CHAPTER XXII BACK TO THE HOME STABLE
Wasn't I a happy pony! but alas! what should I do when I was found out.
"I don't care, I don't care," I thought as I pounded along on shoes of joy. "If he flogs me, I'll have blind staggers fit to beat the band. Home and master! Home and young master! I've fooled you, laddie—my master's cousin isn't going to hurt himself when I'm round."
All too quickly, as I pursued my way feeling like a bird on free and careless wing, I tried to catch my bit in my teeth. I had had a frightful jerk. I was found out.
Then I heard a cry of dismay, "That's King of the Glen!"
Now these clever young ones had names for their favourite trees, and unhappily this lad had recognised this monarch of a beechwood grove who had been unkind enough to grow with one of his roots sticking out toward the road like a huge boot, thereby spoiling my otherwise perfect plan.
The boy was sawing my tender mouth and secure in the knowledge that he was alone with me with only wild animals or birds for listeners he was yelling, "Turn round, you little brute!"
I threw a terrible dizzy fit then I began to buck, having once for fun taken lessons from a western pony.
The lad got his young toes out of the stirrups pretty quick, and stood watching me. His poor mount was staggering now, then grovelling in the dust.
He made a step forward, then retreated. How could he beat a pony that was on its back with four legs in the air?
"'Pon my word, you little villain," he screamed, "you're shamming. I'd like to thrash the life out of you!"
"Would you!" I whinnied shrilly, and leaping to my feet I cut along toward home.
Wasn't he a mad boy! I was really sorry for him. Here he was in a forest in the dead of night, no one near but a naughty pony who had played him the mischievous trick of bringing him a mile nearer home than he thought he was.
He was done for now. He couldn't walk to the Lake of Bays. With a fast pony he could have made the daylight boat, and left for parts unknown. Now he could be caught and taken shamefully home, or—he glanced about him.
He could hide in the woods and tramp over the mountain to a railway back of it.
But what of me? He bawled at me to come back, and shook both fists at me as I stood roguishly eyeing him from a safe distance.
"You young demon!" he howled, "You're capable of playing bloodhound as well as fox. You'd lead a searching party right to me. I'd like to kill you," and he began fumbling about in the dust for a stone to throw at me.
It was too good a road to have stones. His father had seen to that, so he had to give up his attempt to discipline me.
He flung himself down on a grassy bank under the pitying outstretched arms of the old King of the Glen who loved him.
Poor, poor lad! I was more and more sorry for him, but I kept my distance.
What was to be my next move? Ah! fortune favours the bold pony. I shut my eyes delightedly. Over my hot head blew the lovely cool spirit wind. The old Highlander was after the boy. He was cleverer than I. My care would be shifted to his furry shoulders.
The wolf cub was with him, racing along spirit-wise through his beloved forest, and hard on his heels came a living thing who paid no attention to me but threw himself on the suffering boy.
It was Guardie, the collie. How he licked his young master and prostrated himself before him as if to say, "Do return home with us. We all love you. Girlie would have come but she had to stay with our charges."
The boy could not help being touched by this display of affection, especially as the Highlander was bending over him and willing good thoughts into his mind.
He broke down and sobbed like a baby. "Mother! Dad!" he cried, and he stretched out his pleading arms toward his dear home.
Hark! what was that coming on the night wind? Guardie pricked his ears, and the Highlander with his lovely Scotch smile waved a hand toward his wolf pet and away they went, melting into the shadows of the wood. The boy did not need them any longer.
"Pound! Pound! Gallop! Gallop!"—I heard it, I knew those gaits. Patsie McSquirrel and Backwoods Beauty were on the trail too and they were not alone.
Thank the stars that shine over erring boys, and the bright Lady Moon who had shone in the mother's face till she woke her up. The runaway would be royally escorted home.
Soon he too heard the sound of hoofs on the hard road and sprang up.
There he stood in a shaft of moonlight—a poor young bewildered boy figure looking distractedly up at the two dear parents bending down over him from their big horses.
He threw his hand in the air, and turning his back on them pressed his face against the trunk of the old King of the Glen.
Before Mr. Devering could spring from his horse his wife was beside her boy.
Her cry rang through the wood, "My darling, my darling, why did you run away from me?"
Then she pulled his head round and, brushing back his hair, stood looking deep into his eyes.
"Mother!" he stammered, "if you are my mother."
She turned an alarmed face to her husband. "Jim—what madness is this?"
Mr. Devering shook his head. He stood with arms folded, looking in a most puzzled way at his child.
"I—I was told to-day," gulped poor Big Chief, "that I am an adopted child."
Mrs. Devering laughed shrilly. "Good gracious! am I dreaming?"
I took a few steps nearer. The little woman was terribly upset. I had never seen her lose self-control before. Not his mother? Why every drop of blood in her body proclaimed this boy to be her son.
The lad was completely bewildered. "Tell me," he cried, "am I, am I really your son? Is that my father?"
"If he is not your father than he is not my husband," she exclaimed.
"Tell me truly," begged the boy, "did you not pick me out of the gutter? Am I not a nobody?"
The two grown persons saw that the boy was in deadly earnest, and I think they were relieved for his running away had given them a terrible shock.
"What would convince you, my poor darling?" asked Mrs. Devering.
"Tell me whether you have an adopted child."
She looked at her husband. "Shall we tell him?"
He nodded his head.
"We have, my own darling, but not you, oh! not you, our first-born."
"Who is it, Mother?"
She hesitated.
"Tell him," said Mr. Devering quietly.
"It's—it's," her head drooped. "We did not wish you to know. Oh! who could have been cruel enough to enlighten you?"
"Is it little Big Wig?" asked the boy.
"No, no," said his mother. "Not my baby."
"Is it Dovey?"
"No, not my little Dovey."
"Then it's Champ."
"My boy Champ—oh! never. My dear, he was born in his grandmother's house."
"Then it's Sojer."
The guesses were narrowing down. Mrs. Devering paused an instant, then she said in a low voice, "Sojer—the boy who is the image of my dead father. Oh! no, Sojer is your own brother."
"Then," said the boy, "if it's not me, it's Cassowary."
"Yes, yes," she said slowly, and nodding her head many times, "it's our dear Cassowary."
Big Chief gave a great cry, then he broke away from his mother and launched himself at his father so violently that he almost knocked the poor man over.
"Oh! Dad, Dad, I'm a happy boy. I was most dead. I thought I'd jump into the Lake of Bays if I missed the boat."
The tears were running down Mrs. Devering's cheeks too. She sat on the bank her head against the stout body of the old King of the Glen whose arms were waving happily, though there was not a breath of wind. Her eyes were closed, her lips moving.
I have seen some touching scenes in my life but never anything that moved me more than this midnight meeting between the parents and their boy in this deep dark wood.
Mr. Devering stood saying nothing, his arms just wrapped round his son as if he would protect him for all time from a cruel world.
Mrs. Devering was the first to recover herself. She sprang up and came to her husband and child.
"Who has made you suffer like this?" she said sharply. "I want to know."
The boy would not tell her, but her husband said, "I know. I noticed signs of suffering about another child to-night."
"Who was it?" she asked. "Do tell me. I saw nothing."
The Lady Moon was now bathing us in soft and almost warm moonlight, and I could see Mr. Devering's eyebrows contract ever so little. "It was Cassowary," he said in a low voice.
"I assure you she was never more composed and quiet," said Mrs. Devering quickly. "She seemed perfectly happy."
Big Chief said nothing, but he gave his father a glance that meant they thought alike.
"Was it Cassowary that drove you from your home?" asked Mrs. Devering.
Big Chief, whose young face was as shining and contented as if he would never be sorry again, said, "No, she did not drive me. I came of my own accord."
"But she was the one to tell you that she thought you were an adopted child?"
Big Chief said nothing, and his mother went on, "After all I have done for her!"
"She is only a child," said Mr. Devering, and he looked appealingly at his son.
Big Chief then did a beautiful thing. "Mother," he said, "I would not like a brother or sister of mine to go through what I've gone through to-night. Cassowary must never know."
"Certainly not," said Mrs. Devering hastily. "I just wished to know who is responsible for this."
"Who is she?" asked Big Chief softly.
"The daughter of my first cousin who married in the West. After your birth, your Dad and I spent two years with her on her husband's ranch. My cousin was frantic with grief at having to die and leave her baby. She got me to take it and bring it up as my own, begging me never to let her know she was an adopted child until she came of age. Can't you see that she is different from the rest of you?"
The boy shook his head. "She looks like you, Mother."
"A family resemblance—but her actions, her walk and her manner—there is Indian blood in her veins, splendid blood too. Her great-grandmother was the daughter of a noted chief. Many Old Countrymen married squaws in early Canadian days."
"Oh!" said the boy, "so that is why she puts her foot down so straight."
His young voice was so comical as he said this, that both parents burst out laughing.
It broke the nervous strain, and Mrs. Devering said in a matter-of-fact voice, "I think we would better all get home."
I stirred a little as I stood beside the big horses, and Mr. Devering's eye fell on me.
"Boy," he said, "how did you happen to take this little fellow to-night?"
"He put himself in my way," said Big Chief, "and Attaboy had gone lame."
"He isn't lame now," said his father.
Big Chief put up a hand and rumpled his hair. "You know horses better than I do, Dad. Will you examine the little brute, and see if there is anything the matter with him?"
I demurely put up with a thorough examination carried on by aid of an electric torch and the moonlight.
Finally Mr. Devering said, "Sound in wind and limb, I should say—lead him past."
He watched me carefully as I went before him, then he said, "His stride is direct and rapid, and he displays boldness and courage. Now let him meet me."
The boy wheeled me round, then brought me back.
"He's been fooling you probably," said Mr. Devering. "He's clever enough for it. Just what did he do?"
"Had colic or blind staggers, turned me right about face, ran toward home like an arrow, then when I pulled him he bucked and I 'most came a cropper."
Mr. Devering's jolly laugh rang through the silent woods. "Oh! my boy, you backed the wrong pony to-night."
Patsie and Beauty, who had taken part in this reunion most sympathetically, now took a few steps forward and placed themselves one on each side of me as if to say, "He's all right."
"You old rogue," said Mr. Devering to me, "this was a put-up job on your part, and I believe you talked it over with these horses. Some persons would say, 'Natural liking of a pony for his stable'—I say, 'Natural instinct of a petted creature to stand by his benefactors.'"
This was so pleasing to me that I walked to him and began to bite pleasantly at his coat buttons that were all in the wrong holes. What a hurry he must have been in when he dressed.
"Pony," said Mrs. Devering suddenly, "did you bring my boy back to me?"
I stared into her flushed face, then I pawed the dusty road very softly, once, twice, thrice.
"Y, E, S," she said, "You beauty!" and she threw her arms round my neck. "You'll never go out of this family as long as I live."
"But he's Dallas' pony," said Big Chief in some dismay.
"Then we'll adopt Dallas," she said good-humouredly. "Come home now, my boy. Oh! how happy I am!" and she sprang as gracefully to her saddle as a circus lady.
Big Chief mounted me soberly.
This was a different boy from the one that had flung himself on my back so desperately an hour before. Oh! what a delighted pony I was, and how joyfully Guardie barked as he ran beside me.
Trot, trot, gallop, gallop, we all went along the road revelling in the lovely moonbeams sent down to us by the Gracious Lady in the sky.
The birds and the beasts could all go to sleep again, and what a good gossip they would have the next day about the doings of the Deverings in the beech-wood.
When we got to the farm, Mrs. Devering with her own hands made me one of the best mashes I ever tasted, and as I ate it gratefully I thought about my young master. Big Chief, after having had this shock of his young life, would probably settle down to be a good boy, but I did not want him to outshine my beloved Dallas.
These young Deverings all had headstrong pushing ways and clever brains, but not one of them could compare with my lad. Oh! for his star to rise and shine, and I nodded myself to sleep, and dreamed that on the back of my master I floated right up into the air to Lady Moon who said to him, "Welcome, best-beloved of Earth Children!"