Chapter X Conquering Satan
Eloise and I had always enjoyed riding over The Home Stretch with Aunt Lucretia. Since I could remember she had ridden the same horse, a great raw-boned sorrel pacer, full seventeen hands high, and so powerful that he carried my aunt, large woman though she was, as if she had been a child. “His beauty is in his gait,” she used to say; “there is but one saddle gait fit for business, and that is the nodding fox-trot, and Tempest has that perfectly.”
It was amusing to watch them in action. With his head down and nodding with every stride, Tempest seemed fairly to butt his way into space, reeling off the miles like a great machine in motion, and Aunt Lucretia, in her great, high-pommeled side saddle, double girthed and double decked, sat him as comfortably as if she were in her rocker.
Her saddle-bags, thrown over the saddle, were in themselves unusual, for they held everything needed in an emergency on the farm. In one pocket were the hatchet and nails, for she never rode by a loose plank but she nailed it on again, and in the other were her medicines, everything needed on the farm from a hypodermic syringe to a package of salts.
The day after I came home I rode over the farm with her. “It’s good to ride Little Sister,” I said, stroking her crest. “What a beautiful saddle mare she has made.”
“Eloise did it,” said my Aunt. “Jack, do you know she was always foolish about that mare after you left?”
She squared her big horse up to me. “Jack,” she whispered, “I don’t believe in the stuff, of course. It is all foolishness and not fit to marry on, but there is a great vein of sentiment in that girl in spite of her make-believe and her indifference. After you left she wouldn’t ride anything but that mare and I knew it was because of you, and the clever way you did up those two old braggarts of ours in that race.”
“Did she, Aunt Lucretia?”
She looked at me cuttingly and then burst into a laugh. “Jack, what shall I do with you? You are so in love with Eloise that it’s positively painful. You must overcome it before you marry her; it’s not good policy, not manly nor becoming. The greatest race of men was in the days when a man took his wife by force, conquered her and beat her into submission. He couldn’t own her until he proved he was a better man than she. Now, the woman rules in everything. Take your silly weddings; they’re a glorification of the bride. To see them one would think the poor devil of a groom was a kind of matrimonial valet, a second fiddler, used chiefly to make a background for the bride to show off on—he is not marrying—oh, no, it is the woman—and it’s the same everywhere. The women are writing our novels, our magazines, our poetry, running our conventions, starring in our theatres and churches, and doing everything else worth while except making the money. The men have become unconsciously so enslaved that the few of them who do write novels or poetry write effeminate things because the age is under the influence of woman. There is no man-poetry any longer, that’s why I never read it. If we don’t get a man-age into the world again,” she added vehemently, “we are all going to the devil, going to be wiped out by some heathen man-race of the Nibelungen woods, not yet born!”
I smiled guiltily, for I saw Eloise coming out of the house and my heart fluttered queerly at sight of her. She came forward and I saw Goff’s roses pinned on her breast.
“This is like old times, Jack,” she said laughing, “but where is my horse?” She looked around, glancing at the little pony-mare we had saddled for her.
“I thought you’d like to ride the pony-mare again,” said Jim, who stood holding the reins, “like you useter ride with Mr. Jack,” he added.
Eloise tossed her head. “No, no; now, Jim, you may saddle Satan for me. Why, I’ve been dreaming of this for months, a chance to show the splendid fellow and his paces to Jack. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Jim stood scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Dat devil horse, he ain’t a good horse, this mohnin’, ma’am, ’specially for ladies.”
“Jim,” she said sternly, “look me in the eye! What have you been doing to Satan?”
Jim grinned apologetically. “I had to ride him las’ night for some med’cine for my sick chile.”
“And I told you never to ride him, that he hated the very smell of a negro.”
Jim still grinned.
“But you tried him?” she went on.
“Yes’um, and he flung me!”
Eloise laughed. “Served you right. You know that horse doesn’t like you.”
“An’ when I went into the stall to saddle him, he remembered it.”
“Of course he did. I told him never to let you or anyone else ride him—no one but me.”
“That horse,” said Aunt Lucretia, as we followed Eloise to the barn, “is dangerous. I have been expecting to hear of him killing her. It’s all in his pedigree, Jack; he can’t help being mean. His sire was a rattle-headed but game and iron horse—fast, but utterly unreliable. You may remember how fast he was, but would go crazy, and ran away in a race, running into another horse and getting a sulky shaft driven through his heart. All of his colts I ever saw are crazy, fast and game—but cruelly mean when roused. Still I’m to blame for this one. I thought Little Sister’s brain and sweet temper might overcome it in the sire.”
“Little Sister is his dam, then?” I said, patting the neck of the mare I was riding.
“Yes, he was foaled the year after you left for school, and is now three,” she answered.
I heard Satan before I saw him. He was walking the length of his halter, now and then neighing, then whinnying to Eloise softly. It was the sound of her voice that had softened him. Above the anger which shook his frame, maddened at the sight of the groom who had offended him, he had heard the soothing voice of Eloise, and responded with a gentle whinny.
She smiled. “Just listen to him! Dangerous—he’s an angel! Bring him out, Jim.” She winked at Aunt Lucretia and me.
Jim grinned sillily. “‘Scuse me, Miss ‘Leeze; you’s jes’ sayin’ that to guy me. He loves my leetle boy, an’ he feeds him an’ keers for ’im,” he added, “but it looks like he thinks I put an insultment on him. ‘Scuse me, Miss Leeze, but I wouldn’t go in there for no money.”
It was true. At the sound of Jim’s voice, Satan’s eyes had kindled, and he threw back his head, trying to break his halter to get to him.
“You try him, Jack,” said Eloise; “I’m sure he loves you. I never knew one that didn’t.”
I opened the door. Never had I looked upon so superb a horse: a great star stood out beneath the tangled foretop of his mane, on a great square, broad forehead, so black it was silken. The rest of him, too, was midnight, except one white satin foot. His tail was a heavy hemp of black, shiny silk; his shoulders sloped in the line of strength. His chest was splendid, his muscles, fore and aft, bunched above the cleanest of bony legs. There was great strength, brain, and self-will in his head.
He was watching me keenly, as a wild beast eyes a new keeper. An animal knows friend or foe instantly. Their instinct is unerring and surpasses man’s reason. I saw his eyes light up doubtfully, hesitate, and then gleam when I put my hands out and rubbed his cheek. “You splendid fellow; mean? It’s not true. Did Jim put an insultment on you, old boy?” I laughed.
Then he rubbed my shoulder with his clean-cut nose.
Eloise laughed behind me. “I knew he’d love you, Jack.”
Satan came out playing. Rearing, he stood on two legs like a great boy, showing off before another. Then he came up, rubbing his nose on my shoulder and reaching for the apple Eloise had for him. Meanwhile Aunt Lucretia sat smiling doubtfully.
I saddled him, and when Eloise sprang up they looked superbly splendid, the horse proud of his rider.
“Well, we’ll go,” said Aunt Lucretia, starting off.
We turned to go to the left. Satan made two quick leaps, playfully, as if to follow, and then, taking the bit he wheeled to the right despite Eloise’s protest. He saw Jim holding the gate open for us. He wheeled and refused to go through it; he laid back his ears and quivered with rage at the sight of the negro.
Aunt Lucretia stopped. I pulled up sharply. Eloise sat white with anger on her uncontrollable mount.
“Oh, don’t be angry with him,” said Aunt Lucretia. “You will have to go as he says.”
Eloise touched him with her whip and he reared, leaping high into the air. I caught my breath when she came down firmly with him. He stood backing his ears at Jim. Again she urged him, again he refused. She brought her whip down sharply.
“Don’t, Eloise,” I cried, “he’s dangerous.”
Again he leaped high in the air, tossing his head.
Eloise slid down, white with anger. “Jack, put your saddle on him,” she said quietly.
“I think we’d better,” I said. “I’ll ride him for you for a while. It’s Jim. He’ll never forget him.”
“You have a sharp knife?” asked Eloise, after I had put my saddle on the horse. She took the reins in her hands. “No, no, I’ll hold him. Don’t put my saddle on your mare. Wait.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Eloise,” said Aunt Lucretia, “you shan’t get up on that horse again.”
But Eloise did not notice her; her lips were set; her face white. I knew the meaning of old.
“Jack,” she said quietly, “grasp my skirt at the hem, petticoat and all, and cut it clean down from above my knees. Don’t listen to Aunt Lucretia. Please, Jack, it is life and death with the horse and me. I’d rather die than have him conquer me.”
I knew from her voice that she meant it.
Grasping her skirts at the hem in an instant I had ripped them through.
“Now behind,” she said; “it’s my old riding skirt, Jack.”
In an instant it, too, was split.
She smiled, a flash of her old humor behind her sternness. “Now, turn, Jack.”
When I turned back again she had slipped both her garters over her divided skirts, so that they were held firmly to her ankles. The next instant she was in my saddle, astride.
“You, dear, sweet, old, stubborn Satan,” she said softly, “I am sorry I must punish you. Shut the gate, Jim; I am going to make him do his best stunt to pay for this.”
At the first blow from her whip he sprang up in anger, but the whip fell fast and with fury. Her lithe body sat him easily, like a part of him, her two heels buried in his flanks. He made leap after leap, but still she sat him, cutting his sides into whelks. He leaped high to dismount her; he wheeled suddenly, but never caught her off her guard. The whip never let up. Frighted, angry, he bolted for the plank fence. The gate was shut, but Eloise gave him the whip at every jump.
“Stop her—he’ll kill her!” I cried, as I saw him rise for the leap.
I expected to see him strike the fence midway, and come back on her in a heap. Instead I saw Eloise lift him, with a quick firm hand, straight up towards the sky and I saw the horse land on the other side clean, and clear, without losing a stride. Then they vanished in a whirl of dust up the pike.
“I’ll ride after her,” I cried to Aunt Lucretia. “He’ll kill her yet.”
“Don’t worry,” she smiled, “she’s more apt to kill him. But that jump, Jack, that jump—did you see it?”
My Aunt’s eyes were ablaze with a kindled fire. I had seen it often when a race was on. She rode up to the fence. “Five feet six, Jack,” she said laughing; “why, the record cross-country is five feet six—that’s the record held by Colonel Goff’s horse—” and she laughed again meaningly.
It was fifteen minutes before we saw Satan coming back! He came in a gentle canter, his great head held high in pride, because Eloise was laughing and joking with him, patting his mane and calling him sweet names. “You darling Satan,” she cried, as she leaped down, “I did so hate to punish you!”
They say horses do not weep, but there were tears in the eyes of Satan as he rubbed his head against her breast, and nibbled the apple she held out to him.
Up the road cantered a horseman in haste, riding an English hunter. Eloise looked up and smiled. “I can’t go with you to-day, Jack. Here comes Colonel Goff. I wanted you to see that jump. Isn’t he great? He’s done it a dozen times, and yet Colonel Goff really thinks he owns the champion.” She laughed, her eyes shining. “I must run in and change my habit for the scolding I know is coming.”
I turned sullenly in my saddle and rode off. I did not wish to see Goff take her away from us.
I did not enjoy the ride over the farm. The sick brood mare, with the young colt, which nickered so distressingly for Aunt Lucretia, alone excited my sympathy. I was heartsick myself. I did not even enjoy seeing Tammas and Marget.
As we rode away from the dairy we met Elsie coming down the wooded path, a smile on her pretty lips.
“That girl,” said my Aunt, “is a fine creature, and do you know, Jack, if I know anything of breeding, she’s got rare blood in her. It shows in a hundred ways. Now, watch her.”
She was dressed in white, her hair hanging in two plaits down her back. “I am playing at being in Scotland,” she said as we came up, “and I have gathered these Scotch wild flowers for Mr. Jack.” She handed them up to me, and when my eyes met hers in thanks Aunt Lucretia saw the blush that flushed her face. She looked sharply at me a moment and then smiled. I walked to the barn gate, Elsie going with us, and telling me of the Scotch flowers and trees. “I would be quite happy here,” she said, “if we only had the heather on these hills.”
Aunt Lucretia turned at the gate. “You must come up to the house some night this week, and we’ll have a Bobbie Burns evening,” said she.
“Oh, thank you,” Elsie answered, smiling at me instead of at Aunt Lucretia.
“Who was that you were talking to before we met you?” I asked. “The gentleman who rode off when he saw us coming?”
“That was Captain Braxton. He has asked my hand in marriage, but I dinna think I shall,” she added, with a little sigh. “I dinna like him as I should, but I dinna say yet, for I shall think it over. He’s noo like Mr. Jack.” Her little Scotch words would slip in now and then.
I flushed and looked at Aunt Lucretia, who sat biting her lips as if in anger. Elsie was all frankness. She put her hand in mine trustingly, and instantly I knew why she had told me.
“No brother could love you more than I do,” I said. “Tammas and Marget raised me, too, so I’m really your brother.” I laughed to hide my anger at Braxton Bragg and the turn affairs had taken.
She had lifted my hand with a loyal little gesture and pressed it to her cheek before I could withdraw it. “You’ll come to see me, often, won’t you, Mr. Jack? I need you to help me.”
“Jack,” I said, smiling at her, “just Jack from now on.”
“Oh, but that’s not respectful, and I’d not be wanting in respect for you for the world.”
“I’ll not call you Elsie then, any more,” I answered, “nor make the request of you I’m going to make.”
“Jack, then,” she said. “And your request—it is already granted.”
“That you’ll not see Braxton Bragg alone until—well, until I have talked with you,” I said earnestly.
“O—h,” and her eyes opened wide. “Jack, why, of course. If he writes to me again I’ll send the letter to you before I answer it.”
“Bring it,” I said; “I want to see it right away.”
We rode back to the house.
“Jack,” said my aunt, “he is the most contemptible reversion to a scrub that ever came from a good pedigree! But if he tries that game on that child—he has played it recklessly since you left—I’ll kill him myself—damn him!”
I soon forgot Elsie. I caught sight of Eloise entertaining Goff in our old bower, and I could see that as he sat there, smoking and watching her, he already thought she was the Countess of Carfax.