Max Brand (12 page)

"And two feet underneath there is a stone for subsoil which is a sort of
sand or fine gravel cemented together."

David struck his hands together, frankly delighted.

"This is marvelous," he said, "I would say you have seen the hills."

"I paid a price for what I know," said Connor rather gloomily. "But
north of Bordeaux in France there is a strip of land called the
Médoc—the finest wine soil in the world, and there I learned what
claret may be—there I tasted Château Lafite and Château Datour. They
are both grown in the commune of Pauillac."

"France?" echoed David, with the misty eyes of one who speaks of a lost
world. "Ah, you have traveled?"

"Wherever fine horses race," said Connor, and turned back to the
chicken.

"Think," said David suddenly, "for five years I have lived in silence.
There have been voices about me, but never mind; and now you here, and
already you have taken me at a step halfway around the world.

"Ah, Benjamin, it is possible for an emptiness to be in a manlike
hunger, you understand, and yet different—and nothing but a human voice
can fill the space."

"Have you no wish to leave your valley for a little while and see the
world?" said Connor, carelessly.

He watched gloomily, while an expression of strong distaste grew on the
face of David. He was still frowning when he answered:

"We will not speak of it again."

He jerked his head up and cleared away his frown with an effort.

"To speak with one man in the Garden—that is one thing," he
went on, "but to hear the voices of two jabbering and gibbering
together—grinning like mindless creatures—throwing their hands out to
help their words, as poor Joseph does—bah, it is like drinking new
wine; it makes one sick. It made me so five times."

"Five times?" said Connor. "You have traveled a good deal, then?"

"Too much," sighed David. "And each time I returned from Parkin Crossing
I have cared less for what lies outside the valley."

"Parkin Crossing?"

"I have been told that there are five hundred people in the city," said
David, pronouncing the number slowly. "But when I was there, I was never
able to count more than fifty, I believe."

Connor found it necessary to cough.

"And each time you have left the valley you have gone no farther than
Parkin Crossing?" he asked mildly, his spirits rising.

"And is not that far enough?" replied the master, frowning. "It is a
ride between dawn and dark."

"What is that in miles?"

"A hundred and thirty miles," said David, "or thereabout."

Connor closed his eyes twice and then: "You rode that distance between
dawn and dark?"

"Yes."

"Over these mountains most of the way?" he continued gently.

"About half the distance," answered David.

"And how long"—queried Connor hoarsely—"how long before your horse was
able to make the trip back after you had ridden a hundred and thirty
miles in twelve hours?"

"The next day," said David, "I always return."

"In the same time?"

"In the same time," said David.

To doubt that simple voice was impossible. But Connor knew horses, and
his credence was strained to the breaking point.

"I should like very much," he said, "to see a horse that had covered two
hundred and sixty miles within forty-eight hours."

"Thirty-six," corrected David.

Connor swallowed.

"Thirty-six," he murmured faintly.

"I shall send for him," said the master, and struck the little gong
which stood on one side of the table. Isaac came hurrying with that
light step which made Connor forget his age.

"Bring Glani," said David.

Isaac hurried across the patio, and David continued talking to his
guest.

"Glani is not friendly; but you can see him from a distance."

"And yet," said Connor, "the other horses in the Garden seem as friendly
as pet dogs. Is Glani naturally vicious?"

"His is of other blood," replied David. "He is the blood of the great
mare Rustir, and all in her line are meant for one man only. He is more
proud than all the rest."

He leaned back in his chair and his face, naturally stern, grew tender.

"Since he was foaled no hand has touched him except mine; no other has
ridden him, groomed him, fed him."

"I'll be glad to see him," said Connor quietly. "For I have never yet
found a horse which would not come to my hand."

As he spoke, he looked straight into the eyes of David, with an effort,
and at the same time took from the pocket of his coat a little bulbous
root which was always with him. A Viennese who came from a life half
spent in the Orient had given him a small box of those herbs as a
priceless present. For the secret was that when the root was rubbed over
the hands it left a faint odor on the skin, like freshly cut apples; and
to a horse that perfume was irresistible. They seemed to find in it a
picture of sweet clover, blossoming, and clean oats finely headed; yet
to the nostrils of a man the scent was barely perceptible. Under cover
of the table the gambler rubbed his hands swiftly with the little root
and dropped it back into his pocket. That was the secret of the power
over Abra which had astonished the two old men at the gate. A hundred
times, in stable and paddock, Connor had gone up to the most intractable
race horses and looked them over at close hand, at his leisure. The
master seemed in nowise disturbed by the last remark of Connor.

"That is true of old Abraham, also," he said. "There was never a colt
foaled in the valley which Abraham had not been able to call away from
its mother; he can read the souls of them all with a touch of his
withered hands. Yes, I have seen that twenty times. But with Glani it is
different. He is as proud as a man; he is fierce as a wolf; and Abraham
himself cannot touch the neck of my horse. Look!"

Under the arch of the entrance Connor saw a gray stallion, naked of
halter or rope, with his head raised. From the shadow he came shining
into the sunlight; the wind raised his mane and tail in ripples of
silver. Ben Connor rose slowly from his chair. Horses were religion to
him; he felt now that he had stepped into the inner shrine.

When he was able to speak he turned slowly toward David. "Sir," he said
hoarsely, "that is the greatest horse ever bred."

It was far more than a word of praise; it was a confession of faith
which surrounded the moment and the stallion with solemnity, and David
flushed like a proud boy.

"There he stands," he said. "Now make him come to your hand."

It recalled Connor to his senses, that challenge, and feeling that his
mind had been snatched away from him for a moment, almost that he had
been betrayed, he looked at David with a pale face.

"He is too far away," he said. "Bring him closer."

There was one of those pauses which often come before crises, and Connor
knew that by the outcome of this test he would be judged either a man
or a cheap boaster.

"I shall do this thing," said the master of the Garden of Eden. "If you
bring Glani to your hand I shall give him to you to ride while you stay
in the valley. Listen! No other man had so much as laid a hand on the
withers of Glani, but if you can make him come to you of his own free
will—"

"No," said Connor calmly. "I shall make him come because my will is
stronger than his."

"Impossible!" burst out David.

He controlled himself and looked at Connor with an almost wistful
defiance.

"I hold to this," he said. "If you can bring Glani to your hand, he is
yours while you stay in the Garden—for my part, I shall find another
mount."

Connor slipped his right hand into his pocket and crushed the little
root against the palm.

"Come hither, Glani," commanded the master. The stallion came up behind
David's chair, looking fearlessly at the stranger.

"Now," said David with scorn. "This is your time."

"I accept it," replied Connor.

He drew his hand from his pocket, and leaning over the table, he looked
straight into the eye of the stallion. But in reality, it was only to
bring that right hand closer; the wind was stirring behind him, and he
knew that it wafted the scent of the mysterious root straight to Glani.

"That is impossible," said David, following the glance of Connor with a
frown. "A horse has no reasoning brain. Silence cannot make him come to
you."

"However," said Connor carelessly, "I shall not speak."

The master set his teeth over unuttered words, and glancing up to
reassure himself, his face altered swiftly, and he whispered:

"Now, you four dead masters, bear witness to this marvel! Glani feels
the influence!"

For the head of Glani had raised as he scented the wind. Then he circled
the table and came straight toward Connor. Within a pace, the scent of
strange humanity must have drowned the perfume of the root; he sprang
away, catlike and snorted his suspicion.

David heaved a great sigh of relief.

"You fail!" he cried, and snatching up a bottle of wine, he poured out a
cup. "Brave Glani! I drink this in your honor!"

Every muscle in David's strong body was quivering, as though he were
throwing all the effort of his will on the side of the stallion.

"You think I have failed?" asked Connor softly.

"Admit it," said David.

His flush was gone and he was paler than Connor now; he seemed to desire
with all his might that the test should end; there was a fiber of
entreaty in his voice.

"Admit it, Benjamin, as I admit your strange power."

"I have hardly begun. Give me quiet."

David flung himself into his chair, his attention jerking from Glani to
Connor and back. It was at this critical moment that a faint breeze
puffed across the patio, carrying the imperceptible fragrance of the
root straight to Glani. Connor watched the stallion prick his ears, and
he blessed the quaint old Viennese with all his heart.

The first approach of Glani had been in the nature of a feint, but now
that he was sure, he went with all the directness of unspoiled courage
straight to the stranger. He lowered the beautiful head and thrust out
his nose until it touched the hand of Connor. The gambler saw David
shudder.

"You have conquered," he said, forcing out the words.

"Take Glani; to me he is now a small thing. He is yours while you stay
in the Garden. Afterward I shall give him to one of my servants."

Connor stood up, and though at his rising Glani started back, he came to
Connor again, following that elusive scent. To David it seemed the last
struggle of the horse before completely submitting to the rule of a new
master. He rose in turn, trembling with shame and anger, while Connor
stood still, for about this stranger drifted a perfume of broad green
fields with flowering tufts of grass, the heads well-seeded and sweet.
And when a hand touched his withers, the stallion merely turned his head
and nuzzled the shoulder of Connor inquisitively.

With his hand on the back of the horse, the gambler realized for the
first time Glani's full stature. He stood at least fifteen-three, though
his perfect proportions made him seem smaller at a distance. No doubt he
was a giant among the Eden Grays, Connor thought to himself. The gallop
on Abra the night before had been a great moment, but a ride on Glani
was a prospect that took his breath. He paused. Perhaps it was the
influence of a forgotten Puritan ancestor, casting a shade on every hope
of happiness. With his weight poised for the leap to the back of the
stallion, Connor looked at David. The master was in a silent agony, and
the hand of Connor fell away from the horse. He was afraid.

"I can't do it," he said frankly.

"Jump on his back," urged David bitterly. "He's no more to you than a
yearling to the hands of Abraham."

Connor realized now how far he had gone; he set about retracing the
wrong steps.

"It may appear that way, but I can't trust myself on his back. You
understand?"

He stepped back with a gesture that sent Glani bounding away.

"You see," went on Connor, "I never could really understand him."

The master seized with eagerness upon this gratifying suggestion.

"It is true," he said, "that you are a little afraid of Glani. That is
why none of the rest can handle him."

He stopped in the midst of his self-congratulation and directed at
Connor one of those glances which the gambler could never learn to meet.

"Also," said David, "you make me happy. If you had sat on his back I
should have felt your weight on my own shoulders and spirit."

He laid a hand on Connor's shoulder, but the gambler had won and lost
too often with an impenetrable face to quail now. He even managed to
smile.

"Hearken," said David. "My masters taught me many things, and everything
they taught me must be true, for they were only voices of a mind out of
another world. Yet, in spite of them," he went on kindly, "I begin to
feel a kinship with you, Benjamin. Come, we will walk and talk together
in the cool of the morning. Glani!"

The gray had wandered off to nibble at the turf; he whirled and came
like a thrown lance.

"Glani," said David, "is usually the only living thing that walks with
me in the morning; but now, my friend, we are three."

In the mid-afternoon of that day Connor rested in his room, and David
rested in the lake, floating with only his nose and lips out of water.
Toward the center of the lake even the surface held the chill of the
snows, but David floated in the warm shallows and looked up to the sky
through a film of water. The tiny ripples became immense air waves that
rushed from mountain to mountain, dashed the clouds up and down, and
then left the heavens placid and windless.