The Island Stallion's Fury (14 page)

The boy stretched out a hand and gently rubbed the furry body. He checked the hoop of the splint around the rump to make certain there was no chafing of the skin. The foal whinnied, reaching for the bottle in his hand. Steve pushed the soft muzzle away, and continued walking toward the canyon. The colt and Flame followed at his heels.

Steve fed the foal just within the entrance of the canyon while Flame stood by. The boy watched them both but thought only of Tom and what the giant would do if he ever found Flame and the colt and the band.

When the foal had finished, Steve put up the bars of the canyon. Flame nuzzled his shirt from behind. The colt neighed repeatedly from the other side of the gate, furious at being left behind. Steve lingered, waiting for him to calm down.

“Oh, Pitch,” he pleaded aloud, “please think of something to keep Tom away. You know this world so
well … you can keep him from ever finding them. He'll want the horses more than anything else here. He'll destroy them if he finds them.…”

Later, when he arrived back at the ledge, Pitch handed him his food. Steve took the plate but looked only at his friend's face. And he saw nothing that gave him any hope.

They said nothing while they ate. There were no sounds in this lost valley but the steady drone of the waterfall and an occasional nicker from a mare. Even the colt had settled down for the night.

“You haven't thought of anything, Pitch,” Steve said finally.

It was a statement, not a question. But Pitch answered, “No.”

They finished their food, then Pitch said, “I'm afraid our only chance is for me to make myself known to him, Steve. I'll remind him that he would be dead if I hadn't found him. I'll tell him that I'll take him safely back to his launch, if he gives me his word never to return or tell anyone what he's discovered.”

“But he won't keep his word, Pitch. He'll be back if he doesn't turn on you before you get him out of the tunnels.”

“What
else
can I do, Steve?” And when the boy had no alternate plan to offer, Pitch continued, “I'll take him back the very same way he came in, then he won't know of Blue Valley.”

“Unless he comes back later,” Steve said. “And he'll do exactly that, Pitch. You know it as well as I do. He'll bring help, too … other men to help him find his way through the tunnels.”

Pitch rose to his feet. “Yes, I know that. But it won't be easy for them to find Blue Valley. I can't think of anything else to do, Steve.”

The boy's teeth were clamped hard on his lower lip, and he said nothing as he followed Pitch into the cave behind the ledge. At the far end Pitch stopped before the wooden box containing his collection of treasured relics. Lifting the lid, he placed inside the goblet and sextant and spur he had found that afternoon in the new tunnel.

Steve saw the cat-o'-nine-tails lying near the top and again thought of the bull whip which he had failed to remove from Tom's waist. Replacing the lid on the box, Pitch picked up the lantern and turned to him.

“This will sound very selfish to you, Steve,” he said slowly. “But I'm taking this box to Antago early tomorrow morning.”

“Why, Pitch?”

“Because, as you just mentioned, Tom could turn on me in the tunnels. He could force me to bring him here. For that reason these relics, my manuscript and photographs, everything that's of historical value must be kept away from him. I'm certain that Tom would wilfully destroy them if he ever got his hands on them.”

“But the horses?” Steve asked bitterly. “What about them, Pitch? Don't you think they're as valuable as your …”

“They are. They are. I know, Steve.” Pitch's words came fast in an attempt to stem the boy's anger. “But we can't possibly remove the horses from the island … except for the colt. You can take the colt.”

Steve was still for a long while. When he spoke
there was no anger in his voice, only hopelessness and despair. “Then you really think it's the end of everything, Pitch? There's nothing we can do to prevent it happening?”

“Not the end of everything, Steve. Perhaps the end of living here by ourselves, of going on with our work alone as we'd planned until we were ready to let the world know what we'd found. The wisest thing we can do, no,
the only thing
, is to remove what we can from here. And when we reach Antago tomorrow morning I'll place this box in the vault at the bank. No one will know what's inside. The president of the bank is a friend of mine and I'll leave with him a letter which he is to open only if I don't return to the bank within two days' time. The letter will explain how to reach Blue Valley.”

“
If you don't return?
” Steve repeated, startled. “What do you mean, Pitch? Even if Tom does force you to bring him here, you'll be free to return to Antago.”

“Will I?” Pitch's words were more for himself than for Steve. “I don't know what's going to happen.” He raised his voice as his eyes met the boy's anxious gaze. “But the letter should bring help enough to stop Tom from destroying everything if I can't get back. And if the instructions aren't absolutely clear to my friends, you can lead them back. But I'd rather you didn't,” he added soberly.

“
I lead them back?
Pitch! I'll be with you!”

“You won't, Steve. You'll go to Antago with me tomorrow morning and stay there.”

“I won't. You'll need help if anything goes wrong. I'm coming back with you.”

“You'll help more by leading our party back to Blue Valley if necessary,” Pitch said, seeking to keep calm before the boy's defiance. “You'll be helping me and the band. You know as well as I do what'll happen to the horses if Tom ever has a free hand with them.”

Steve looked at his friend for a long while but said nothing. He didn't want to leave Pitch alone to face Tom. And yet, if anything did go wrong, he could lead friends back to Blue Valley just as Pitch had said. But wouldn't the letter serve the same purpose? The paneled doors above the sea hole could be left open, and those who followed would have no trouble finding it with Pitch's written directions. Meanwhile, he could be with Pitch to help him, if necessary.

Steve saw the hardness in Pitch's eyes, which told him as well as words that it would be useless to argue just now. A little later it might be different. But not now.

They returned to the ledge and stretched out on their blankets. Steve closed his eyes to induce sleep, which didn't come. His heart was beating very rapidly, as though he were doing some violent exercise. A frightening weakness absorbed his body. For the first time in his life his body shook with fear, and he sweated even though the night air was cool. He could think only of Tom and his bull whip; Tom in the tunnels, such a short distance away;
Tom in Blue Valley
. Was it the end, as Pitch thought?

He decided to get a drink of water. He told himself he was thirsty. But he wasn't. He wanted to stand, to walk, to rid himself of a terrifying weakness in mind and body. He went to the water canteen, only to find it empty. He welcomed the walk to the stream above to
fill the canteen. He went up the trail to the great opening and gazed into its blackness, thinking of Tom. Then he turned away quickly to fill the canteen and to look out over Blue Valley.

It was a moonless night, but the stars were so close and there were so many of them that their light brightened the valley. Steve made out the dark silhouettes of the horses. He listened to them cropping the grass. He heard a short neigh from the colt in Bottle Canyon. He saw Flame moving quickly on light, ghostly hoofs across the valley. A few minutes later, the stallion had stopped to graze again.

Steve watched him, thinking of Flame's tearing teeth, his thrashing forehoofs and powerful, pounding hind legs. If ever Tom found Blue Valley, he would seek to dominate Flame. And the stallion would answer his challenge. It would be a terrible, horrible fight, one that never should be given the chance to start.

Steve descended the trail to the ledge. He put down the full canteen without taking a drink. But he felt better for his walk; the weakness had left his legs. Going to his blanket, he lay down again, hoping sleep would come. He needed all the rest he could get.

Tomorrow they had to face Tom, bargain with him. Pitch was right; there was no alternative but to go through with the plan he had suggested. They couldn't let Tom die. They couldn't keep him a prisoner within the tunnels. For if they did either, they would be as cruel and vicious as he.
They had to let him go
.

It was many hours later when Steve finally fell asleep, dreading the day to come.

Pitch, awakening a little before dawn, found that Steve was asleep. Good, he thought. He wouldn't disturb him.

Quietly he got to his feet. Steve did not stir as he heated the last can of soup and poured it into his canteen. Finally he turned away and started up the trail. His intention was to feed Tom now so he and Steve could get an early start for Antago. He'd return alone to Azul Island late this afternoon to bargain with Tom.

Entering the tunnels, Pitch turned on his flashlight. He didn't expect any trouble. He doubted that Tom would be conscious of what was going on. Soup was good for him now, and this afternoon when he got back he would give him something more substantial. With solid foods, Tom's recovery would be rapid. Tonight would be a good time to face him … before he got too strong again.

Pitch's steps quickened, taking him ever closer to the giant whom he didn't know was conscious and already waiting for him.

Tom lay in the blackness of the tunnels, his eyes open and staring. He listened for the sound of footsteps, knowing that eventually they must come. He still retained the taste of chicken in his mouth, so he knew he had been fed. The renewed strength in his arms and legs told him so, too. He drew up a leg, then stretched it out again and drew up the other. He lifted his arms high, then brought them back to rest upon his massive chest. Again he listened for the slightest sound, but the tunnels were quiet. After a few minutes he sat up. His body wavered a little. Satisfied that he could sit upright he lay back once more and waited … 
waited for Phil to bring him food
.

His thin lips were drawn back in what could have been a smile. Who else but Phil would have fed him? He closed his eyes to shut out the blackness of the tunnels which brought back all the agonizing memories of his fight for life. He hated this black, tomblike world. But soon, very soon, he'd leave it behind. He was alive. He'd won. Whatever lay beyond, whatever Phil and the kid had found was his! He'd play it smart. Perhaps Phil intended to leave him here to die. No, Phil wouldn't have the guts for that. He might intend keeping him a prisoner here but Phil wouldn't let him die.

“I'll just wait,” he told himself. “I'll play along with him when he comes. I'll let him feed me again, thinking I'm still unconscious. And when he goes I'll follow him … 
to find what he finds!
”

When he heard the soft footsteps on the stone, he opened his eyes. He smiled, for he would have known the sound of Phil's steps anywhere, any place, any time. For a moment he watched the bobbing light coming toward him, then shut his eyes once more.

His breathing was deep and regular when the light was directed on his face. He felt a hand lift his head; it was a small hand, soft and gentle,
Phil's hand
. The metal of the canteen was pressed to his mouth, and the soup was warm and good as it ran down his throat. He drank without opening his eyes. He waited. He wanted to smile again, but he knew it would only give him away and spoil his plan.

The canteen was taken from his mouth; his head was lowered to the floor. And then came the sound of Phil's retreating footsteps. He opened his eyes and sat up. For just a few seconds he watched the bobbing light, then he struggled to his feet. He swayed drunkenly at first, but the soup had given him additional strength and steadied him. Hunched over, he stole silently along the low tunnel, following the light that would take him out of this black world.

Steve awakened to the sound of a pan being placed on the stove. He saw that it was light and well after dawn.

Pitch said, “Breakfast is ready. I let you sleep.”

The box containing Pitch's relics had been moved to the ledge. Seeing it, Steve remembered with startling suddenness and dread all that lay ahead of them on this day. He went to the stream to wash, and when he returned Pitch handed him his plate of bacon and toast.

“I've fed him,” Pitch said quietly while Steve ate.

Startled, the boy looked up from his food. “You mean you've been to him already?”

“Early,” Pitch said.

“Nothing happened?”

“No. He's still pretty weak, I guess. He didn't even open his eyes.” Pitch finished his breakfast before
speaking again. “The box will be heavy but I think we'll be able to manage it.” Removing the lid, he neatly placed his briefcase, containing manuscript and photographs, on top; then he covered the box again.

Steve watched him without saying a word.

“I have a few personal things already in the bank vault,” Pitch continued, “so another box of mine being put there shouldn't arouse anyone's suspicions. And it'll be nailed tight.”

As he helped himself to more coffee, his hand shook. He looked at Steve to see if the boy had noticed. Steve hadn't for his eyes were on his plate of untouched food. “Eat your breakfast, Steve,” Pitch urged. “You'll need it.”

Pitch said nothing more until the boy had finished his food. “I've written the letter I spoke about,” he said. “So in case anything …”

“Pitch! Nothing's going to happen to you. Tom wouldn't dare! He'll be only too glad that you'll show him the way out of the tunnels. It's what will happen later, when he's free and can return, that we have to worry about.”