STEENIE, DIABLO, AND THE JUDGE.
However, the Judge quickly aroused from the inaction his terror had caused, and, leaping over the paling, would have followed this childish horse “breaker,” had he been allowed. But Sutro sprang forward almost as instantly, leaned over the rails, and, with all the force of his iron muscles, clasped his long arms around the other’s shoulders.
“Caramba! I tell thee—no! Thou shalt not! Wouldst see her killed before thy very eyes?”
In a whisper, equally hoarse, the pinioned victim of the Spaniard’s embrace retorted: “No! For that reason—”
“Move not, hand nor foot! Watch. She is safe. I swear it. She has a magic. I know not—she calls it love.”
Magic! It seemed so. Half way down the field Steenie slackened her pace, began to sing softly, bits and snatches of melodies ended almost in the same breath, and to stop and pluck at the buttercup and clover blooms, here or there. She had the lariat loosely about her wrist; but she paid no attention to Diablo, who stood, like a beautiful statue, regarding the intrusion.
By slow degrees she made her way to a low-branched oak-tree standing at one side the paddock, not far from the colt’s own position, and, with the gentlest of motions, raised herself to its broad limb.
Diablo was now obliged to turn his head in order to watch her, but otherwise he did not stir; and, observing this, Judge Courtenay’s heart beat a trifle more naturally.
“Loose your arms, señor; I shall not startle her now.”
“Ah! Si? Thou beholdest then that we spoke the truth? In one half-hour my Little Un will come to thee leading the beast by the forelock. Thou wilt see.”
“Hang the beast! That she comes out alive—unhurt—is all I care!”
“In verity she will do that. She will do a miracle. Thou shalt see.”
“Is it possible that you are not afraid? I thought you called her your ‘heart’s dearest’!”
“En verdad. She is the whole world to Sutro Vives. But I am not afraid, I. She is all love, all innocence, all fearlessness. She would win over the Evil One himself, I believe, if she could meet him!”
“She certainly has a chance now to try!” groaned Diablo’s owner, too anxious to be greatly amused by Sutro’s extravagance of language, and holding himself ready to rush forward to the child’s aid at the first ugly movement on the animal’s part.
Timid Beatrice stood upon the lower round of the fence, scarcely breathing in the fascination of her fear; yet it was her eyes which interpreted the first overture between those two out there in the paddock. “See! She’s laid her head down on the branch an’ pertends she’s going to sleep; and I can hear her—I surely can—singing soft, soft, kind of loving-y like. And now—he’s moving—but slow—as anything.”
“Yes. I am watching.” Neither voice raised above a whisper.
“But—look now! He’s a walking up to her; curious like, isn’t he? He’s—see him!”
Intently they gazed upon the pantomime. Steenie lay on her leafy perch, one little foot dangling and swinging lazily back and forth, her blue eyes turned caressingly, almost imploringly, upon Diablo, as if beseeching him to come to her.
Her own description, afterward, was: “I just thought at him as hard as ever I could. I wouldn’t think of anything else, only that I did love him, and was sorry he didn’t make friends with his wanted-to-be friends, and I wanted he should know ’bout it. And by-and-by, I s’pose my thought hit his somewhere,—as Bob believes,—and then—it was done. He just came closer an’ closer; an’ by-an’-by he stretched out his pretty nose and smelled of my foot. Then he waited a minute, an’ I didn’t even wink, but just kept on saying, inside of me: ‘Don’t you see I love you? Don’t you know I love you?’”
“Pretty soon he sniffed at my hand in my lap; and then he ate the clover blossoms; an’ then he let me move one finger a little bit—though he jumped at that. Afterwards, I could move my whole hand, and smooth his face, that was soft as satin. When I could coax his head down to mine, so I could talk into his ears, I had no more to do. I remembered everything Bob taught me; and when I knew he was all right, and wasn’t afraid any more, I let him smell of the lariat, and fuss with it ’s long as he liked. Then I made a slip-halter,—Bob’s way,—an’ that’s all.”
That was all, perhaps, but it was marvellous in Judge Courtenay’s eyes; while those of old Sutro shone with fond pride.
“I told thee so, señor! See—she is leading him as gentle as a lamb. Come, little señorita, let us move back a space, and leave him to be presented to one at a time. The master first, as is right it should be.”
“Well!” ejaculated that gentleman, left in the paddock, regarding with growing astonishment the small figure which approached, leading Diablo by his silken thrall, and with one arm thrown upward upon his neck. “You are the most wonderful child in the United States!”
Steenie smiled, and her eyes shone, but not from vanity at this unbounded praise. She had been hearing just such exclamations all her life from her beloved, outspoken Santa Felisans, and she knew that they came only from a mutual love. But she was proud of her new conquest; and she led Diablo close to his master, and held out the end of the cord for the Judge to take. “If you are just gentle with him, sir, he’ll behave beautifully. He’s been frightened; that’s all.”
He was frightened still, and, at the first motion of his owner’s extended hand, drew backward, nervously.
“Frightened! If ever I saw ugliness in a brute, I see it in him now. Observe his eyes.”
“Oh, don’t say that, sir, please! You don’t understand. ’Xcuse me, but I’m sure you don’t. Bob says a fine horse is all ‘nerves,’ an’ the ’most sensitive thing in creation.’ He says folks ought to treat ’em like babies; ’cause they feel things more. Softly, my pretty one! Don’t you be afraid. Steenie’ll let nobody hurt you—not a body—even him!”
“Hm-m!”
“Somebody’s whipped him sometime, or struck him cruelly.”
“Why shouldn’t they? He’s acted like a villain.”
“I wish I’d been here! He wouldn’t then—’cause I know. See. He’s all gentle now. You may put your hand on his nose; but it must be kind—kind—’cause that’s the way.”
Diablo did permit his master to fondle him; and at the first touch of the delicate nostrils all the Judge’s love for horse-flesh sprang to the front, and with it a subtler appreciation of horse-nature than he had ever before known. “Poor fellow! Is it so? Are you not really vicious?—then I’ll not part with you.”
“Part with him? Why, sir?”
“Because I thought he would be useless to us. I bought him for a carriage horse, to match that other colt, Brown Bess; but, while she is breaking in like a kitten, he has resisted everybody. I think he will again—after you go away from him.”
“Then I won’t go away. Oh, wait a moment! I’ve thought of something. S’posin’ you teach Diablo to be your very own, ownest horse; s’posin’ you don’t let any grooms or anybody do anything for him but just you, yourself! You could make him as smart as Tito, maybe.”
“‘Maybe’? Is Tito so brilliant, then?” asked the Judge, smiling, and greatly delighted that Diablo now stood quietly beside them, nibbling at the grass or sniffing about Steenie’s curly head, without resenting their presence or voices. Sutro and Beatrice had also drawn near and leaned against the paling to hear what the others were saying.
“Why—he doesn’t—shine. That’s ‘brilliant,’ isn’t it? But he’s awful ’telligy—I mean intelligent. Bob says, ‘He’s the brainiest horse he’s ’quainted with, an’ sweetest tempered to boot.’ He knows every single word I say to him; and if he can’t talk much with his tongue, he does with his actions an’ his eyes. He drives without reins, an’ he waltzes—beau-u-tifully! An’ he limps, an’ ‘goes it blind,’ an’ does the cutestest things you ever saw a horse do. Oh, won’t you let Diablo be just as clever? Either for your own self or Beatrice? Wouldn’t you like Diablo for your very own, Beatrice?”
“No; I should not,” answered that young person, decisively.
“I’ve half a mind to try your notion, little one! There’s no fool like an old fool, they say; and, maybe, I shall do better at horse-training than at law. It’s a step upwards, too, from the ‘bench’ to the saddle! But—I confess I’m very ignorant. The ‘breaking’ of my horses has always been left to professional trainers. I have, heretofore, been perfectly satisfied to accept results only.”
“It seems perfectly funny to hear ’bout ‘breaking’ horses like they were dishes. Bob says it’s a wrong word, an’ it’s ’sponsible for more suffering to the poor things ’an any other word in the language.”
“Humph! Who is this oracle, ‘Bob’?”
Steenie explained, and the Judge was so interested that he exclaimed: “I wonder if I couldn’t induce him to come out here and take care of my stock-farm?”
“Maybe,” answered Steenie; “but I don’t guess so. He says there isn’t room enough for his lungs out East. He needs a great deal of breathin’ space.”
“Well—Bob or no Bob—will you give an old man like me a few lessons in horse-break—What word shall I use?”
“It’s teaching,—just teaching ’em. Like Beatrice an’ I go to school. It’s funny for me to tell you things, isn’t it? ’Cause my grandmother thinks you’re a—what did she call it! A very wonderful magician—no, lo-gician; and when I asked her what that was, she said maybe I could understand ‘smart’ better.”
“Thank you. Now, when shall our next lesson be?”
“To-morrow—to-morrow—that ever is. ’Cause it doesn’t do to let Diablo forget us. He’s same as babies yet. He hasn’t learned to remember.”
“To-morrow, then; and I am greatly indebted to you. I believe—with both halves of my mind, now—I will decide to act wholly upon your suggestion, and see what comes of it. I will train him for myself, alone. I shall be at home, hereafter, for some weeks; and the opportunity is mine.”
“Oh, how glad I am! Do you hear that, Diablo, darling? You’re going to be nobody’s horse but just this kind, kind man’s! You’re never to be whipped, nor loaded, nor over-driven, nor checked-back, nor strapped-down, nor anything horrid like these queer Old Knollsboro folks do to horses!”
“Hold on, hold on! I have not promised any of these ‘thousand and one’ things, little lady! I shall want him to be useful.”
“Of course, and that’s why you won’t do them. I saw some poor horses on the street yesterday. They were before a big carriage, as heavy, as heavy! And they had ugly straps to hold their poor heads up—this way! Till their throats ached so they couldn’t breathe, hardly. Not like you help them with a strap when they’re racing, so the wind won’t choke in their ‘pipes,’—’cause that isn’t bad, just for the little minute they have ’em so; but these were all crooked back, terr’ble, so they couldn’t see, only a little way up toward the sky. They had a mis’able action; ’cause they had ‘blinders’ on, besides, and all they dared to do was just step straight up an’ down, up an’ down, fear they’d hurt themselves. The coachman was lashing them to make them go,—’cause his carriage folks seemed in a hurry; an’ I should have laughed at him, if I hadn’t had to cry for them—the horses. I couldn’t help thinking ’bout ’em when I went to bed; an’ my father says ‘It’s ign’rant cruelty,’ an’ ‘if the folks understood horses’ feelings, like they’d ought to, why everybody’d be gladder.’”
“Humph! You’re a very close observer. And now, shall I lift you over the fence?”
“No, thank you. I’m going to walk once around the paddock with Diablo, and ’xplain to him ’bout our having to go, and our coming back to-morrow, an’ everything. You can bid him good-by, if you want to.”
“May I, indeed? How shall I do it?”
“Why—same’s folks. Same’s me. Say, ‘Good-morning, Diablo; pleased to make your ’quaintance,’ or anything nicey sounding an’ p’lite. He knows, Diablo does. An’ you want him brought up like a gentleman’s horse, don’t you? So he’ll understand when folks use good language, an’ not what Papa calls ‘ruffian talk.’ He knows, Diablo does. See here? See that fine head, broad as anything above the eyes? That’s ’cause it’s full of brains; an’ brains are where folks think an’ know things. If he hadn’t have had a good head, he wouldn’t have understood me so soon, first off. He looks as if he might be as clever as Tito, ’most.”
“Good-morning, Diablo. I am sincerely delighted to make friends with you,” said Judge Courtenay, very gravely, though with a twinkle in his eyes.
But Steenie did not care for the twinkle, only laughed in return; and, by her hand upon his face forcing the colt’s head down, she gently grasped his forelock and bent it still lower. “Bow p’litely, dear Diablo, ’cause you’d ought to.” Then she walked away as she had come, with her arm upon his shoulder, and his light leading-string held carelessly in her other hand.
The Judge climbed back over the paling, and, catching sight of Sutro’s exultant face, laughed and pulled out his watch. “Well, old fellow! You’re a pretty good prophet! Five minutes past time, that’s all.”
“Caramba! More than that since she brought him up to thee with the lariat round his nozzle, no?”
“Beaten—beaten! I give it up. But do you know, señor, that you have the honor to serve a very remarkable young person?”
“Ten thousand pardons, Señor Juez [Judge], I have known that forever. Si.”
“Hm-m. There she comes; and I leave it to you, Señor Vives, to convey to her family my acknowledgment of her services. If in any way I can serve her or them, they have but to command me.”
The Judge had a better understanding of human than equine nature. He knew that he could not have found a messenger more delighted to carry messages of courtesy than old Sutro, nor one who would do so more gracefully. He knew, also, that his cordial gratitude would be shorn of nothing, but rather embellished, by its passage over the caballero’s lips.
“At thy feet, señor. Thy appreciation of our so beloved one will give pleasure to our household. I have the honor to salute thee; and—Service? Ten thousand pardons—but there is a way in which—at thy leisure—”
Again the Judge pulled out his watch, “You have but to name, as I said. To-morrow, during the children’s study-hour, I will be pleased to hear your suggestions.”
“Thanks. Thanks. The service old Sutro claims is for our ‘Little Lady of the Horse,’—not for himself. Mañana, then; and Adios!”
Five minutes later, Steenie, mounted upon her Tito, and with her caballero walking proudly by her side, paced slowly out of the Judge’s grounds. “It has been a good, good day, my Sutro! Such a happiness! You will be happy too, is it not? And what do you think, besides? That kind, splendid gentleman says that he has a pretty, black horse, whom nobody uses much, that shall be loaned to you whenever we wish for a long ride. Then you will not have to go hobblety-bob on those poor worn-out livery hacks. Are you not glad?”
“Glad. En verdad. But of more yet, mi niña. Old Sutro has something in his head besides nonsense, no? Listen. He offered service—and there is a way, in verity. I told him. Mañana—he will do it, and Sutro’s heart will be at peace. Thou wilt then have money—more than thou canst ever use. It is so. I tell thee.”
“Su-tro-Vi-ves! What—have you done? Have you asked that gentleman for money? Do you need it? Why not ask my father, then? Oh, Sutro!”
“Tente [hold on]! Thou leapest to a blunder as Tito does over a hurdle. I have asked no man for money, I. Why not? Because, in all California, there is no man who has more of it than I. And what I have I will give to thee. Thou art to be my heredera [heiress], thou. After Sutro Vives thou wilt inherit.”
“Ah! ha, ha, my rich one! And what shall I inherit, sir? All your whims and notions, and your old sombrero, maybe? ‘No?’”
“‘Sta buen’! Laugh if thou wilt; in derision now, but, by-and-by, in glee. And what shalt thou inherit? Wait and see. Wait and see. I would have told thee but for thy ridicule. No matter. Quite time enough for thee—when Sutro Vives is done with life. Which will be soon, no? But I say—yes.”
“And I say no, no, no! good Sutro,” said Steenie, sobered instantly by the gloomy look which settled upon her old comrade’s face. “You are to live longer than any Vives who ever was, and to use every bit of your wonderful riches for your own cristy, crusty, blessed self. Hear me say that, my caballero,—I, your own ‘Little Lady of the Horse’! So there! And home again!”
Sutro smiled once more. His mood was wholly dependent upon that of his beloved “niña’s,” who was his one object in life; and, with the smile still upon his face, he swung her from Tito’s back, and led the latter away to the comfortable stall which now bade fair to become his permanent home.
“Here we are, Papa, Grandmother! And the loveliest time in all the world! Oh, it’s just fun, fun, fun to go to school in a summer-house—and be a colt teacher afterward—Why, Papa! What—what is the matter? Are your eyes—”
But she did not finish the sentence. A groan, such as is wrung from strong men only by great trouble, fell from her father’s lips, as he stretched out his arms to enfold her, and dropped his poor, sightless eyes upon her shoulder. “My dear little Steenie! What is to become of you!”
The child’s glance flew round to her grandmother’s face; but its expression startled her even more than her father’s despondency. Madam Calthorp sat gazing straight before her, but seeing nothing, saying nothing, while every drop of blood seemed to have left her white cheek, and the seams of an added decade to have fallen upon it.
“Grandmother—don’t! Don’t look like that! What awful thing has happened? Do speak to me—please! Somebody!”
The words broke the spell of that strange silence. But Steenie had never in her life seen anything so sorrowful as the gaze which came out of vacancy to fix itself upon her own person.
“My poor little darling, everything has come upon us—but death. We are ruined. Ruined!”