The Island Stallion (12 page)

He hesitated a moment and thought of waiting for the vapors to subside. They were probably at their worst in the sun’s first rays. Perhaps when Flame had entered the marsh last night there had been none at all. But why even think about that! He was on the track of the red stallion and perhaps too close to him already to delay his search any longer than was absolutely necessary.
Holding his breath, Steve plunged into the gray, cloudlike world.

Within the marsh, he saw a slimy wilderness of high reeds and swamp ferns dotted with many small black pools and broken only by long, green, narrow avenues of what was comparatively solid ground. It was down these strips of green that Flame’s trail led. Steve followed them cautiously. The vapors weren’t as dense as he had expected, but the stench, when he finally had to breathe, was almost more than he could stand. Yet he kept on, encouraged by the evidence before him that the red stallion had gone on ahead and that the vapors were thinning in the direction he was traveling.

Flame’s trail zigzagged with the green strips, but Steve knew from the gradual rise of the land that he was going toward the walls. He never relaxed his vigil as he walked along slowly, treading carefully over the ground. Quagmires, heavy with sucking, all-engulfing quicksand, were on each side of him. That Flame had passed over this same route did not make Steve less cautious. And as he went farther along, he was certain that Flame knew his way very well. There had been no hesitancy or break in the stallion’s stride, for his hoofprints were regular and long enough for a slow gallop.

In a little while the vapors dwindled to mere wisps and the ground grew more and more solid beneath Steve’s feet. The pull upward became more abrupt and as the air cleared, feeling almost fresh again, Steve breathed deeply and walked faster.

At last he was completely free of the marsh, and he stopped abruptly, astounded by what he saw ahead of him. On either side were the high yellow cliffs and before
him a long, steep channel penetrating deeply within the walls! Flame’s hoofprints were no longer visible on the hard ground, but Steve had no doubt that the stallion had gone on ahead.

His heart pounding heavily, more from excitement than from the exertion of his climb, Steve followed the channel which, he decided, at one time had been the bed of a stream emptying into the marsh below. The dry stream bed was strewn with rocks and Steve picked his way slowly among them. The course, although still steep, began to twist and turn, the yellow walls closing in more and more.

For another quarter of an hour Steve walked up the gorge. He picked his way with great care, for the stream bed was pitted with deep holes. Steve wondered how Flame had managed to go up this passage without breaking a leg. The red stallion had passed through here many times before; there was no doubt of that. Finally Steve came to the end of the gorge and before his eyes stretched a green sliver of a valley, not more than half a mile long and only three hundred yards or so wide. Through the center of it ran the dry stream bed, with short, green grass on either side that became lost in the wild cane that spread to the walls.

Steve stood silently in awe at his discovery of the new valley. It gleamed like a green gem placed in a setting of yellow gold. The high cliffs surrounding it enhanced its solemn beauty and breathtaking solitude.

So overwhelmed was Steve by his discovery that it was a matter of minutes before he saw the red stallion. Flame was grazing less than half the valley away from Steve, and the boy’s body became rigid as he looked
upon him with unbelieving eyes. The stallion walked over to a stream and stretched his long, graceful neck down to it, his red coat blazing in the sun.

When Steve finally moved it was in the direction of the cane. He walked quickly, yet his eyes never left the red stallion, who still hadn’t become aware of his presence. Steve wanted to get close to him. It never occurred to him that he might be in danger from the red stallion, for this was his horse and there was no fear within him. He had known this moment before, for very often in his dreams he had approached Flame as he was doing now.

Steve had reached the tall cane and was in a crouched position when the stallion raised his head and turned it in the boy’s direction.

Not a muscle of the red stallion’s body moved, but he sensed danger. His coat and long mane were matted with his opponents’ blood as well as his own; his mouth was raw and red from the fury of his battles. Yet he raised his head arrogantly and fire still burned in his startled eyes. He was alert and suspicious of an enemy he could not see. The scent that came to his sensitive nostrils was of an animal unknown to him. His small head moved slowly over the grass, his neck so tense that the great muscles bulged beneath his velvet-soft coat. He was accustomed to facing danger. Yet now, after a few minutes of patient watchfulness, he turned away, frightened. Quickly he moved farther up the valley. The fear that was slowly taking over his tired body was as new and strange to him as the scent that now came to his nostrils.

Steve had remained absolutely still, close enough
to watch the stallion as he wheeled on rigid hind legs and made off for the far end of the valley.

Now Steve stood up amid the cane, realizing that the stallion knew of his presence in the valley.
He can’t go far
, Steve told himself.
There’s no place to go up there
.

And there’s no sense in my hiding from him
, he thought.
The only way I can do anything for him is to win his confidence. He’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever dreamed of! If there ever was a perfect horse, he’s it. And he’s not hurt badly. I can tell from the free, easy strides he’s taking. He’s been cut up plenty. But he’ll be well in a few days, for wounds heal fast in a wild, healthy animal like him. He’s tired more than anything else now. I know he can beat the Piebald. He could whip anything! He was smart enough to get away, to wait until he’s ready to meet the Piebald again, and on an equal basis. He’ll go back to his band. He’s been their leader too long to keep away from them, to live alone—an outcast
.

At the end of the valley, the red stallion came to a stop, then wheeled around. His small ears were pricked forward, alert for the slightest sound; his muscles were tense and ready, as were his wits. But he needed only his eyes to see his foe. His shifting gaze easily picked up the two-legged figure walking through the tall grass, coming steadily in his direction. His gigantic body trembled and he opened his blood-caked mouth to bare his teeth. He moved about restlessly, but neither drew away nor advanced to meet this new foe. His thin-skinned nostrils quivered, then curled. Finally he shattered the stillness of the valley with his whistle. Shrill, loud and clear, it reverberated from wall to wall!

Then that new feeling was there again. It probed the ravaged body of the red stallion until it found and
engulfed his heart. Shaking his fiery head, he pawed the ground. That new feeling had come during his fight with the black-and-white stallion and now was part of him. His splendid body trembled, as always before an encounter with a foe. But he knew it was different this time. His trembling was not caused by tension, excitement or ruthlessness, but by a fear that now dominated every inch of him. Accepting it, he turned again, running with long, ground-covering bounds away from the figure that was tracking him.

Steve had crossed the short grass and was walking alongside the dry stream bed when he saw Flame turn and head up the grassy slope toward the base of the walls. He didn’t know whether to be surprised that the stallion had run away from him. He had never tracked a wild horse before. Yet momentarily he remembered the savageness of the Piebald, born wild as Flame had been. The Piebald hadn’t run away, but then he had had a band to protect; and that, Steve decided, must be the difference in their reactions to the sight of him.

If I can just get close enough to show him I don’t mean any harm
, Steve thought.
If I can just do that
.

The walls toward which Flame ran were the highest in the valley, rising almost a thousand feet, with their summits touching the sky. At their base the rock was neither sheer nor precipitous, Steve found, but pierced with narrow crags and chasms. And into one of those indentations in the walls Steve saw Flame suddenly disappear!

Walking faster, Steve went up the slope until creeping shadows from the walls above swallowed the brightness of the late morning sun. Ahead of him was the
dark tunnel from which the stream came, and a little to the left of it, the narrow chasm where Flame had gone.

The chasm led ever downward. Steve hadn’t gone very far when he realized that no river had cut this passage; possibly a giant disturbance of nature, such as an earthquake, had made the cleavage through the walls. The course was straight, with no twisting or turning as in the gorge. The walls overhead were jagged and torn, so much so that at times they shut out the blue sky from Steve’s wondering gaze.

As he walked down the chasm, he felt the great gusts of wind that came intermittently at him. His pace became faster, for he knew that only an outlet to the sea could cause such a wind within the walls of the island. Where was Flame taking him? To what would this trail lead? Leaning into the wind, which was now blowing steadily, Steve broke into a half-run down the steep grade.

Finally he came to a level stretch of ground, at the end of which the chasm stopped. Ahead of Steve loomed a large, black hole. He ran to it, then came to an abrupt halt, for even above the wind he could hear the heavy thud of waves pounding upon rock.

His excitement mounting, Steve proceeded into the hole, cautiously at first until his eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, then faster, ever faster. As he walked along he noticed that it was becoming much lighter ahead. The tunnel was high and wide, and there was every evidence that it had been made by the sea. The walls on either side were porous, and sea moss hung from the rock.

Steve’s heart beat rapidly as he rushed headlong
around a sharp turn, the sound of crashing waves loud in his ears. Then he brought himself up suddenly. Directly ahead of him was a great cavern, about seventy-five feet in length, equally high and fifty-odd feet wide! Through the center of it ran a narrow canal, its waters flooding and ebbing with the waves as they struck the outside walls and found their way into the cavern through a low but wide hole at the base of the walls.

Steve’s startled eyes turned quickly from the sea hole back to the canal. The sides of it were lined with green moss-covered piles that poked their way through the fine white sand that covered the floor of the cavern. This, then, at one time had been the landing place for the boats from the Spanish galleons that had anchored off this island! Through the sea hole the Conquistadores were able to bring their loot and their armies within the natural fortress of Azul Island! And the chances of anyone else’s finding their entrance from the sea were very slight. No enemy would have noticed it, Steve felt certain—any more than he and Pitch had when they had gone around the island looking for a place to scale the walls.

For several minutes Steve stood there, transfixed. Then he suddenly became filled with concern. Where was Flame? Surely he had to be here—this definitely was the end of the chase! Steve’s gaze left the canal and traveled over the walls of the cavern.

The cavern was bathed in the soft glow of light from the sea hole. Slowly Steve walked into the cavern and found that for some reason he was uneasy, even a little frightened. Why he should be, he didn’t know. But the feeling was there and he couldn’t fight it down. He
had gone only a few yards when he came upon an adjoining cave to his right. Startled, he drew back, for he had not been able to see it from where he had stood before.

The cave was small and the light gray and dim inside. But Steve had no trouble seeing the large wooden structure that dominated it. A large, heavy pole rose fifteen or more feet above the ground, and from the top extended a wooden arm from which hung a long, heavy chain reaching halfway to the ground. As Steve continued to look at the structure, he noticed other details. He saw the iron band dangling from the end of the chain—a band like the one he had seen when he and Pitch had come upon the chamber of the dead! And he realized that the chain was used to support a suspended weight and that the structure itself was a derrick crane. He saw the tackle running along across the wooden arm, then down the large supporting pole until it came to what looked like a metal wheel with a handle for turning. Cautiously Steve moved toward the structure.

He was only a few yards away when he made out the black pool beneath the hanging chain. He reached the edge of it by going carefully down a rather steep grade that encircled the pool. The water was but a few inches beneath the rim and he saw that it just covered a brownish mud or sand. Immediately Steve remembered the quagmires back in the marsh and he felt sure it was a quicksand pit. Seeing a large piece of timber lying on the ground nearby, he picked it up and shoved it into the pool. Slowly the pole disappeared into the quicksand until it was completely covered over.

Steve turned away and didn’t stop until he had
reached the level floor of the chamber. Nervously he removed his rope and transferred it from one shoulder to the other. He’d had enough of this place. He wanted to leave. But first he had to make sure Flame wasn’t in this cave. His gaze shifted about until it reached the depths of the chamber. The light was gray-black, and he would have to go forward to make certain Flame wasn’t there.

Steve passed the crane, walking cautiously and very much afraid. He was almost at the farthest end now. A few more strides and he would turn back to the lighter cavern beyond. Perhaps he had spent too much time here. Perhaps Flame already had gone back through the chasm.

He was about to turn when he saw a slight movement against the rocks. Startled and frightened, he drew back. He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t think of it as being Flame. He was too scared for that. He backed away quickly, stumbling and falling to one knee. Then came a sudden movement from the blacker-than-black form in front of him. He turned and ran, cutting across the chamber. And then he heard the heavy thud of hoofs upon sand, saw the gigantic shape of the red stallion coming from his right! Steve turned again, as frightened as the stallion, who veered sharply away from him.