Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
“That’s impossible,” Renny had put in. “She’s not more than ten years older than the girl.”
“Wait till you see her in daylight,” said Maurice.
“What did you think of her looks? Not so pretty as Elvira, eh?”
“She’s not pretty at all! But she has attractive eyes — there’s something about them that holds you. She may have been pretty once.”
“Do you know where they have gone?” Renny asked in a low voice.
“Yes. To a village about twenty miles north of Brancepeth. Just a hamlet, I think. They have relatives there.”
Casually Renny found out all he could from Maurice of the place where they had gone. More particularly he made inquiries from a village girl who had been a friend of Elvira’s. He was honest with himself. He did not say to himself — “I have a fancy for knowing where those women are. Some day I might be going that way.” Definitely he thought — “I must know where they are and I shall not rest till I have seen them again.”
But the difficulty was to find an excuse for absence from home. He would not say that he was going to visit a friend. In truth he had no friends near with whom he was intimate enough to visit. The companionship of Maurice had always been enough for him in the holidays, and he would not lie to Philip.
He remembered that a colt had lately been sold to a man who lived not far from the hamlet where the women had gone. He would offer to deliver the colt himself.
His father looked at him dubiously.
“But the colt is only half broken,” he objected, “and, between you and me, he’s a cantankerous brute and I doubt if he’ll ever be anything else.”
“Is that why you offered to deliver him?”
“Yes. And that’s why I sold him cheap. The man’s got a bargain if only he can stick on him!”
“Well — I can.”
Philip knit his fair brows. “I don’t like it. It would be a pretty retribution for me if my eldest son had his neck broken in the shuffle.”
Renny laughed nervously. “Will you let me do it?”
There was something in his laugh that made Philip look at him shrewdly.
“What are you up to?” he asked.
“Nothing dangerous,” returned Renny.
“H’m — well, if you break your neck, don’t come to me for sympathy,” He turned away.
Renny started out early next day. It was going to be hot. Already the heat haze quivered above the treetops. The shadows beneath them had a luminous quality. Little red cones, nibbled from the evergreens by squirrels, lay scattered on the drive. The bed of geraniums beside the croquet lawn blazed brilliant.
He could see the fruit glistening on the mulberry tree near the gate. He turned the colt at a walk from the drive and crossed the lawn. It moved easily beneath him with a restrained energy. It turned its large liquid eyes suspiciously towards the painted post of the croquet set.
Renny drew rein beside the tree and picked a handful of the berries. He sat eating them and wondering what the journey would mean for him. Scotchmere, the chief of the stablemen, a thin weather-beaten man with sandy hair, appeared at the gate to open it for him.
“You’ve a nice day’s work ahead of you, sir,” he said, grimly, as Renny passed through.
“Rot!” said Renny cheerfully. “I like him and he likes me.”
“Well, good luck to you! And, if he cuts up too bad, give him
the whip.”
“Not if I can help it!” He clapped his hand softly on the colt’s flank and it broke into a smooth canter on the white dusty road.
Scotchmere looked after him. “By gum,” he said aloud, “he’s the ridin’est critter I ever set eyes on!” This was his favourite description of the eldest son of the house.
Anyone who saw him cantering down the road would have thought the description a good one. His body moved so rhythmically with the canter of the colt that it might well have been imagined that the same bloodstream vitalized both or that the youth’s pelvic bones sprang from the spine of the colt.
They covered a mile or more of the quiet road without incident. A light playful breeze sprang from the lake. Renny was delighted with his mount.
“You’re a darling!” he exclaimed, patting the muscular shoulder. “We’ll be good friends all the way, eh?”
For a little longer all went well, then a crumpled piece of paper stirred in the ditch beside them. The colt stopped, then leaped forward as though electrified and shied almost into the ditch. Renny spoke soothingly.
“All right … all right, old boy … all right.”
But the colt refused to be soothed. All through the great barrel of its body Renny felt the quivers of irritation, of smouldering rage. The rhythm of its hoofs on the road became broken. Its hard naked ears were pricked, one forward, one back.
They passed a farm wagon without mishap, the steady farm team plodding on through the yellow dust. A group of school children scampered shouting out of the way.
Then a motor car approached from a turn of the road. They were still rare in the country and it was the first Renny had met when on horseback.
“Oh, curse it!” he muttered. “Hold on, boy — hold on — you’re all right!
Hell
!”
The last exclamation was drawn from him by a hoot of the motor horn. The colt raised itself like a circus horse and stood poised on its hind legs as the car approached. Renny could see the faces of the two occupants turn pale and his own features relaxed into a grin.
The colt reared, as though made of grey stone, its hoofs, looking enormous, menacing the two in the car. It waved its iron hoofs like two missiles it was about to hurl in on them. The driver tried to turn aside, but the ditch and a heap of broken stones lay there. Renny tried to force the colt to its haunches, but it was careless of the pain of the bit. The faces of the motorists were contorted by fear as the car rattled past, the man ducking his head to escape the hoof that curved nearest. The stench of gasoline was ejected from behind the motor. The yellow teeth of the colt and the white teeth of the boy jeered.
The smell of gasoline was loathsome to the colt. All its being from nostrils to rump was insulted. It gathered itself together for a bound of escape, then was conscious of the wrench its jaw had received and, instead of bounding forward, it backed, with arching flanks, against the frail fence that separated the road from the steep bank overhanging the shore of the lake. The fence gave way, breaking like twigs, and Renny expected to find himself on the shore below with the weight of the colt on top of him. He struck his spurs into its flanks and flogged it with the crop. Violently the colt rushed from the bank, which was already crumbling.
They were on the road again and the colt was galloping as though to rid itself of the fears and hates that pursued it. Renny let it have its head and laughed in relief at his escape. They turned into a rough road diverging from the lake and rode for a long while under the heat of the mounting sun. They came to a steep hill and the colt, whose glossy sides were darkened by great patches of sweat, slackened its pace to a walk. But still it kept a wary outlook for offence. A barking dog set it once more rearing.
Among the shouldering hills, as though it had sought seclusion there, they came to a village with a small hotel where Renny remembered having gone with Philip at the time of the village fall fair. He had the colt put into a stall and himself rubbed it down. He ordered the hostler to give it a drink and a light feed. The colt looked almost subdued. Its eyes were pensively half closed. Renny’s hair was dark with sweat. His clothes clung to him. After he had washed he devoured two chops, a mound of potatoes and peas, and a slice of apple pie and cream. The first early harvest apples were just in. Cooked, they had a golden transparency, the cream was yellow and thick. He ordered a glass of beer and lighted a cigarette.
He had never felt more self-reliant, more master of himself than now. The tempestuous journey of the morning made Jalna seem far away. He looked in retrospect at the events that had been taking place there. Meg’s blighted love seemed suddenly affected. He felt a faint contempt for Maurice’s despair. He would handle the affairs of his own life differently. He began to wonder just why he was seeking out the two women. He wished he knew the older one’s name. It irritated him to have nothing to call her in his mind. It was she whom he wanted to see. A desire to be with her again, to talk to her, had been gathering within him like a storm. He felt that he would be desperate if he could not see her. Just what he wanted of her he would not let himself think. His mind shied from the thought as the colt from what was new and strange. In his thoughts of her he saw himself reflected in a distortion, as his image might be reflected in a dark woodland stream.
As he was paying his bill the hostler came in.
“That colt of yours,” he said, “has busted the bucket and chewed a piece out of the manger and kicked the hoss in the next stall. I guess you’ll owe the boss something for damages.”
The proprietor and Renny returned with him to the stable.
The colt rolled his eyes at them over his shoulder. His long tongue was hanging out of the side of his mouth, as though in derision. In the stall next to him an elderly man was putting some ointment on the hind leg of a quiet aged mare.
“That’s a vicious brute you’ve got,” he said. “How he managed to kick my mare, I don’t know. But you can see the gash he’s given her.”
Renny made sounds of sympathy. He gently touched the injured leg. The mare looked at him kindly.
“What are you putting on it?” he asked.
The man showed him the tin.
Renny’s brows went up in amazement. “I should take it off if I were you,” he said. “My people have bred horses all their lives and nothing would induce them to use it. Now I’ll recommend something” — he turned and put a coin into the hand of the hostler, at the same time giving him the name of the preparation — “that will heal the cut in short order. We never use anything else in our stables.”
“Thanks,” said the owner of the mare glumly.
“You’ll be glad,” returned Renny, “that she had this little accident when you find what a wonderful remedy this is. I do hope you’ll always keep it on hand in future.” He went to the mare’s head and stroked it. “Nice old girl! How old is she?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“By George, I’d never have thought it! She looks about twelve, and what a set of teeth!”
He applied the ointment himself and helped the man to harness the mare to a buggy. His adroit hands tightened a strap here, eased one there. The mare turned her head and nuzzled him with her
long soft lip. Her owner pocketed the tin of ointment, pleased in spite of himself.
Renny picked up the badly dented bucket, examined it, and turned with a grin to the hostler. “You wouldn’t expect me,” he said, “to blame my colt for refusing to drink out of a leaking bucket. He’s not used to that sort of thing. I noticed that it was dribbling when you were carrying it to him.”
The hostler, crestfallen, peered into the bucket.
“What about the manger?” demanded the proprietor. “It’ll need a new side.”
Renny turned over petulantly. “If you trouble me any more over this bit of mischief my colt has done, I’m dashed if I will come here again.”
“Well, well,” muttered the proprietor, “we’ll say no more about it.”
Renny paid his bill and was left alone with the colt.
“I hope,” he said reproachfully, “that you will behave yourself on the rest of the journey.”
The colt looked down its long grey nose and laid back its ears. As Renny was putting the bit in place, the colt caught him by the shoulder and ripped the sleeve of his coat halfway down his arm.
“You would, would you?” he exclaimed, and gave him a furious cuff.
It worked the bit forward in its teeth, flattened its stark ears, and lifted its leg to kick. Renny hugged its head to him. “No, no, no, you shan’t!” He backed the colt out of the stall and mounted it in the yard. The hostler and a stableboy stood by as the colt disdainfully passed.
“Look at the gentleman’s coat!” jeered the hostler.
“It’s tore half off his back,” said the boy. “He ain’t got control of the beast. He can’t ride for sour apples, can he?”
Renny turned the colt toward the boy, but it danced with him out of the yard.
It seemed that the rest of the way would be more peaceful. The heat of the sun might well have taken the spirit even from the colt. But it still showed its irritability by sidling along the road and constantly shaking his head.
It was late afternoon when they came to a railway crossing guarded by gates. Renny heard the whistle of a train in the distance. The gate attendant rang a bell and the gates began to drop. Renny drew in his rein, wondering how the colt would take this new experience. At the same moment the motor car which had met them in the morning came up behind, the driver nervously sounding his horn.
A snort of horror shook the colt to its bowels. It bounded forward under the first of the gates, but before it could cross the track the second gate fell and horse and rider were caught in front of the onrushing train, which loomed horribly large and threatening.
The gatekeeper, in a panic, tried to raise the gates, but the mechanism balked. They did not rise. The colt’s hoofs clattered on the shining rails as he reared and wheeled.
The gatekeeper snatched up a green flag and ran toward the locomotive, waving it sharply. Renny faced the colt to the gate, struck him sharply with the crop and, with hands and knees giving their message of confidence, rode him straight for the jump.
With tail and mane streaming the colt rose and swam over the barrier. Had it ever jumped before? Renny did not know, but he grinned exultantly at the feel of the bounding body beneath him. He turned in the saddle and thumbed his nose at gatekeeper, locomotive, and motorist, his bare white shoulder showing through his torn coat.
He loved the colt. In a passion of loving he bent and kissed its neck. With its yellow teeth showing, its nostrils arched, it flew like an arrow along the road.
It flew into a thunder shower, but in its exultation never noticed the flash that whitened the road or the rolling of the clouds together. It did notice the spatter of drops on its hide and imagined they
were given by the rider who held it between his thighs. It flew faster and faster.