By Robert Kroetsch
Chance Lepage, the final of the studhorse males, units out to reproduce his infrequent blue stallion, Poseidon. A lusty trickster and a wayward knight, Hazard’s outrageous adventures are narrated through Demeter Proudfoot, his mystery rival, who writes this tale whereas sitting bare in an empty bath. In his quest to save lots of his stallion’s bloodline from extinction, probability leaves a path of anarchy and confusion. every little thing he touches erupts into chaos necessitating common convalescences within the hands of some strong women–excepting these of Martha, his long-suffering meant. instructed with the ribald zeal of a Prairie beer parlor tall story and the mythic importance of a Greek odyssey, The Studhorse guy is Robert Kroetsch’s get together of unbridled personality set opposed to the backdrop of a rough-and-ready Alberta rising after the battle. Winner of the Governor General’s Award for Fiction.
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Very shortly the lance corporal (or private) appeared, leading four captive mares. Hazard tied them to the sides and the rear of the milkwagon. After taking off his snowshoes and handing them to the corporal who held the milkhorse, he saluted liberally all about, grunting incoherently as he did so. I wish I could report that all encounters went as smoothly as did this one. Unfortunately, Hazard had to cross the North Saskatchewan River via the High Level Bridge to get onto the road that would take him toward home.
Unfortunately, Hazard had to cross the North Saskatchewan River via the High Level Bridge to get onto the road that would take him toward home. And, unfortunately again, the police had by this time got a description of the imagined insane murderer from the brakeman who had labored to revive the nearly dead body that was Hazard’s. The bridge is a black iron tunnel in which patterns of parallel lines and acute angles are repeated and repeated until they knock at the senses like a film run too slowly; each picture is both separate from and yet like all others.
He rushed back into the streets. Darkness had come; the lights were on. And with darkness, there in the false glare of the gaudy lights, came further chaos. Liquor rationing was in effect that spring; customers stood in line until they could bear it no longer; then they rioted, 30 The Studhorse Man carrying off bottles and cases, seizing into their arms what they had so often desired and running wildly into the nearest dark alleys. The clerks made little attempt to stop them; they put aside a bottle here and there—the policemen, of course, were all busy with the horses.