Category:Felix Sagittarius: Difference between revisions

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 Dobbin 

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 By Felix Sagittarius 

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“Come on, Dobbin, old girl, pull! We need to get these supplies to the cabin if either of us is going to have a comfortable winter,” Harold said.

Dobbin snorted, as if in agreement, and leaned harder into the sledge's harness. Harold put his strength to pushing from the rear, and the heavy sledge reluctantly moved over the sticky mud of the ford.

“Those clouds don't look good,” Harold gasped, panting from the exertion of moving the sledge. “If it starts snowing, we may be in trouble.”

Dobbin nodded, as if in agreement. Harold often talked to the big mare: living alone in an Alaskan trappers cabin, he'd picked up some odd habits, and after he'd found Dobbin, he naturally transferred some of them to her.

Another few minutes heavy labor for both of them saw the sledge off the mud and up the stream bank, back onto the dried grass of the trail. Harold called “whoa” to Dobbin, who stopped, and Harold sat on the sledge to catch his breath. He brought out his canteen and took a long drink of water, then corked it and put it away.

Dobbin had been watching, and gave a pleading whicker, almost asking for water, too. Harold laughed, walked up and rubbed her nose, then went down to the stream and filled his hat. He brought it back to her, and she drank eagerly. Another trip, and after she drank that, he said, “Back to work, pretty lady, I can feel the snow coming, and there's a ways yet to go.”

Dobbin sighed, then nodded. She leaned into the harness, and the sledge continued its journey. Fat flakes of snow started falling, drifting through the trees, and Harold frowned.

“Damn,” he muttered. “ There's a good ten miles to the cabin yet. I sure hope this isn't gonna be a real blizzard.” Dobbin snorted her agreement.

As if in response to his comment, the snowfall picked up, and the wind began, first a gentle breeze, blowing the snow into their faces, then picking up speed. It was obvious that a full blizzard had come, and that Harold had pushed his time a little too close on this last trip. The trail was still fairly clear, leading between the trees as it did, but the ground was growing treacherous, as the pits and rocks began to be hidden under the blanket of snow.

Dobbin plowed along steadily, the sledge actually moving more easily over the snow, and Harold walked behind, guiding and helping steady the load. He pulled his pack from the top of the load, then pulled out the heavy coat he'd purchased at the trading post and put it on over his jacket. He also pulled out the muffler and wrapped it around his face and neck, trying to keep the fast falling snow out. Last, he found a piece of jerky, sawed off a piece to chew on, put the rest in his pocket, then tossed the pack back onto the sledge. They continued their trek through the now snowy wilderness.

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Harold looked around, through the wind driven snow, and gloried in the beauty. This is what he'd come to Alaska for: the beauty of a winter forest, the quiet of a deep winter's night, with the aurora flickering and dancing overhead, the solemn darkness of the forests in the summer, a life to lead alone, after his wife had run off with a salesman. His distraction led to what happened next. He didn't notice the small dimple in the snow, and when his leg plunged into the hole, he twisted off balance and fell. A loud 'crack' came from the hole, and a flame of pain washed over him.

He screamed in surprise, then began to drag the leg out. Panting, he worked it up and out onto the ground. It was obviously bent at an odd angle, broken. He stared at it, horrified – he couldn't do anything with it, alone and in the middle of a blizzard, and he looked at a slow painful death.

Dobbin had stopped at his scream, and looked back, puzzled as to why he wasn't walking behind her.

“Oh, God, I'm dead, old girl. I've broken my leg,” he said between gritted teeth. “I think I can get up and at least get you unharnessed, so you won't have to die too.”

He reached for the sledge, to try to lift himself, but Dobbin started walking again, leaving him behind. He cried out in surprise at being left, but she kept going, vanishing into the blowing snow. He used a number of choice words, then, realizing the futility, started crawling off the trail and under the shelter of a lofty pine tree. He lay down, almost fainting with the pain, and began to wait for the dark man to come for him.

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A movement in the woods abruptly startled him into wakefulness. Something was out there – a bear? At least it would be quick. Then he heard the whisper of moccasins on snow, and called out. From the snow appeared an Indian woman, almost a girl.

“Ah, there you are,” she said in perfect English. “My, you really broke your leg, didn't you? Let me see what I can do.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded, as she found pieces of branches for a splint, and asked him for his shirt to tie it in place after she straightened it. Numbly, he pulled off his coat and jacket, then slid off the shirt and handed it to her. She asked for his knife, cut the shirt in strips, then handed it back.

“You still have the jerky?” she asked, and he nodded, wondering how she knew.

“Put it between your teeth and bite on it – this is going to hurt.” she said.

He scrabbled through his pockets, found it and put it in place, then she grasped his leg and pulled, straightening it with awesome strength. His head reeled at the pain, and when he could see again, she had tied the splints in place. She gathered wood for a small fire, then cleared a place for it beneath the tree after knocking off the snow above it.

“Matches,” she commanded, and he dug them out and handed over the container. Soon, there was a small cheerful fire going, and Harold began to feel better for the first time since he'd fallen.

“I have to go,” she said. “I'll be back in a little while for you.” and she vanished into the snow.

“Wow,” Harold thought fuzzily, “What a girl! Pretty and smart! I think I'm in love!”

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With nothing to do, his mind started to wander. Back to his days growing up on a farm in the States, running a trap line to help make money for the family. Of going to school, of meeting his sweetheart. Of going off to fight in the Spanish War, then coming home to buy a small farm of his own with his saved pay, and of his marriage – first the happy years, then as times got harder, the quarrels and fights, ending when she ran off with a salesman. His despair at loosing her, and the relief of the bottle, then the loss of his farm.

He'd sworn off liquor then, and found his way to the coast and a ship north. North to Alaska! A new land, a new chance, a new hope. He'd worked in town for a year, accumulating enough of a stake to buy a set of traps, and an old timer gave directions to an abandoned cabin deep in the woods. He set his traps carefully, and almost immediately began to get results. His collection of furs steadily grew, and he settled happily into his new life.

He was at the end of a trap string when he saw her, a big grey horse, standing in the woods watching him. He smiled at her, then called, “ Hey, big girl, want an apple?”

Her ears went up, and he could have sworn she grinned at him. She trotted over and started snuffling at his pockets, and he pulled the apple he'd saved from lunch out of his pack and handed it to her. She crunched on it blissfully, then sniffed him all over. He scratched her behind the ears, she sighed in pleasure, then followed him home like a big dog. He named her Dobbin, after his old farm horse,and assumed she was a domesticated horse who'd run away or whose owner had died, and he kept her. Strangely, there was no brand on her. He built a pole shed for her to be out of the weather, and added oats and hay to his list of supplies.

He found she had some strange quirks though. She utterly refused to wear a halter, let alone a bridle. She'd happily allow herself to be harnessed and pull the sledge, but she allowed no one on her back. She would stand calmly in front of the store waiting for him, but the horse thief who tried to lasso her got a surprise – she simply couldn't be roped! It was as if she was playing a game with him. Then, when he came up close, she simply kicked him across the street. After that, she was left alone, and Dobbin and Harold became a familiar sight in town. Harold smiled at the memories, added wood to the fire, then drifted off to sleep.

The sound of hooves woke Harold from a nap, and he looked into the driven snow. There was Dobbin, with the sledge, and it was empty! She nickered, almost commanding him to come over, and he complied. He made his way onto the sledge and tied himself to it with the pack ropes, then Dobbin turned and headed for the cabin. Harold was dizzy with pain from the crawl and the cold, so he simply held on for the ride. Soon they were home in front of the cabin. He tried to crawl off the sledge, but couldn't – the pain, the cold, and exhaustion just held him where he was.

He heard a crash from the front, where Dobbin was, then the Indian girl was there. She helped him up and moved him to the cabin. He looked back, and the harness was lying on the ground – but Dobbin was gone! The girl got him into his bunk, then after a minute's examination, got the wood stove burning again, and went out to get water. She came back, then opened a tin of soup, mixed it in, then put it on the stove to heat. The room quickly rose to a livable temperature, and she helped Harold out of his coats, then worked his pants off carefully. After a bowl of thick soup, Harold drifted off to sleep to the quiet chanting of the Indian maid.

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Almost a day later, Harold awoke, feeling much better. He looked around for his clothes and froze – Dobbin was standing, asleep, in the cabin! At his gasp, she roused, then turned her head and looked at him. He would have sworn she was laughing at him! She turned her head back, closed her eyes, and sighed, then, suddenly, she changed – a flickering light seemed to play around her, and she shrank! As she did, the form of the Indian maid appeared, and grew solid. She straightened up then looked at him and burst into laughter at the stunned look on Harold's face.

“Yes, my friend, I am Dobbin,” she said. “My father is a powerful medicine man in the tribe whos ground you are on. He asked me to take the shape of the horse so I could watch you and see what kind of man you are. You are different from many who have come here, and you have treated me well, so I have asked my father and the Chief to allow you to stay – on one condition. You must marry me.”

“Gladly,” Harold replied. “Gladly! You have been so sweet as a horse, and so beautiful as a woman, when I first saw you in the woods – I knew I wanted you. Please, summon your people, and when I can walk – wait - my leg, it doesn't hurt! Is it healed? What did you do?”

“You might call it magic – I employed methods known to us, and you are well, although you have been asleep for some time,” she said

“Then, lets go and talk to your people,” Harold said. “If Dobbin will agree to carry me?”

“Come outside,” she said, with a smile.

Harold got up, dressed, and followed her through the door. The ground was muddy, but the snow was mostly gone.

“Stand here, close your eyes, and try not to be startled,” she said, then began a soft chant.

Harold did as she asked, then, suddenly, the world reeled around him. He fell to four feet, and felt his body twisting and changing.

“Open your eyes, my stallion,” he heard her say, in a strange yet familiar voice. He looked through the eyes of a horse, to see her in mare form!

“I thought we could travel faster in this form,” she laughed. He whinnied back, his joyous laughter joining hers, and they trotted off down the trail to her people.

End

9/10/08

(This story was in the 2008 Midwest Furfest ConBook) <comments/>