The Pensacola journal. (Pensacola, Fla.) 1898-1985, 1915-09-07
coerRlchr $40

ndQ OHeI6Q SINCE ne AspeQ at MS mother-S
knee. For second the horse stood rigid
with ears laid back and forelegs thrust for
ward. Perhaps voice was borne to him on
the bowling wind-surely that, for be did not
pitch, but strengthening his neck, plunged
into the storm at a gallop. He was running
away, but he was running away towards Dog
hole, with the gale at his back, and Father
Walsh let him 90. No thought he gave TO the
perils that leaped to meet them at every stride.
His mind was on deathbed in the town SO far
ahead. 1t framed itself in his brain like a
picture Black Hans lying broken on his
bunk his soul raeked by fears and longing
for a confeSsor. Hans's voice cried in his ears
insistently.
He was never a rider, the good father.
Time was when he found even the burro's
easy shamble rough and uncomfortable, and
had he paused to reflect, it may be that fright
would have unnamed him; but the idea Of
falling did not occur. All that he saw was
Black Hans, tortured by conscience. All
that he thought of and strove for with iabbing
heels, was to reach his side before it was too
late. The bronco ran desperately, in panic
from the warning elements and the strange
moist thing that now tapped and snapped in
the wind, now elung clammily to his sides.
Father Walsh had forgotten to button the
slicker over the horn of the saddle.
That may explain why he was spared to
reach his goal The wind veered and a
twist in the trail brought the rain smashing
against their faces. Twice the horse swerved
and tried to wheel, unable TO make head
against it, but the priest brought his nose up
with jerk, secured mastery of the bit and
forced him to go on. Another mile, always
upward, and their way carried the wind over
their shoulders, at which angle it was bear
able Now they were making the Gap,
where the lightning focused as on a magnet
His mount was laboring distressfully and fell
to a trot, but with voice and hands and knees
the priest urged him on, keeping his seat and
maintaining the stirrups by the sublime luck
of the helpless Far up the last ascent, close
to the heart of the storm, the shattering force
Of the thunder paralyzed the senses. AS the
fierce flashes zigzagged across their front and
the smell of them srnote his nostrils, the horse
stopped and shifted in pitiful terror Father
Walsh called to him and struck him with his
heel, bare, of spur. The horse shivered
and went forward haltingIy, and then they
were rolling down a steep declivity Of shale,
amid cascade of stones and sand and peb-
bles. O
The horse brought UP in a mesquite bush
and scrambled to his feet His rider had
fallen clear, and he lay, perfectly quiet, ten feet
distant, his face in the damp earth The
horse waited with muzzle thrust out and
whinnied, but there was no answering move
ment and he took a tentative step; prepared
e. = hot f-s4, 4
itself with long, moaning sigh, and the horse
halted
Slowly, very slowly, the priest got to his
knees, to his feet An agonizing pain in the
right shoulder made him dizzy, so that he
reeled, and he abandoned, with a groan, an
effort to move the right arm. There was a
queer, numb feeling up bis left side, too. As
he ventured step, the numbness was broken,
sopiercingly that he bent half double
Steady, boy Brave horse, brave horse"
he muttered hoarsely, gathering up the reins.
The horse did not bulge whilst he climbed
into the saddle, dragging himself up by the
left hand on the name. Once more atop, he
set on towards Doghole, feeling his way back
to the trail with caution. Shooting pains
forced cry from him at times, and be was
sick, horribly sick; but he compressed his
lips and stared doggedly into the whirlin9
dark.
eve may be late. What if we're too
late2" he cried again and again Now they
were back on the trail, and he shook his horse
into lope.
Thedoctor, hushing Hans's fren1ied prayers
for priest as he watched the spark of life
flicker and fought to stay its going out, caught
confused tumble Of sounds above the whine
of the retreatng storm An uneven clatter
of hoofs at the door Of the shack, and he
reached it in bound, throwing It wide SO
that yellow food of light poured out into
the street There in the brightness sat mar
on horse, man who swayed, but spoke TO
him in the voice of composure.
1t is Father Walsh You viii have to
help me down, please Am in timer"
Poor, battered Hans heard him when he
crossed the threshold on limping feet Into
the glazing eyes came glow and he made to
stretch out his arms, half rising from the
bunk as the priest swiftly crossed the room.
Father Walsh dropped on his knees at his
side
1T is over" he said at last -
But, Father Walsh, there is blood on your
face and hands. You're hurt. Let me
"Itis had fall, ] think, " said
the priest family.
He tried to reach chair, but tottsred. and