david was still flushed with the excitement of the tale, and he was perplexed and troubled when connor's strange, high laughter brought to an abrupt end the picture they had both lived in.
the gambler saw the frown on david's brow, and with an effort he made himself suddenly grave, though he was still pale and shaking.
"david, this is the reason jurith can win. somewhere in the past there was a freak gray horse. there are other kinds of freaks; oranges had seeds in 'em; all at once up pops a tree that has seedless fruit. people plant shoots from it. there you have the naval orange, all out of one tree. it's the same way with that gray horse. it was a freak; had a high croup and muscles as stretchy as india-rubber, and strong—like the difference between the muscles of a mule and the muscles of most horses. that's what that first horse was. he was bred and the get came into this valley. they kept improving—and the result is glani! the eden gray, david, is the finest horse in the world because it's a different and a better horse!"
the master paused for some time, and connor knew he was deep in thought. finally he spoke:
"but if we know the speed of the eden grays, why should we go out into the world and take the money of other men because they do not know how fast our horses run?"
connor made sure the master was serious and nerved himself for the second effort.
"what do you wish, david?"
"in what measure, benjamin?"
"the sky's the limit! i say, what do you wish? the last wish that was in your head."
"shakra stumbled a little while ago; i wished for a smoother road."
"david, with the money we win on the tracks we'll tear up these roads, cut trenches, fill 'em with solid blocks of rock, lay 'em over with asphalt, make 'em as smooth as glass! what else?"
"you jest, benjamin. that is a labor for a thousand men."
"i say, it's nothing to what we'll do. what else do you want? turn your mind loose—open up your eyes and see something that's hard to get."
"every wish is a regret, and why should i fail of gratitude to god by making my wishes? yet, i have been weak, i confess. i have sometimes loathed the crumbling walls of my house. i have wished for a tall chamber—on the floor a covering which makes no sound, colors about me—crystal vases for my flowers—music when i come—"
"stop there! you see that big white cliff? i'll have that stone cut in chunks as big as you and your horse put together. i'll have 'em piled on a foundation as strong as the bottom of those hills. you see the way those mountain-tops walk into the sky? that's how the stairways will step up to the front of your house and put you out on a big terrace with columns scooting up fifty feet, and when you walk across the terrace a couple of great big doors weighing about a ton apiece will drift open and make a whisper when you mosey in. and when you get inside you'll start looking up and up, but you'll get dizzy before your eyes hit the ceiling; and up there you'll see a lighting stunt that looks like a million icicles with the sun behind 'em."
he paused an instant for breath and saw david smiling in a hazy pleasure.
"i follow you," he said softly. "go on!" and his hand stretched out as though to open a door.
"what i've told you about is only a beginning. turn yourself loose; dream, and i'll turn your dream into stone and color, and fill up your windows with green and gold and red glass till you'll think a rainbow has got all tangled up there! i'll give you music that'll make you forget to think, and when you think i'll give you a room so big that you'll have silence with an echo to it."
"all this for my horses?"
"send one of the grays—just one, and let me place the wagers. you don't even have to risk your own money. i've made a slough of it betting on things that weren't lead pipe cinches like this. i made on fidgety midget at fifty to one. i made on gosham at eight to one. nobody told me how to bet on 'em. i know a horse—that's all! you stay in the garden; i take one of the grays; i bring her back in six months with more coin than she can pack, and we split it fifty-fifty. you furnish the horse. i furnish the jack. is it a go?"
a bird stopped above them, whistled and dipped away over the treetops. david turned his head to follow the trailing song, and connor realized with a sick heart that he had failed to sweep his man off his feet.
"would you have me take charity?" asked david at length.
it seemed to connor that there was a smile behind this. he himself burst into a roar of laughter.
"sure, it sounds like charity. they'll be making you a gift right enough. there isn't a horse on the turf that has a chance with one of the grays! but they'll bet their money like fools."
"would it not be a sin, then?"
"what sin?" asked connor roughly. "don't they grab the coin of other people? does the bookie ask you how much coin you have and if you can afford to lose it? no, he's out to get all that he can grab. and we'll go out and do some grabbing in turn. oh, they'll squeal when we turn the screw, but they'll kick through with the jack. no fear, davie!"
"whatever sins may be theirs, benjamin, those sins need not be mine."
connor was dumb.
"because they are foolish," said david, "should i take advantage of their folly? a new man comes into the valley. he sees jurith, and notices that she runs well in spite of her years. he says to me: 'this mare will run faster than your stallion. i have money and this ring upon my finger which i will risk against one dollar of your money; if the mare beats glani i take your dollar. if glani beats the mare, you take my purse and my ring; i have no other wealth. it will ruin me, but i am willing to be ruined if jurith is not faster than glani.
"suppose such foolish man were to come to me, benjamin, would i not say to him: 'no, my friend. for i understand better than you, both jurith and glani!' tell me therefore, benjamin, that you have tempted me toward a sin, unknowing."
it made connor think of the stubbornness of a woman, or of a priest. it was a quiet assurance which could only be paralleled from a basis of religion or instinct. he knew the danger of pressing too hard upon this instinct or blind faith. he swallowed an oath, and answered, remembering dim lessons out of his childhood:
"tell me, david, my brother, is there no fire to burn fools? is there no rod for the shoulders of the proud? should not such men be taught?"
"and i say to you, benjamin," said the master of the garden: "what wrong have these fools done to me with their folly?"
connor felt that he was being swept beyond his depth. the other went on, changing his voice to gentleness:
"no, no! i have even a kindness for men with such blind faith in their horses. when jacob comes to me and says privately in my ear: 'david, look at hira. is she not far nobler and wiser than ephraim's horse, numan?' when he says this to me, do i shake my head and frown and say: 'risk the clothes on your back and the food you eat to prove what you say.' no, assuredly i do neither of these things, but i put my hand on his shoulder and i say: 'he who has faith shall do great things; and a tender master makes a strong colt.' in this manner i speak to him, knowing that truth is good, but the whole truth is sometimes a fire that purifies, perhaps, but it also destroys. so jacob goes smiling on his way and gives kind words and fine oats to hira."
connor turned the flank of this argument.
"these men are blind. you say that your horses can run a mile in such and such a time, and they shrug their shoulders and answer that they have heard such chatter before—from trainers and stable boys. but you put your horse on a race track and prove what you say, and they pay for knowledge. once they see the truth they come to value your horses. you open a stud and your breed is crossed with theirs. the blood of rustir, passing through the blood of glani, goes among the best horses of the world. a hundred years from now there will be no good horse in the world, of which men do not ask: 'is the blood of glani in him? is he of the line of the eden grays?' consider that, david!"
he found the master of the garden frowning. he pressed home the point with renewed vigor.
"if you live in this valley, david, what will men know of you?"
"have you come to take me out of the garden of eden?"
"i have come to make your influence pass over the mountains while you stay here. a hundred years from now who will know david of the garden of eden? of the men who used to live here, who remains? not one! where do they live now? inside your head, inside your head, david, and no other place!"
"they live with god," said david hoarsely.
"but here on earth they don't live at all except in your mind. and when you die, they die with you. but if you let me do what i say, a thousand years from to-day, people will be saying: 'there was a man named david, and he had these gray horses, which were the finest in the world, and he gave their blood to the world.' they'll pick up every detail of your life, and they'll trace back the horses—"
"do i live for the sake of a horse?" cried david, in a voice unnaturally high.
"no, but because of your horses the world will ask what sort of a man you are. people will follow your example. they'll build a hundred gardens of eden. every one of those valleys will be full of the memories of david and the men who went before him. then, david, you'll never die!"
it was the highest flight to which connor's eloquence ever attained. the results were alarming. david spoke, without facing his companion, thoughtfully.
"benjamin, i have been warned. by sin the gate to the garden was opened, and perhaps sin has entered in you. for why did the first men withdraw to this valley, led by john, save to live apart, perfect lives? and you, benjamin, wish to undo all that they accomplished."
"only the horses," said the gambler. "who spoke of taking you out of the garden?"
still david would not look at him.
"god grant me his light," said the master sadly. "you have stirred and troubled me. if the horses go, my mind goes with them. benjamin, you have tempted me. yet another thing is in my mind. when matthew came to die he took me beside him and said:
"'david, it is not well that you should lead a lonely life. man is made to live, and not to die. take to yourself a woman, when i am gone, wed her, and have children, so that the spirit of john and matthew and luke and paul shall not die. and do this in your youth, before five years have passed you by.'
"so spoke matthew, and this is the fifth year. and perhaps the lord works in you to draw me out, that i may find this woman. or perhaps it is only a spirit of evil that speaks in you. how shall i judge? for my mind whirls!"
as if to flee from his thoughts, the master of the garden called on glani, and the stallion broke into a full gallop. shakra followed at a pace that took the breath of connor, but instantly she began to fall behind; before they had reached the lake glani was out of sight across the bridge.
full of alarm—full of hope also—connor reached the house. in the patio he found zacharias standing with folded arms before a door.
"i must find david at once," he told zacharias. "where has he gone?"
"up," said the servant, and pointed solemnly above him.
"nonsense!" he added impatiently: "where shall i find him, zacharias?"
but again zacharias waved to the blue sky.
"his body is in this room, but his mind is with him above the world."
there was something in this that made connor uneasy as he had never been before.
"you may go into any room save the room of silence," continued zacharias, "but into this room only david and the four before him have been. this is the holy place."
