Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1945-08-31
CHAPTER VII


ing noise that was first like a
whine, and then howl that hit a
high note and stayed there-piercing
you, getting into your head and
making you crazy And the snow.
Days, weeks of being shut in by
deep snow that sometimes drifted
over windows and doors so that
even to get out and see the sun you
had to make tunnel Oh, all of it
hard! Hard!
Suddenly Nell was in a state of
frenzy and despair. They hadn't
wanted it to be like this. The
horses were to have made money
enough so that she and Rob could
have had plenty of help-a furnace
in the house-a vacation to a
warmer climate every winter when
the boys were at school and there
was little to do on the ranch except
try to keep warm and alive.
Money, money, money - it all
came back to that! Her mind dashed
this way and that, doubling on itself,
to find a way out.
Horses. Nothing but horses. The
possible dream of Ken's-was it SO
impossible? Think of the ancestry
of that colt! 1t was Rob who had
first admitted he wanted one horse
| of the Albino's line who should be
tractable-"and I'll have a race
horse!" It was she herself who had
planned and suggested breeding
Flicka so they might get colt
with both her sweetness of DISPOSE
ton and her speed.
But the Goblin had neither. Nell
frightened her hands into a harder
fist. That inner fury which comes
over high-spirited people when they
are too often defeated filled her. She
couldn't and wouldn't take it. Some
thing had to succeed. Goblin-his
short thick legs could grow long
and swift. His bunny shape, his big
head, his bad balance, could some
how smooth out into magnificent
proportions. His mean temper, that
ugly readiness to bite and kick and
stand at bay in enmity to all, could
change to the intelligent docility of
Flicka. And speed! Flicka's very
same speed. Rockets speed. The Al
bino's d-speed-SPEED!
Suddenly Nell was riding rae
ing dream, running away to victory.
Goblin! No, not Goblin any more,
but THUNDERHEAD! The racing
stallion of the Goose Bar ranch!
The big white brute leading the
field on every track in the coun-
try! What colors would their jockey
wear? Cherry red and white. Who
would be the champion he would
displace? Seabiscuit, of course -
and would himself become then, not
only great racer but great sire of
racers, begetting hundreds of win
ners after him, every stud fee bring
| ing thousands of dollars. Goblin
must never be gelded-
The bubble of her dream burst.
Suddenly she was exhausted. She
had lived through the winter; half
dozen billiards.; the winning of
scores of races by Goblin; an alter
cation with Rob as to the gelding of
him; had made thousands of dol
lars and spent them. She was sick
of it all. Besides-none of it was
true.
She forced herself. She studied
the room. That was real. There was
moonlight flooding through the win
dow. Look at it. That hump was Rob
sleeping beside her. This was the
ranch. 1t was going to be winter
lust like all the other Winters-just
like all the storms and dangers
they were poor and going to be
poorer - nothing had ever sue
ceeded and it was quite possible,
even likely, that nothing ever would.
She had read something clever
about that enc day, telling you that
if YOU wanted to know what the
future would be-look at the past
and merely extend it!
Laying the whip to herself in this
fashion, she began to come to life,
and again her anger rose. There
wasn't day or a moment that you
were really safe here. The ele-
ments could kill you as easily as a
fy-swatter kills a fly. And at any
season of the year, a bad storm,
or flood, or drought, or plague of
prasshoppers, or an epidemic, or a
fire, or merely the wrong sort of
weather at the wrong time could
sweep away all the work of year
and all hope with it. That, she
thought sarcastically, is probably
the fascination of it for men like
Rob. Adventures. It's such big
gamble, with all the odds against
you. It's the most exciting, dramatic
life in the world.
Feeling the life stirring in her
again, even though it was the liveli-
ness of anger, she tried to penetrate
the truth still more deeply. Was her
indignation true? Did she actually
hate her realities?
Peering down. almost mischie-