“Hal would have come if he could possibly have made it,” he said with a half sob, as he realized the probable meaning of his older brother’s absence.
“He never promised to do a thing in all his life but that he did it.” Then the lad’s thoughts returned to his little boyhood, when he had learned that the older brother’s word could be trusted unfailingly.
“If Hal promised to make a kite or whittle a top on the first stormy day that we were shut in, he never forgot it, never tried to get out of it. Quite the contrary, Hal would be the first to say: ‘Bring along your kite materials, little Ben. This is the day I promised I’d make one for you.’
“I’m going to be just like him,” Benjy thought. “Mother is right. The man you want for a friend is the one you can trust.”
The first half of the ride was over level desert trails that had been beaten hard by cattle and horses, but farther on the way grew rough and rocky and there was a high rugged mountain range to be crossed, for, on the other side, lay the wide, sheltered valley belonging to the Wilson ranch.
Reaching the water-hole about noon, Benjy dismounted to permit his horse to drink.
Again in the saddle, he petted the beautiful pony’s head. “Clipper, old pal,” he said in a tone of sympathetic understanding, “I’m sorry to ask you to climb High Pine Mountain trail without giving you a chance to rest before we start upgrade, but I’ll have to do it this time. I’ll make it up to you, though, old pal, you see if I don’t.”
The pony seemed pleased to feel his young master’s caress. He tossed his head, looked back over his shoulder and whinnied a reply. It was at that moment that the horse stepped on a rolling stone, scrambled madly to keep his foothold, stepped off the narrow, ascending trail and rolled with his rider into a shallow ravine. The fall had been but slight and Benjy leaped to his feet unhurt, but Clipper arose with more difficulty, and when he attempted to walk he limped and held his right forefoot as though it pained him.
Poor Benjy felt as though everything was against him, but, just at that moment he seemed to see his dear mother’s face and to hear her say as she so often had, “Benjy, Boy, courage wins.”
“I know it, mother,” the lad replied aloud with a half sob, and putting one arm around the pony’s neck he choked back the tears that had tried to come, as he said, “I’m awfully sorry you’re hurt, Clipper. I ought to have let you rest for a while at the water-hole. I guess we’ll have to keep going somehow, but I won’t ride you. If you don’t have to carry a load, don’t you think you can climb the trail, old pal?”