultation he threw up his hand, and his shout rang before him and behind. That taught him a lesson he would never forget when he sat the saddle on an Eden Gray; for Abra lurched into a run with a suddenness that swayed Connor against the cantle again.

He steadied himself quickly and called to Abra; the first word cut down that racing gait to the long, free stride, but the brief rush had taken the breath of the rider, and now he looked about him.

He had been in California years before, and now he recognized the peculiar, clean perfume of the trees which lined the road; they were the eucalyptus, and they fenced the way with a gigantic hedge several rows deep. It was a winding road that they followed, dipping over a rolling ground and swinging leisurely from side to side to avoid high places, so that the vista of the trees was continually in motion, twisting back and forth; or when he looked straight up he saw the slender tree-points brushing past the stars. So he galloped into a long, straight stretch with a pale gleam of water beyond it; and between he saw Joseph.

It was strange that in spite of the speed of Abra, Joseph’s mare had not been overtaken; for no matter what quality the mare might have, she carried in the gigantic Negro an impost of some two hundred and fifty pounds. A suspicion of discourtesy on his part must have come to Joseph, for now he brought his horse back to a canter that allowed Connor to come close, so close indeed that he saw Joseph laughing in a horrible soundless way and beckoning him on, very much as though he challenged Abra. Surely the fellow must know that no horse could concede such weight to Abra, but Connor waved his arm to signify that he accepted the challenge, and called on Abra.

There followed the breathless lunge forward, the sinking of the body as the stride lengthened, the whir of wind against his face; Connor sat the saddle erect, smiling, and waited for Joseph to come back to him.

But Joseph did not come, and as the mare reached the river and her hoofs rang on the bridge Connor saw with unspeakable wonder that he had actually lost ground. Once more he called on Abra, and as they struck the bridge in turn the young stallion was fully extended, while Connor swung forward in the saddle to throw more weight on the withers and take the strain from the long back muscles. Leaning close to the neck of Abra, with the mane whipping his face, he squinted down the road at Joseph, and growled with savage satisfaction as he saw the mare drift back to him. If he could reach her with a sprint she was beaten, for she bore the extra burden. Once more he called on Abra, and heard a slight grunt as the stallion gave the last burst of his strength; the hoofs of the two roared on the hard road, and Joseph came back hand over hand. Connor, laughing exultantly, squinted into the wind.

“Good boy!” he muttered. “Good old Abra! If he had Salvator under him we’d get him at this rate. We’re on his hip—Now!”

He was indeed in touch with the flying mare, and, looking through the dimness, he marveled at her long, free swing, the level drive of the croup, and—he saw with astonishment—her pricking ears! Not as if she were racing, but merely galloping. He flattened himself along the neck of Abra and called on him again, slapped his shoulder with the flat of his hand, flicked him along the flank with the butt of the rope; but the mare held him invincibly; he could not gain the breadth of a hair, and by the pounding of Abra’s forefeet he knew that the stallion was running himself out. At that moment, to crown his bewilderment, Joseph turned, laughing again in that soundless way. Only for a moment; then he turned, and, leaning over the withers of his mount, the mare lengthened, it seemed to Connor, and moved away.

Her hips went past him, then her tail, flying out straight behind, a streak of silver; and last of all, there was the hiss of derision from Joseph whistling back to him.

Connor threw himself back into the saddle and brought the stallion down to a moderate pace. One hand was clutched at his throat, for it seemed to him that his heart was beating there. Before him raced a vision of Ben Connor, king of the racetracks of the world, with horses no handicapper could measure.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A Second thought made him lean a little, listening closely, and then he discovered that after this terrific trial Abra was breathing deep and free. Connor sat straight again and smiled. They must be close to the lake he had seen from the mountain, for among the trees to his left was a faint gleam of water. A moment later this glimmer went out, and the hoofbeats of Abra were muffled on turf. They had left the road and headed for a scattering of lights. Joseph had drawn the mare back to a hand-gallop, and Abra followed the example; at this rocking gait they swept through the grove between two long, low buildings, always climbing, and came suddenly upon a larger house. On three sides Connor looked down upon water; the building was behind him. Not a light showed in it, but he made out the low, single story, the sense of weight, and crude arches of the Mission style. Through an opening in the center of the façade he looked into darkness which he knew must be the patio.

Following the example of Joseph, he dismounted, and while the big man, with his waddling, difficult walk, disappeared into the court, Connor stepped back and looked over Abra. Starlight was enough to see him by, for he glimmered with running sweat even in the semidarkness, but it was plain from his high head and inquisitive muzzle that he was neither winded nor down-hearted. He followed Connor like a dog when the gambler went in turn to the mare. She turned about nervously to watch the newcomer. Not until Abra had touched noses with her and perhaps spoken to her the dumb horse-talk would she allow Connor to come close, and even then he could not see her as clearly as the stallion. By running his finger-tips over her he discovered the reason—only on the flanks and across the breast was she wet with perspiration, and barely moist on the thighs and belly. The race had winded her no more than a six-furlong canter.