The Island Stallion's Fury (7 page)

“I watched them last night,” Steve said. “Flame wouldn't let any of them come near him. But you're right, Pitch. We could easily do that, then if Flame should be away from him when the band comes down at night we'll be sure that no harm can come to him.”

“That's what I thought. I cut down a couple of thin trees to make rails which we can put across the entrance to the canyon. That'll keep him in nights and the others out.”

Steve looked at the post. “But if we get the mare tied and the colt to her, we won't need to do that.”

“No,” Pitch agreed, “of course not.”

Pitch returned to the ledge, while Steve went to the foal. The soft nose nuzzled his hand, searching for milk.

“You just had it,” Steve told him. “You've got another hour to go before you get any more.” He could feel the soft gums of the colt's mouth as the foal pulled at his fingers. He looked into the eyes set far apart in the
wide forehead and saw the mischievous light in them as the colt held on to his fingers. Then his gaze traveled to the long, delicate nostrils now partly closed but ready to open wide at any movement he might make to get his hand free. This foal was so much Flame's colt, every bit of him. He was small, perhaps much smaller than any of the other foals had been at birth. But then he was a twin, and his sister was just as small. He would grow to be tall and strong just as she would. Or would he, without the mare's milk?

Steve turned to look at the band. He loved the foal, loved caring for him, but he would help Pitch in every way to rope the mare and make her accept her son. To grow big and strong, the colt needed her. Certainly no cow's milk could take the place of hers. And he, Steve, couldn't be expected to do as good a job of caring for him as could the mare. As Pitch had said, it just wasn't natural.

Steve saw the band start down the valley. “Pitch!” he yelled. “They're coming!”

A few minutes later Pitch was beside him. In his hand he carried a long rope.

“Let's take the colt to Bottle Canyon,” Pitch said. “We can get him again if we succeed in getting the mare tied to the post. Meanwhile, it'll keep him out of the way.”

The foal struggled as they picked him up. He was stronger, there was no doubt of that. But without too much trouble they were able to carry him across the valley to the mouth of Bottle Canyon. Putting him just inside, they placed long rails across the entrance.

“It's not a very sturdy gate,” Pitch said, wedging the ends of the rails between the stones. “But it'll hold him in all right.”

They went back near the pool and awaited the coming of the band.

“Don't get any closer,” Pitch warned. “We'll only frighten them away.”

“They're not all coming down,” Steve said. “Just a small group of them.”

“Is she with them … the bay mare?”

“I can't tell yet. Five of the mares are bay. They're all too far away.”

“Look for the twin filly,” Pitch said, fingering the rope. “You ought to recognize the mare by the filly at her side. She's smaller than the others.”

“All the foals are too close to the mares to tell yet.”

They waited while the small group of mares stopped to graze, then came on again. “They're after water. They'll be down, all right. Can you see her, Steve?”

“I think so, but I'm not sure.”

The mares stopped to graze again. Steve looked past them at the main part of the band farther up the valley. He saw Flame far beyond, grazing alone. Steve glanced sideways at the barred canyon on his right; the foal was at the gate, watching, waiting.

“That noose,” Steve said, referring to the rope Pitch was fingering so nervously. “Have you fixed it so it won't run too tight around her neck?”

“It's knotted. It'll hold her without choking her.” Pitch's words were tense, clipped, for the group of
mares had moved toward them again. “That's her, isn't it, Steve? See that filly! She went right under the mare's belly to get away from that gray foal!”

“Yes,” Steve said, “that's the mare, all right.”

“Don't move, Steve. Don't move!”

“I'm not moving.”

Steve knew that Pitch was very nervous, even frightened. He'd had no experience roping any kind of a horse, let alone a wild mare. But he was going through with his plan just the same.

“I'll throw the rope if you want,” Steve said. But he knew he had no better chance of roping the mare than Pitch. And he was just as nervous.

“No. No, I'll do it,” Pitch said. “But we'll move together, and if I should get it around her, Steve … if I should, why …” He stopped, turning to Steve, and a white pallor showed beneath his tanned skin. “W-what do we do then?”

“We get our end of the rope around the post,” Steve said.

“Yes, and then we'll pull her to it until she's fast.”

Steve nodded in agreement. But it wasn't until the mares were close to the pool and he and Pitch took a step forward that Steve wondered how they were going to pull the mare fast to the post. She was ever so much stronger than they were. He was about to ask Pitch about it when the latter put a hand across his lips.

“S-shh, Steve.”

The boy followed close behind Pitch, feeling very strongly that what they were trying to do was foolish, even insane. But the foal needed his dam, and this knowledge drove Steve on, the same as it did Pitch.

They were close against the wall. The drone of the waterfall silenced their footsteps. There was no wind to carry their scent to the mares. They were near the pool now … not far from the bay mare. She was within reach of the rope.

Pitch's body tensed, and Steve guessed he would throw the rope as soon as the mare finished drinking, as soon as she straightened and turned in their direction. There was no doubt but that she would do just that, for the other mares were too close on her right for her to turn toward them.

“Relax, Pitch,” Steve wanted to say. “If you're tense your aim won't be true.” But he said nothing. They were too close to the mares.

Pitch held the noose in his right hand, ready to throw. Steve saw the twin filly move quickly around the bay mare. They'd have to be careful not to hurt the filly. It would be terrible if they caused her any injury in their efforts to help the colt. He'd better caution Pitch to …

The bay mare straightened. There was the quick but jerky movement of Pitch's arm. The noose struck the mare on the side of her neck instead of dropping over her head! Neighing shrilly, the bay mare twirled; then the whole group was in motion, getting into one another's way in their frenzy to escape this sudden danger.

Pitch had run forward. He was drawing up the rope, getting ready to throw again. Steve stared after him. The mares' confusion afforded Pitch still another chance.

But as he followed Pitch he heard Flame's shrill whistle, then the terrible pounding of hoofs. He looked
beyond to find the stallion only fifty yards away
and charging Pitch
!

He screamed to Pitch and Flame in the same breath. Pitch saw the oncoming stallion, turned and started back, then fell.

Flame came on, his ears back, his nostrils spread wide in his fury. Steve shouted again, but the stallion had reached Pitch. Flame stopped before the man's inert body. He pawed the ground but his pounding hoofs never touched Pitch. Steve ran forward.

He reached for his friend with trembling hands, pulling him to his feet. Then they just stood there, terrified in their knowledge of what Flame could do with hoofs and teeth when enraged.

Steve tried to find the words to say to Flame. But they wouldn't come. The stallion had seen Pitch chasing the mares,
his mares
, and he had seen the rope. It had been enough to send his hot blood raging and to fill his mind with only one thought:
to protect his band
. But he had not killed. Something had stopped him: his recognition of Pitch, Steve's screams, or the sudden realization that Pitch actually meant no harm to his mares.

Pitch stood close beside Steve, one hand on the boy's arm. Slowly the pounding in his heart lessened. Slowly reassurance came to him that he was no longer in any great danger with Steve at his side. He heard Steve's voice. The boy was talking to the stallion, and his words were soft, caressing. As Pitch listened, his eyes remained on Flame. He saw the spreading nostrils begin to close, the fury begin to ebb from the giant body. He marveled at what he saw and heard. He forgot his fear, forgot
everything else in witnessing Steve's domination of this untamed stallion.

Once before, the previous year when they had found Blue Valley, he had heard Steve talk this way to Flame. During the ensuing weeks he had come to accept Steve's mastery of the stallion as a matter of course. Only now, though, did he accept this relationship between boy and horse for what it actually was.

Not that he understood it. No person could say truthfully he understood why or how a boy could still a wild rage like the one that filled this stallion. And Pitch wasn't even going to try to understand it.

He listened to Steve's words coming so soft and with a kind of rhythm. Few people in the world could talk that way to a horse … to any animal. The sound and words were those of a mother talking to her child; it was the only comparison Pitch knew. Soft words, sentimental words. Many adults would laugh if they heard them. Sickly sentimentalism, they would say, never knowing or understanding that the words came from the heart of a boy who loved this horse.

And there were still other adults, men like Tom, for example, who went further than ridiculing such caressing words, such soft and gentle touches as Steve now gave Flame. They would say, as he'd heard Tom say very often,
There's only one way to conquer a wild horse. You've got to break him with your own hands. You've got to show him who's boss!

But they'd never seen what he'd seen. They weren't watching Steve now … Steve and Flame.

The boy was standing beside the stallion, his hand
on the arched neck. There was nothing frightening about Flame now. He was quiet, docile, allowing Steve to straighten his mane, his forelock.

“Pitch. Come over.”

The man's footsteps lagged and he was extremely cautious when he did come. He'd rather have kept away from the stallion, have left it all up to Steve. But the boy wanted him to come. Perhaps Steve was right. Perhaps it would be best to make friends again now.

He stopped beside the boy. He touched the stallion with nervous, careful fingertips. Nothing happened. Flame turned his head in the direction of the band, but that was all. Pitch rested the palm of his hand on the stallion's back, then he stroked him, slowly, carefully. He knew everything was all right again. But he was lucky. He could have been killed. Never again would he chase any of the mares in Flame's band. No … never, never again.

That evening Steve was preparing to leave the ledge for his eight o'clock feeding of the foal when Pitch said, “I thought I'd go to Antago sometime tomorrow morning, Steve.”

“You need to go?”

“I want to check with the vet about our feeding of the colt. I might as well do it now as later.”

“He seems to be doing very well on what I'm giving him, Pitch. I'm sure we can wait until you have to go to Antago for supplies or something, then you won't have to make any extra trips.” Steve knew how much Pitch wanted to get back to his explorations and manuscript. The trip to Antago would take away from him another full day of work, and Steve felt guilty about it.

“I'd rather do it now than have it on my mind,” Pitch said. “Besides, we need more powdered milk. It's going fast.”

Steve looked into the almost empty can. “Don't
you have more in the chamber, where you keep the extra supplies? I thought I saw some there.”

“No. But there's a small can in the launch. You can get that tomorrow morning and it'll hold you over until I get back.”

“Okay, Pitch.” Steve reached for the tablespoon which he had been sterilizing in boiling water.

Watching him, Pitch said, “Maybe the vet will say all this sterilization isn't necessary. It'll save you a lot of work, if it isn't. And I'll bring back some nursing nipples; they'll be easier than using a spoon.”

Steve nodded, then suddenly thought of something. “But what will you tell the vet, Pitch? I mean, how much will you tell him? What if he asks you,
where is this orphaned foal?
”

“I don't think he will, Steve. I don't know him very well, and I'll just be seeking information for a friend of mine.” Pitch smiled. “You're a friend of mine.” Pausing, he added, “But even if he does pin me down I'll tell him the foal is on Azul Island and he'll think only of the band on the spit. And I won't be lying, for the colt
is
on Azul Island.”

“But you'd better be careful,” Steve warned.

“I will. You can count on me for that,” Pitch replied. “I don't want anyone to suspect what we've found any more than you do.”

When Steve went down to the valley floor, he heard the colt before he was able to see him in the dim light of the starlit valley. A soft neigh came to him, then the sound of a slight movement of hoofs. Steve saw the outline of the foal's figure as he came trotting across the
valley. And he marveled that while yesterday the foal could hardly move about, tonight he was trotting! Tomorrow he might even take his first few strides at a run!

The colt stopped before him, his muzzle seeking the glass jar he had come to know so well. It was no longer necessary for Steve to put him on the ground to feed him. He had only to hold the colt's head steady and spoon the milk into his eager mouth. Tonight he counted the number of spoonfuls in the half-pint of milk he gave the foal. He stopped counting when he had reached thirty and there was more milk still left in the jar. Pitch was right; it was going to be a lot easier feeding the colt when they had nursing nipples.