The Killer | Page 8

stroll idly around the courtyard, thus obtaining a
closer inspection. But the moment I stepped into the open a Mexican
sauntered into view and began to water the flowers. I can say no more
than that in his hands that watering pot looked fairly silly. So I turned
to the right and passed through the wicket gate and into the stable yard.
It was natural enough that I should go to look after my own horse.
The stable yard was for the moment empty; but as I walked across it
one of its doors opened and a very little, wizened old man emerged
leading a horse. He tied the animal to a ring in the wall and proceeded
at once to currying.
I had been in Arizona for ten years. During that time I had seen a great
many very fine native horses, for the stock of that country is directly
descended from the barbs of the conquistadores. But, though often well
formed and as tough and useful as horseflesh is made, they were small.
And no man thought of refinements in caring for any one of his
numerous mounts. They went shaggy or smooth according to the
season; and not one of them could have called a curry comb or brush
out of its name.
The beast from which the wizened old man stripped a bona fide horse
blanket was none of these. He stood a good sixteen hands; his head was
small and clean cut with large, intelligent eyes and little, well-set ears;
his long, muscular shoulders sloped forward as shoulders should; his
barrel was long and deep and well ribbed up; his back was flat and

straight; his legs were clean and--what was rarely seen in the cow
country--well proportioned--the cannon bone shorter than the leg bone,
the ankle sloping and long and elastic--in short, a magnificent creature
whose points of excellence appeared one by one under close scrutiny.
And the high lights of his glossy coat flashed in the sun like water.
I walked from one side to the other of him marvelling. Not a defect, not
even a blemish could I discover. The animal was fairly a perfect
specimen of horseflesh. And I could not help speculating as to its use.
Old Man Hooper had certainly never appeared with it in public; the
fame of such a beast would have spread the breadth of the country.
During my inspection the wizened little man continued his work
without even a glance in my direction. He had on riding breeches and
leather gaiters, a plaid waistcoat and a peaked cap; which, when you
think of it, was to Arizona about as incongruous as the horse. I made
several conventional remarks of admiration, to which he paid not the
slightest attention. But I know a bait.
"I suppose you claim him as a Morgan," said I.
"Claim, is it!" grunted the little man, contemptuously.
"Well, the Morgan is not a real breed, anyway," I persisted. "A
sixty-fourth blood will get one registered. What does that amount to?"
The little man grunted again.
"Besides, though your animal is a good one, he is too short and straight
in the pasterns," said I, uttering sheer, rank, wild heresy.
After that we talked; at first heatedly, then argumentatively, then with
entire, enthusiastic agreement. I saw to that. Allowing yourself to be
converted from an absurd opinion is always a sure way to favour. We
ended with antiphonies of praise for this descendant of Justin Morgan.
"You're the only man in all this God-forsaken country that has the
sense of a Shanghai rooster!" cried the little man in a glow. "They ride

horses and they know naught of them; and they laugh at a horseman!
Your hand, sir!" He shook it. "And is that your horse in number four? I
wondered! He's the first animal I've seen here properly shod. They use
the rasp, sir, on the outside the hoof, and on the clinches, sir; and they
burn a seat for the shoe; and they pare out the sole and trim the
frog--bah! You shoe your own horse, I take it. That's right and proper!
Your hand again, sir. Your horse has been fed this hour agone."
"I'll water him, then," said I.
But when I led him forth I could find no trough or other facilities until
the little man led me to a corner of the corral and showed me a
contraption with a close-fitting lid to be lifted.
"It's along of the flies," he explained to me. "They must drink, and we
starve them for water here, and they go greedy for their poison yonder."
He indicated flat dishes full of liquid set on shelves here and about.
"We keep them pretty clear."
I walked over, curiously, to examine. About and