The Island Stallion (16 page)

Suddenly Steve turned and ran up the side of the pit, crying, “Pitch! Pitch!”

In his desperation he ran solidly into Pitch, who was standing at the top. “The crane,” Steve shouted. “Come on!”

Pitch followed Steve and eagerly they both grasped the crane’s winch handle. The wheel turned beneath their combined strength, the teeth clicking rapidly as the chain wound about the wheel. Slowly, inch by inch, to the clicking of the wheel and the clattering of the moving chain, Flame’s hindquarters emerged from the clutching sand and water.

“A little more, Pitch!” Steve half shouted. “Just another foot and we’ll have him clear!”

Furiously they pulled at the handle until Flame was completely free of the quicksand. There he hung, the noose about his hindquarters, both of his forefeet resting upon the rim of the pit. He began struggling again, driving his forefeet into the ground, but finally stopped as though he had used up every bit of energy.

“Now what, Steve?” Pitch asked with concern.

“The rope,” Steve returned quickly, his words clipped. He knew what he was going to do. “I’ve got to get this rope too about his hindquarters.” Hastily he began uncoiling the rope he had carried with him.

“Then?”

“Then,” Steve went on hurriedly, “I’m going to pull his hindquarters over as you let the chain down again. But you’ve got to do it slowly, Pitch.”

Pitch looked puzzled. “You mean turn the wheel backward, letting him down again?”

“You don’t have to turn it. His weight at the end will take care of that. You’ve just got to see that the wheel moves backward only a few inches at a time. You can do it by keeping hold of this bar of metal that fits into the teeth of the wheel.”

“I don’t see how you’re going to—”

“You won’t be letting him down into the pit again, Pitch,” Steve interrupted. “You’ll just be giving me more chain, so I can pull his hindquarters closer to the rim of the pit as you let him down.”

Pitch’s face lit up. “I see now,” he said. “His forefeet will act as the pivot while you swing his hindquarters over.”

Nodding, Steve widened the noose he had made with his rope; then he went down to the rim of the pit, with Pitch close beside him.

Pitch’s arm encircled the boy’s waist as Steve hurled the lasso at the stallion’s hindquarters. It took several attempts before the noose settled over the quarters and encircled the stallion’s girth. With Steve carrying the end of the rope, the two made their way up to the top of the pit again.

“You’d better move over closer to him,” Pitch said.

Steve nodded and walked around the pit. “Let the chain down slowly, Pitch,” he cautioned. “Very slowly.”

Steve shortened the rope until it was taut, then,
bracing a foot on a rock, pulled the stallion’s hindquarters as far toward him and the rim of the pit as possible. “Now, Pitch,” he yelled.

There was a sharp click as the wheel turned backward a few inches, then held again. Steve pulled on the rope, drawing Flame’s hindquarters closer to the rim. Again there was the click of the wheel’s teeth—and again Flame’s hindquarters swung closer to the rim. Again and again the clicks sounded until the stallion’s hind legs were almost above solid ground.

Flame had raised his head. He knew something was happening. Snorting, he resumed pounding his forefeet.

Pulling on the rope, Steve saw Flame’s hind feet touch the rim of the pit.

“Now, Pitch!” he yelled.

And the clicks came faster as Pitch lowered away until the noose hung loosely about the stallion’s girth.

For a moment Flame stood there as though his hindquarters were no longer a part of him and had no feeling. And in that moment Steve moved forward, unheeding Pitch’s sharp yell. Quickly Steve withdrew the ropes from about the stallion; then he fell backward as the stallion moved. From the ground, Steve saw Flame plunge heavily up the side of the pit, his body heaving and his hindquarters dragging. Then, snorting, he ran slowly from the chamber.

Getting to his feet, Steve quickly followed, but before he had reached the outer cavern he felt Pitch’s hand on his arm.

“Steve!” Pitch shouted. “Let him go! You promised!”

For a moment Steve’s eyes blazed and he pulled
away from Pitch. “But he’s hurt, Pitch. You can see that. He still needs help!”

“He can take care of himself, Steve,” Pitch replied harshly. “He doesn’t need you any longer. You promised me, Steve! You gave me your word—”

“
That I’d let him go where he pleases,
” Steve finished bitterly, “
without chasing him.
” Then, after a long pause, he said, “Maybe you’re right and he can take care of himself now. Maybe he doesn’t need me any longer …”

Yet Steve still could hear the sound of Flame’s hoofs on stone as the stallion ran through the tunnel, and he wondered.

They stood before the sea exit, the great chamber behind them. Once again Pitch looked at the hole in the outer wall, his keen interest evident in his eyes.

Steve stood a few feet away, his gaze not on the exit but directed at his feet, which were imbedded in the fine, white sand of the cavern’s floor. He could think only of Flame.

You’d better forget him
, he told himself.
Forget about running after him, at any rate. You gave Pitch your word. It was a bargain you made with him. You’ve got to stick to it. Pitch has done his part. You’ve got to do yours now. Flame is free
.

Steve looked up at Pitch, who was talking about the exit again. He had forgotten Flame; or at least, it was apparent to Steve, Pitch no longer cared to think about the stallion. This hole in the rock and the canal were of much more interest to him.

And he wants you to think that way, too
, Steve thought.
He wants you to forget Flame. Instead, think about
the sea exit and the tunnels and the Conquistadores! Think about all of them, but don’t think about Flame!
Why did Pitch believe he could so easily forget his horse, Steve wondered. Or was he underestimating Pitch? Perhaps Pitch knew that he could never forget Flame for all the sea exits, tunnels and lost worlds ever left by the Conquistadores!

Flame is safe now
, Steve went on saying to himself.
That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? Pitch kept his word and helped you; now you have to keep yours. Flame is free to go where he pleases. That’s what Pitch said: “You’ll have to let him go where he pleases.
”

Steve shuffled his feet through the sand. Yes, when he’d made that promise to Pitch he had thought that maybe the red stallion would come to him, that he wouldn’t have to chase him any longer. He’d figured that Flame would know he was trying to help him, that he was his friend. And several times, when he had been close to him, Steve thought Flame really did understand what he was trying to do. But Flame was gone now, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had promised Pitch not to chase him, and he couldn’t go back on his word.

“I’m puzzled by one thing, Steve,” Pitch was saying. “From all we’ve seen, this hole was definitely the Conquistadores’ main entrance and exit. But if that’s so, how did they get their armies, especially their horses, through this hole? It’s wide enough—it must be about twelve feet wide—but there’s only about four feet of head room there. They couldn’t have brought their horses through here.”

Pitch went closer to the exit, peering at the dark-green
moss clinging to the wall above the hole. “I wonder—” he began, then stopped, leaning forward to run his hand through the moss.

Steve saw Pitch’s fingers probe into the heavy growth on the wall. Then they bent until they were clawing, digging. And Pitch didn’t stop until he had a large area cleared of the growth.

“It’s wood underneath!” Pitch shouted. “Wood, Steve, right above the hole!” His hands worked furiously now, clearing away more of the moss.

The import of Pitch’s discovery didn’t register with Steve until Pitch had cleared an area six feet high and as many feet wide above the hole. Then Steve saw the paneled rectangular door and the beamed grooves above and below. It was a sliding panel!

Now Pitch was digging far over on the side of the hole, and finally his frantic fingers found the indentations in the wood by means of which the Conquistadores must have pulled the panel across the grooved supporting beams. Pitch thrust his fingers into the holes and tugged hard, The door didn’t budge. Pitch then called to Steve, who got hold of the lower holes and pulled too. Together they forced the panel through the green moss. Then the door moved easily in the grooves, and before them was the opening to the sea, heightened by all of six feet!

Even Pitch was quiet as they looked out upon the ocean. “It’s high enough now for anything,” he said finally. “Even to have gotten their horses through.” Then his gaze turned to the other side of the canal and he added, “There’s a panel over there, too. They come together over the middle of the canal.” His eyes gleamed.

“We could get the launch through here, Steve! We could load her up with everything we find! Steve, do you realize what this means? Here we have an entrance to this lost world from the sea! We must be on the northwest tip of the island—don’t you think so, Steve? We could easily find it from the boat, couldn’t we?”

But Steve wasn’t listening to Pitch. He hadn’t listened since Pitch had mentioned that the exit was large enough “
even to have gotten their horses through.
” But he wasn’t thinking of the horses of the Conquistadores. He was thinking of Flame. And as he looked at the hole, now more than ten feet high, he thought how easy it would be to get a small barge in to take his horse from the island. His horse! Flame!

You shouldn’t even think of it
, he told himself.
It’s impossible
.

But I don’t think
anything
is impossible now
, he thought soberly.
And the hole is large enough to get a barge through. Even Pitch would agree to that
.

But you shouldn’t be thinking of it
, he told himself again.
You don’t even have Flame. You’re not going to have him. You gave Pitch your word you wouldn’t chase him any longer. And there’s something else even more important. What about the Piebald? What about the band? You want Flame to go back to his band, don’t you? What about all your talk of this perfect breed of horse—of the foals now in Blue Valley and those to come? Would you forget all that just to have Flame? Was it only talk to show Pitch how much you knew about horses—about breeding? Was that all it was, just talk, or were you sincere?

I was sincere
, he thought.
I am sincere. It wasn’t just talk. I want nothing more than for Flame to lead his band
again, for he’s their rightful leader. The band will never be the same if the Piebald remains their king. So I shouldn’t be thinking of taking Flame away, even if it were possible, which it isn’t
.

Steve’s eyes were focused upon Pitch, who was closing the panel door.

“I don’t want to take any chances of this entrance being seen by anyone on the outside,” Pitch said. “We can always open it again when we’re ready to come in this way. What we’ve got to do now, Steve,” he added quickly and with great concern, “is to go back the way we came. That’s what we’ve got to do next.”

“Sure, Pitch,” Steve said. “Sure.”

With Pitch doing all the talking, they walked back through the tunnel until they came to the chasm. Steve kept looking ahead, hoping he might catch a glimpse of Flame.

“We don’t have to get excited about this,” Pitch was saying in a high, broken voice. “We’ve got plenty of time to use that entrance and to do a good job of exploring this island. All I want to do now is to make sure we can get back to the dory all right. Then we’ll have two ways of getting to Blue Valley.” Pitch stopped, and then he said frankly, “I guess I might as well admit it, Steve. I’ve never been so excited about anything in my whole life!”

“I know,” Steve said.

Pitch looked at him as though he were seeing Steve for the first time in a long while. “But you don’t seem very enthusiastic about what we’ve found, Steve. You’re certain you realize—”

“What this means? What we’re doing?” Steve finished for him. “Yes, I know, Pitch.”

Pitch said slowly, “Then it’s still the horse, Steve. Isn’t it?”

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “It’s still the horse, Pitch. I feel the same way about him as you do about all these other things. I just can’t forget him as you’d like me to do, Pitch.”

Pitch said seriously, “I know how you feel, Steve, but I’m thinking of your safety. I must hold you to your promise that you’ll have nothing more to do with that wild stallion. He’s savage and would kill you if you ever got close to him. You know that as well as I do. If you’d only admit it, it would be much easier for both of us.”

Steve didn’t want to argue with Pitch again. He felt, from what he’d seen of Flame, that the horse would not hurt him. So he said only, “I promised you that I wouldn’t run after him any more, Pitch. I’ll keep my word.”

“And if you don’t run after him, you’ll have nothing more to do with him,” Pitch muttered as they went along. Then, changing the subject, “It’s getting dark. Good thing we’re going to camp out here. I wouldn’t like to think of going back through that marsh at night.”

They had reached the end of the chasm, with the smaller valley spread out before them, when they saw the red stallion again.

He stood knee-deep in lush grass. And the dusk cloaked his torn body in a soft veil of gray, concealing the ravaged flesh.

His long neck was stretched down to the stream
and the blood-matted mane fell about his head as he drank deeply.

Pitch and Steve had stopped in their tracks. For different reasons, neither dared to move as they watched the red stallion. Pitch was afraid to move, lest the stallion attack them; while Steve was afraid his horse would run away again once he became aware of their presence.

“What’ll we do, Steve?” Pitch asked anxiously. “We can’t camp here with him around. He might kill us.”