Bred of the Desert - Charles Marcus Horton (best short novels .TXT) 📗

he laid a firm hand upon the man’s shoulder. “You coom look,” he invited. “You tell me what you t’ink thees!”

They walked to the mare, and Franke gazed a long moment in silence. Felipe stood beside him, eying him sharply, hoping for an expression of approval–even of congratulation. In this he was doomed to disappointment, for the other continued silent, and in silence finally turned back, his whole attitude that of one who saw nothing in the spectacle worthy of comment. Felipe followed him, nettled, and sat down and himself rolled a cigarette. As he sat smoking it the other seated himself beside him, and presently touched him on the arm and began to speak. Felipe listened, with now and again a nod of approval, and, when the compadre was finished, accepted the brilliant proposition.

“A bet, eh?” he exclaimed. “All right!” And he produced his sheepskin pouch and dumped out his three dollars. “All right! I bet you feety cents, Franke, thot eet don’ be!”

Frank looked his disdain at the amount offered. Also, his eyes blazed and his round face reddened. He shoved his hand into his overalls, brought forth a silver dollar, and tossed it down in the sand.

“A bet!” he yelled. “Mek eet a bet! A dolar!” Then he narrowed his eyes in the direction of the mare. “Mek eet a good bet! You have chonce to win, too, Felipe–you know!”

Felipe did not respond immediately. Money was his all-absorbing difficulty. Never plentiful with him, it was less than ever plentiful now, and was wholly represented in the three dollars before him. A sum little enough in fact, it dwindled rapidly as he recalled one by one his numerous debts. For he owed much money. He owed for food in the settlement store; he owed for clothing he had bought in town; and he owed innumerable gambling debts–big sums, sums mounting to heights he dared not contemplate. And all he had to his name was the three dollars lying so peacefully before him, with the speculative Franke hovering over them like a fat buzzard over a dead coyote. What to do! He could not decide. He had ways for this money, other than paying on his debts or investing in a gambling proposition. There was to be a baile soon, and he must buy for Margherita (providing her father, a caustic hombre, bitter against all wood-haulers, permitted him the girl’s society) peanuts in the dance-hall and candy outside the dance-hall. The candy must be bought in the general store, where, because of his many debts, he must pay cash now–always cash! So what to do! All these things meant money. And money, as he well understood, was a thing hard to get. Yet here was a chance, as Franke had generously indicated, for him to win some money. But, against this chance for him to win some money was the chance also, as conveyed inversely by Franke, of his losing some money–money he could ill afford to lose.

“You afraid?” suddenly cut in Franke, nastily, upon these reflections. “I don’ see you do soomt’ing!”

Which decided Felipe for all time. “Afraid?” he echoed, disdainfully. “Sure! But not for myself! You don’ have mooch money to lose! But I mek eet a bet–a good bet! I bet you two dolars thot eet–thot eet don’ be!”

It was now the other who hesitated. But he did not hesitate for long. Evidently the spirit of the gambler was more deeply rooted in him than it was in Felipe, for, after gazing out in the trail a moment, then eying Felipe another moment, both speculatively, he extracted from his pockets two more silver dollars and tossed them down with the others. Then he fixed Felipe with a malignant stare.

“I bet you t’ree dolars thot eet cooms what I haf say!”

Felipe laughed. “All right,” he agreed, readily. “Why not?” He heaped the money under a stone, sank over upon his back with an affected yawn, drew his hat over his eyes, and lay still. “We go to sleep now, Franke,” he proposed. “Eet’s long time–I haf t’ink.”

Soon both were snoring.

Out in the trail hung the quiet of a sick-room. The long afternoon waned. Once a wagon appeared from the direction of town, but the driver, evidently grasping the true situation, turned out and around the mare in respectful silence. Another time a single horseman, riding from the mountains, cantered upon the scene; but this man, also with a look of understanding, turned out and around the mare in careful regard for her condition. Then came darkness. Shadows crept in from nowhere, stealing over the desert more and more darkly, while, with their coming, birds of the air, seeking safe place for night rest, flitted about in nervous uncertainty. And suddenly in the gathering dusk rose the long-drawn howl of a coyote, lifting into the stillness a lugubrious note of appeal. Then, close upon the echo of this, rose another appeal in the trail close by, the shrill nicker of the mate to the mare.

It awoke Felipe. He sat up quickly, rubbed his eyes dazedly, and peered out with increasing understanding. Then he sprang to his feet.

“Coom!” he called, kicking the other. “We go now–see who is winnin’ thot bet!” And he started hurriedly forward.

But the other checked him. “Wait!” he snapped, rising. “You wait! You in too mooch hurry! You coom back–I have soomt’ing!”

Felipe turned back, wondering. The other nervously produced material for a cigarette. Then he cleared his throat with needless protraction.

“Felipe,” he began, evidently laboring under excitement, “I mek eet a bet now! I bet you,” he went on, his voice trembling with fervor–“I bet you my wagon, thee horses–thee whole shutting-match–against thot wagon and horses yours, and thee harness–thee whole damned shutting-match–thot I haf win!” He proceeded to finish his cigarette.

Felipe stared at him hard. Surely his ears had deceived him! If they had not deceived him, if, for a fact, the hombre had expressed a willingness to bet all he had on the outcome of this thing, then Franke, fellow-townsman, compadre, brother-wood-hauler, was crazy! But he determined to find out.

“What you said, Franke?” he asked, peering into the glowing eyes of the other. “Say thot again, hombre!”

“I haf say,” repeated the other, with lingering emphasis upon each word–“I haf say I bet you everyt’ing–wagon, harness, caballos–everyt’ing!–against thot wagon, harness, caballos yours–everyt’ing–thee whole shutting-match–thot I haf win thee bet!”

Again Felipe lowered his eyes. But now to consider suspicions. He had heard rightly; Franke really wanted to bet all he had. But he could not but wonder whether Franke, by any possible chance, knew in advance the outcome of the affair in the trail. He had heard of such things, though never had he believed them possible. Yet he found himself troubled with insistent reminder that Franke had suggested this whole thing. Then suddenly he was gripped in another unwelcome thought. Could it be possible that this scheming hombre, awaking at a time when he himself was soundest asleep, had gone out into the trail on tiptoe for advance information? It was possible. Why not? But that was not the point exactly. The point was, had he done it? Had this buzzard circled out into the trail while he himself was asleep? He did not know, and he could not decide! For the third time in ten hours, though puzzled and groping, trembling between gain and loss, he plunged on the gambler’s chance.

“All right!” he agreed, tensely. “I take thot bet! I bet you thees wagon, thees caballos, thees harness–everyt’ing–against everyt’ing yours–wagon, horses, harness–everyt’ing! Wait!” he thundered, for the other now was striding toward the mare. “Wait! You in too mooch hurry yourself now!” Then, as the other returned: “Is eet a bet? Is eet a bet?”

The fellow-townsman nodded. Whereat Felipe nodded approval of the nod, and stepped out into the trail, followed by the other.

It was night, and quite a dark night. Stretching away to east and west, the dimly outlined trail was lost abruptly in engulfing darkness; while, overhead, a starless sky, low and somber and frowning, pressed close. But, dark though the night was, it did not wholly conceal the outlines of the mare. She was standing as they approached, mildly encouraging a tiny something beside her, a wisp of life, her baby, who was struggling to insure continued existence. And it was this second outline, not the other and larger outline, that held the breathless attention of the men. Nervously Felipe struck a match. As it flared up he stepped close, followed by the other, and there was a moment of tense silence. Then the match went out and Felipe straightened up.

“Franke,” he burst out, “I haf win thee bet! Eet is not a mare; eet is a li’l’ horse!” He struck his compadre a resounding blow on the back. “I am mooch sorry, Franke,” he declared–“not!” He turned back to the faint outline of the colt. “Thees potrillo,” he observed, “he’s bringin’ me mooch good luck! He’s–” He suddenly interrupted himself, aware that the other was striding away. “Where you go now, Franke?” he asked, and then, quick to sense approaching trouble: “Never mind thee big bet, Franke! You can pay me ten dolars soom time! All right?”

There was painful silence.

“All right!” came the reply, finally, through the darkness.

Then Felipe heard a lumber rigging go rattling off in the direction of the canyon, and, suddenly remembering the money underneath the stone, hurried off the trail in a spasm of alarm. He knelt in the sand and struck a match.

The money had disappeared.

CHAPTER II
FELIPE CELEBRATES

It was well along in the morning when Felipe pulled up next day before his little adobe house in the mountain settlement. The journey from the mesa below had been, perforce, slow. The mare was still pitiably weak, and her condition had necessitated many stops, each of long duration. Also, on the way up the canyon the colt had displayed frequent signs of exhaustion, though only with the pauses did he attempt rest.

But it was all over now. They were safely before the house, with the colt lying a little apart from his mother–regarding her with curious intentness–and with Felipe bustling about the team and now and again bursting out in song of questionable melody and rhythm. Felipe was preparing the horses for the corral at the rear of the house, and soon he flung aside the harness and seized each of the horses by the bridle.

“Well, you li’l’ devil!” he exclaimed, addressing the reclining colt. “You coom along now! You live in thees place back here! You coom wit’ me now!” And he started around a corner of the adobe.

The colt hastily rose to his feet. But not at the command of the man. No such command was necessary, for whither went his mother there went he. Close to her side, he moved with her into the inclosure, crowding frantically over the bars, skinning his knees in the effort, coming to a wide-eyed stand just inside the entrance, and there surveying with nervous apprehension the corral’s occupants–a burro, two pigs, a flock of chickens. But he held close to his mother’s side.

Felipe did not linger in the corral. Throwing off their bridles, he tossed the usual scant supply of alfalfa to the horses, and filled their tub from a near-by well. Then, after putting up the bars, he set out with determined stride across the settlement. His direction was the general store, and his quest was the loan of a horse, since his team now was broken, and would be broken for a number of days to come.

The store was owned and conducted by one Pedro Garcia. Pedro Garcia was the mountain Shylock. He loaned money at enormous rates of interest, and he rented out horses at prohibitive rates