Produced by Suzanne Shell, Nicolas Hayes, Dorota Sidor and PG
Distributed Proofreaders
1921
A Horse in Need
He came into the town as a solid, swiftly moving dust cloud. The windfrom behind had kept the dust moving forward at a pace just equal tothe gallop of his horse. Not until he had brought his mount to a haltin front of the hotel and swung down to the ground did either he orhis horse become distinctly visible. Then it was seen that the animalwas in the last stages of exhaustion, with dull eyes and hanging headand forelegs braced widely apart, while the sweat dripped steadilyfrom his flanks into the white dust on the street. Plainly he had beenpushed to the last limit of his strength.
The rider was almost as far spent as his mount, for he went up thesteps of the hotel with his shoulders sagging with weariness, awide-shouldered, gaunt-ribbed man. Thick layers of dust had turned hisred kerchief and his blue shirt to a common gray. Dust, too, madea mask of his face, and through that mask the eyes peered out,surrounded by pink skin. Even at its best the long, solemn face couldnever have been called handsome. But, on this particular day, heseemed a haunted man, or one fleeing from an inescapable danger.
The two loungers at the door of the hotel instinctively stepped asideand made room for him to pass, but apparently he had no desire toenter the building. Suddenly he became doubly imposing, as he stood onthe veranda and stared up and down at the idlers. Certainly his throatmust be thick and hot with dust, but an overmastering purpose made himoblivious of thirst.
"Gents," he said huskily, while a gust of wind fanned a cloud of dustfrom his clothes, "is there anybody in this town can gimme a hoss toget to Stillwater, inside three hours' riding?"
He waited a moment, his hungry eyes traveling eagerly from face toface. Naturally the oldest man spoke first, since this was a matter oflife and death.
"Any hoss in town can get you there in that time, if you know theshort way across the mountain."
"How do you take it? That's the way for me."
But the old fellow shook his head and smiled in pity. "Not if youain't rode it before. I used to go that way when I was a kid, butnowadays nobody rides that way except Doone. That trail is as trickyas the ways of a coyote; you'd sure get lost without a guide."
The stranger turned and followed the gesture of the speaker. Themountain rose from the very verge of the town, a ragged mass of sandand rock, with miserable sagebrush clinging here and there, as dulland uninteresting as the dust itself. Then he lowered the hand frombeneath which he had peered and faced about with a sigh. "I guess itain't much good trying that way. But I got to get to Stillwater insideof three hours."
"They's one hoss in town can get you there," said the old man. "Butyou can't get that hoss today."
The stranger groaned. "Then I'll make another hoss stretch out anddo."
"Can't be done. Doone's hoss is a marvel. Nothing else about here cantouch him, and he's the only one that can make the trip around themountain, inside of three hours. You'd kill another hoss trying to doit, what with your weight."
The stranger groaned again and struck his knuckles against hisforehead. "But why can't I get the hoss? Is Doone out of town withit?"
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