CHAPTER XI
One Sunday, late in the afternoon, found Daylight across the bay in thePiedmont hills back of Oakland. As usual, he was in a big motor-car,though not his own, the guest of Swiftwater Bill, Luck's own darling,who had come down to spend the clean-up of the seventh fortune wrungfrom the frozen Arctic gravel. A notorious spender, his latest pilewas already on the fair road to follow the previous six. He it was, inthe first year of Dawson, who had cracked an ocean of champagne atfifty dollars a quart; who, with the bottom of his gold-sack in sight,had cornered the egg-market, at twenty-four dollars per dozen, to thetune of one hundred and ten dozen, in order to pique the lady-love whohad jilted him; and he it was, paying like a prince for speed, who hadchartered special trains and broken all records between San Franciscoand New York. And here he was once more, the "luck-pup of hell," asDaylight called him, throwing his latest fortune away with the sameold-time facility.
It was a merry party, and they had made a merry day of it, circling thebay from San Francisco around by San Jose and up to Oakland, havingbeen thrice arrested for speeding, the third time, however, on theHaywards stretch, running away with their captor. Fearing that atelephone message to arrest them had been flashed ahead, they hadturned into the back-road through the hills, and now, rushing in uponOakland by a new route, were boisterously discussing what dispositionthey should make of the constable.
"We'll come out at Blair Park in ten minutes," one of the menannounced. "Look here, Swiftwater, there's a crossroads right ahead,with lots of gates, but it'll take us backcountry clear into Berkeley.Then we can come back into Oakland from the other side, sneak across onthe ferry, and send the machine back around to-night with thechauffeur."
But Swiftwater Bill failed to see why he should not go into Oakland byway of Blair Park, and so decided.
The next moment, flying around a bend, the back-road they were notgoing to take appeared. Inside the gate leaning out from her saddleand just closing it, was a young woman on a chestnut sorrel. With hisfirst glimpse, Daylight felt there was something strangely familiarabout her. The next moment, straightening up in the saddle with amovement he could not fail to identify, she put the horse into agallop, riding away with her back toward them. It was Dede Mason--heremembered what Morrison had told him about her keeping a riding horse,and he was glad she had not seen him in this riotous company.Swiftwater Bill stood up, clinging with one hand to the back of thefront seat and waving the other to attract her attention. His lips werepursed for the piercing whistle for which he was famous and whichDaylight knew of old, when Daylight, with a hook of his leg and a yankon the shoulder, slammed the startled Bill down into his seat.
"You m-m-must know the lady," Swiftwater Bill spluttered.
"I sure do," Daylight answered, "so shut up."
"Well, I congratulate your good taste, Daylight. She's a peach, andshe rides like one, too."
Intervening trees at that moment shut her from view, and SwiftwaterBill plunged into the problem of disposing of their constable, whileDaylight, leaning back with closed eyes, was still seeing Dede Masongallop off down the country road. Swiftwater Bill was right. Shecertainly could ride. And, sitting astride, her seat was perfect.Good for Dede! That was an added point, her having the courage to ridein the only natural and logical manner. Her head as screwed on right,that was one thing sure.
On Monday morning, coming in for dictation, he looked at her with newinterest, though he gave no sign of it; and the stereotyped businesspassed off in the stereotyped way. But the following Sunday found himon a horse himself, across the bay and riding through the Piedmonthills. He made a long day of it, but no glimpse did he catch of DedeMason, though he even took the back-road of many gates and rode on intoBerkeley. Here, along the lines of multitudinous houses, up one streetand down another, he wondered which of them might be occupied by her.Morrison had said long ago that she lived in Berkeley, and she had beenheaded that way in the late afternoon of the previous Sunday--evidentlyreturning home.
It had been a fruitless day, so far as she was concerned; and yet notentirely fruitless, for he had enjoyed the open air and the horse underhim to such purpose that, on Monday, his instructions were out to thedealers to look for the best chestnut sorrel that money could buy. Atodd times during the week he examined numbers of chestnut sorrels,tried several, and was unsatisfied. It was not till Saturday that hecame upon Bob. Daylight knew him for what he wanted the moment he laideyes on him. A large horse for a riding animal, he was none too largefor a big man like Daylight. In splendid condition, Bob's coat in thesunlight was a flame of fire, his arched neck a jeweled conflagration.
"He's a sure winner," was Daylight's comment; but the dealer was not sosanguine. He was selling the horse on commission, and its owner hadinsisted on Bob's true character being given. The dealer gave it.
"Not what you'd call a real vicious horse, but a dangerous one. Full ofvinegar and all-round cussedness, but without malice. Just as soon killyou as not, but in a playful sort of way, you understand, withoutmeaning to at all. Personally, I wouldn't think of riding him. Buthe's a stayer. Look at them lungs. And look at them legs. Not ablemish. He's never been hurt or worked. Nobody ever succeeded intaking it out of him. Mountain horse, too, trail-broke and all that,being raised in rough country. Sure-footed as a goat, so long as hedon't get it into his head to cut up. Don't shy. Ain't really afraid,but makes believe. Don't buck, but rears. Got to ride him with amartingale. Has a bad trick of whirling around without cause It's hisidea of a joke on his rider. It's all just how he feels One day he'llride along peaceable and pleasant for twenty miles. Next day, beforeyou get started, he's well-nigh unmanageable. Knows automobiles so hecan lay down alongside of one and sleep or eat hay out of it. He'lllet nineteen go by without batting an eye, and mebbe the twentieth,just because he's feeling frisky, he'll cut up over like a rangecayuse. Generally speaking, too lively for a gentleman, and toounexpected. Present owner nicknamed him Judas Iscariot, and refuses tosell without the buyer knowing all about him first. There, that'sabout all I know, except look at that mane and tail. Ever see anythinglike it? Hair as fine as a baby's."
The dealer was right. Daylight examined the mane and found it finerthan any horse's hair he had ever seen. Also, its color was unusual inthat it was almost auburn. While he ran his fingers through it, Bobturned his head and playfully nuzzled Daylight's shoulder.
"Saddle him up, and I'll try him," he told the dealer. "I wonder ifhe's used to spurs. No English saddle, mind. Give me a good Mexicanand a curb bit--not too severe, seeing as he likes to rear."
Daylight superintended the preparations, adjusting the curb strap andthe stirrup length, and doing the cinching. He shook his head at themartingale, but yielded to the dealer's advice and allowed it to go on.And Bob, beyond spirited restlessness and a few playful attempts, gaveno trouble. Nor in the hour's ride that followed, save for somepermissible curveting and prancing, did he misbehave. Daylight wasdelighted; the purchase was immediately made; and Bob, with riding gearand personal equipment, was despatched across the bay forthwith to takeup his quarters in the stables of the Oakland Riding Academy.
The next day being Sunday, Daylight was away early, crossing on theferry and taking with him Wolf, the leader of his sled team, the onedog which he had selected to bring with him when he left Alaska. Questas he would through the Piedmont hills and along the many-gatedback-road to Berkeley, Daylight saw nothing of Dede Mason and herchestnut sorrel. But he had little time for disappointment, for hisown chestnut sorrel kept him busy. Bob proved a handful of impishnessand contrariety, and he tried out his rider as much as his rider triedhim out. All of Daylight's horse knowledge and horse sense was calledinto play, while Bob, in turn, worked every trick in his lexicon.Discovering that his martingale had more slack in it than usual, heproceeded to give an exhibition of rearing and hind-leg walking. Afterten hopeless minutes of it, Daylight slipped off and tightened themartingale, whereupon Bob gave an
exhibition of angelic goodness.
He fooled Daylight completely. At the end of half an hour of goodness,Daylight, lured into confidence, was riding along at a walk and rollinga cigarette, with slack knees and relaxed seat, the reins lying on theanimal's neck. Bob whirled abruptly and with lightning swiftness,pivoting on his hind legs, his fore legs just lifted clear of theground. Daylight found himself with his right foot out of the stirrupand his arms around the animal's neck; and Bob took advantage of thesituation to bolt down the road. With a hope that he should notencounter Dede Mason at that moment, Daylight regained his seat andchecked in the horse.
Arrived back at the same spot, Bob whirled again. This time Daylightkept his seat, but, beyond a futile rein across the neck, did nothingto prevent the evolution. He noted that Bob whirled to the right, andresolved to keep him straightened out by a spur on the left. But soabrupt and swift was the whirl that warning and accomplishment werepractically simultaneous.
"Well, Bob," he addressed the animal, at the same time wiping the sweatfrom his own eyes, "I'm free to confess that you're sure the blamedestall-fired quickest creature I ever saw. I guess the way to fix you isto keep the spur just a-touching--ah! you brute!"
For, the moment the spur touched him, his left hind leg had reachedforward in a kick that struck the stirrup a smart blow. Several times,out of curiosity, Daylight attempted the spur, and each time Bob's hooflanded the stirrup. Then Daylight, following the horse's example ofthe unexpected, suddenly drove both spurs into him and reached himunderneath with the quirt.
"You ain't never had a real licking before," he muttered as Bob, thusrudely jerked out of the circle of his own impish mental processes,shot ahead.
Half a dozen times spurs and quirt bit into him, and then Daylightsettled down to enjoy the mad magnificent gallop. No longer punished,at the end of a half mile Bob eased down into a fast canter. Wolf,toiling in the rear, was catching up, and everything was going nicely.
"I'll give you a few pointers on this whirling game, my boy," Daylightwas saying to him, when Bob whirled.
He did it on a gallop, breaking the gallop off short by fore legsstiffly planted. Daylight fetched up against his steed's neck withclasped arms, and at the same instant, with fore feet clear of theground, Bob whirled around. Only an excellent rider could have escapedbeing unhorsed, and as it was, Daylight was nastily near to it. By thetime he recovered his seat, Bob was in full career, bolting the way hehad come, and making Wolf side-jump to the bushes.
"All right, darn you!" Daylight grunted, driving in spurs and quirtagain and again. "Back-track you want to go, and back-track you surewill go till you're dead sick of it."
When, after a time, Bob attempted to ease down the mad pace, spurs andquirt went into him again with undiminished vim and put him to renewedeffort. And when, at last, Daylight decided that the horse had hadenough, he turned him around abruptly and put him into a gentle canteron the forward track. After a time he reined him in to a stop to seeif he were breathing painfully.
Standing for a minute, Bob turned his head and nuzzled his rider'sstirrup in a roguish, impatient way, as much as to intimate that it wastime they were going on.
"Well, I'll be plumb gosh darned!" was Daylight's comment. "Noill-will, no grudge, no nothing-and after that lambasting! You're surea hummer, Bob."
Once again Daylight was lulled into fancied security. For an hour Bobwas all that could be desired of a spirited mount, when, and as usualwithout warning, he took to whirling and bolting. Daylight put a stopto this with spurs and quirt, running him several punishing miles inthe direction of his bolt. But when he turned him around and startedforward, Bob proceeded to feign fright at trees, cows, bushes, Wolf,his own shadow--in short, at every ridiculously conceivable object. Atsuch times, Wolf lay down in the shade and looked on, while Daylightwrestled it out.
So the day passed. Among other things, Bob developed a trick of makingbelieve to whirl and not whirling. This was as exasperating as thereal thing, for each time Daylight was fooled into tightening his leggrip and into a general muscular tensing of all his body. And then,after a few make-believe attempts, Bob actually did whirl and caughtDaylight napping again and landed him in the old position with claspedarms around the neck.
And to the end of the day, Bob continued to be up to one trick oranother; after passing a dozen automobiles on the way into Oakland,suddenly electing to go mad with fright at a most ordinary littlerunabout. And just before he arrived back at the stable he capped theday with a combined whirling and rearing that broke the martingale andenabled him to gain a perpendicular position on his hind legs. At thisjuncture a rotten stirrup leather parted, and Daylight was all butunhorsed.
But he had taken a liking to the animal, and repented not of hisbargain. He realized that Bob was not vicious nor mean, the troublebeing that he was bursting with high spirits and was endowed with morethan the average horse's intelligence. It was the spirits and theintelligence, combined with inordinate roguishness, that made him whathe was. What was required to control him was a strong hand, withtempered sternness and yet with the requisite touch of brutal dominance.
"It's you or me, Bob," Daylight told him more than once that day.
And to the stableman, that night:--
"My, but ain't he a looker! Ever see anything like him? Best piece ofhorseflesh I ever straddled, and I've seen a few in my time."
And to Bob, who had turned his head and was up to his playfulnuzzling:--
"Good-by, you little bit of all right. See you again next Sunday A.M.,and just you bring along your whole basket of tricks, you oldson-of-a-gun."