Down to a Soundless Sea Read Online Free PDF Page B

down a rocky embankment. The rider was bruised, bent, and embarrassed; but his mare was cut up, and for that he felt truly guilty and ashamed. The penalty for his error involved a painful extrication for horse and rider to regain the trail and then a long, slow walk leading the injured mare.
    John then had to face mocking rebukes. Leading home an injured mount indicated carelessness in the extreme. Callow cowhands were a dime a bushel, but good horses were worth more than hard money in this country. The fact that the mare belonged to John didn’t count for much since it meant he’d now have to use one of the ranch mounts for the duration of the job. His own mare would be unfit for the trail for some weeks.
    This incident curtailed John’s nocturnal quests for a while, but not permanently. He was always secretly on the lookout for his quarry. Every day he carried his casting plaster, tin mug, and extra canteen in the hope of finding just one mighty paw print to verify his account to Mr. Post and the other skeptics.
    *  *  *
    At the end of the season the inevitable happened. John found his wages docked into nonexistence, with never a sign of his mythical bear to show for it. First he had to reimburse the Posts for the care of his horse. The farrier was called in lieu of a veterinarian, but that wasn’t cheap either. The resultant diagnosis and treatment meant two things. One, John’s mare and her colt could not possibly travel back to Salinas for weeks, with all that implied in care, board, and feed. And two, John was broke. He couldn’t even afford the stage fare back to Salinas. Old Joe Post had been right. Those pretty Salinas girls would find John with empty pockets come the fall term.
    The Posts had a broad reputation as a hospitable and compassionate clan, given to forbearance where youth and folly were concerned. John’s antics were barely a passing diversion to people who had seen just about every kind of addlepated eccentric who ever mounted a horse.
    On the last day of work the Posts laid out a lavish farewell feed as a token of gratitude for the hired and volunteer labor. It was a traditional Post roundup fiesta. Mrs. Post engineered an enormous feast of roasted wild boar and vegetables, baked pigeons in currants and cream, abalone steaks grilled with green onion and chiles. Other local delights included wild mountain honey cakes and quarts of pickled quails’ eggs, acquired in a trade with the enigmatic Sing Fat. Everything looked truly marvelous; everything except John’s immediate future.
    After a dessert of hot apple pie with thick ginger cream, Mrs. Post approached John and handed him a small, brown envelope accompanied by a pat on the cheek. She said the Ranch hoped to see him again next season. The little manila packetcontained four dollars, exactly the price of the stage fare back to Monterey. From there he was on his own. Mrs. Post knew John would jump a local freight to Salinas like the rest of the boys. He would find his way home in good order, and that was all that really mattered. Next year, she hoped out loud, John would keep his mind on his job.
    Unhappily, John returned home without ever collecting the least evidence of his bear. But that was just as well as far as he was concerned. The less said about the incident the better. He was already tied up in knots trying to think of a way to explain to his folks what happened to his mare. To reveal more than was absolutely necessary would only cause him further embarrassment. The stage ride to Monterey gave him plenty of time to think about the numerous distressing alternatives to the truth.
    But John never forgot his Great Sur Bear, the mountain wizard, the God of generations. For John, if for no other living human, the immortal beast was as alive and real as he was, and that was all that really mattered.
    When he got home, John was faced with the immediate problem of scraping together four dollars to repay Mrs. Post’s generosity. It was