The Island Stallion (17 page)

Steve didn’t answer; his eyes were upon Flame.

Pitch said, “We can go back to the cavern. We can stay there tonight.”

“We need our packs,” Steve said simply. “We need food and water. We’ve got to stay here, Pitch. He won’t bother us. I’m sure he won’t bother us.”

“Maybe he’ll move away, farther from our packs,” Pitch said hopefully. “Then we can get them and run for it.”

The red stallion raised his head, ears pricked forward. Without moving his body, he turned his eyes in their direction. For all of a minute he stood there, quietly watching them; then he went back to his grazing.

“You see, Pitch!” Steve’s words came fast. “He’d never bother us. He’s seen us, but it hasn’t made any difference to him. He’s not even leaving!”

Pitch was talking now, but Steve didn’t listen. He hadn’t lost his horse after all! Flame was here, less than a hundred yards from where they stood! And most important, oh! most important of all, was that he hadn’t run away again at the sight of them. It was as though the stallion had accepted them. It was almost as though
he knew they had helped him. Steve felt it had to be this way.

“Steve! What’s the matter with you? You’re not even listening to me!” Pitch saw the specks of light in Steve’s eyes, and he knew that look, knew what it meant.

Steve walked forward.

“Steve! You promised me you wouldn’t go near him! You gave me your word! Steve!”

The boy’s footsteps came to a halt, but he didn’t turn to Pitch as he said, “I’m only going for the packs, Pitch. I’m not chasing him. I promised you I wouldn’t chase him.”

“But, Steve, he might …”

The boy was walking forward again, toward the packs, toward the stallion! Pitch stood still, not knowing what to do, but his eyes never left the boy.

Steve was talking now, calling to his horse. He had nearly reached the packs when the stallion stopped his grazing again and turned his small, wedge-shaped head toward the boy. No fire burned in the large, glazed eyes and only his blown-out nostrils disclosed any of his former hatred for the figure who continued to track him. But after a short time his nostrils stilled and he went back to his grazing.

He knows me
, Steve thought excitedly.
He knows that I don’t mean him any harm, and that’s half the battle. If I could only follow through now by staying with him while he’s so tired. If only I hadn’t given my word to Pitch!

Steve’s eyes left the stallion and rested on the packs. In his own would be the first-aid kit. He could
cleanse Flame’s wounds and prevent any possible infection. He wanted to take care of him so much!

But you promised Pitch
, he reminded himself again.
You told him you wouldn’t run after Flame, that you wouldn’t go to him
.

But what if Flame comes to me?
he thought.
What if I stand still and call him and he comes? I won’t be breaking my word then
.

You’re being silly
, he told himself.
He wouldn’t come to you, even now after all you’ve done for him
.

Why wouldn’t he?
Steve’s other self argued.
He hasn’t run away, has he? He’s standing there, not even moving, while I walk over closer to him. He knows I mean no harm. He knows I’ve helped him. He would have moved away by now if he didn’t
.

Steve turned to look at Pitch when he reached the packs. His friend was still standing in the same spot as though he had frozen in his tracks.

If only he had come with me
, Steve thought,
I could have asked him. I don’t want to turn back now. I want to stay here, close by my horse
.

And all the time Steve continued talking, calling to the red stallion. Even though he thought of Pitch, wondering whether his friend had moved closer or not, he talked to his horse. And it seemed to him the stallion listened, for Flame paused more often in his grazing to turn to him.

Steve could hear Pitch calling, but he didn’t take his eyes off Flame. If Pitch would only come over, he could reason with him, ask him to release him from his promise. If ever there was a time to win the confidence of Flame, this was it! The horse was too tired, too
beaten to move away. Flame would respond willingly to all the kindness he could offer him, Steve was certain.

But Pitch stayed and Steve could only remain still, talking to the stallion, hoping he would come to him.

After a long while the red stallion, still chewing the grass, moved in Steve’s direction.

Excitedly, Steve watched him, yet his voice remained low.

“I’ve got to have patience,” he said aloud to himself, knowing it did not matter what Flame heard. “I’m sure he’s coming, but it’ll take time. I’m keeping my promise to Pitch. I’m not chasing Flame. I went for the packs because Pitch wanted them. I don’t have to go back right away. I didn’t tell him I would. I’m waiting, Flame. I’ve got lots of time. I’m going to stay here until you come all the way.”

Now the red stallion was only twenty yards away from Steve, and the boy could see the bulging veins that stood out on the sides of his head. The ears were cocked, coming almost to a point at the tips. He held long blades of grass in his mouth without chewing them. He was listening to Steve, associating this voice with the one he’d heard so often during the past few hours. His large eyes became curous as he saw the figure lower itself close to the ground, so low that he had to look down to see him.

Steve was squatting on the ground, knowing that the stallion would be less frightened of him if he made himself as small as possible. He was certain Flame was coming to him. It was just a matter of a few minutes before he would be able to touch him. He began talking once more, his hand outstretched.

Five yards away the stallion stopped to graze again. Steve moved a few feet toward him, then came to a halt, thinking it best that the stallion come all the way to him. Flame moved closer, his teeth still chopping the grass. Steve waited, his heart pounding, and he tried to keep the excitement from his voice. The stallion didn’t look up again, but his head moved alongside Steve’s hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, the boy moved his hand to the stallion’s muzzle. Gently he touched the mole-soft skin, and there was no objection, no movement from Flame at his touch. Steve stroked the horse. “You’re mine, Flame,” he said. “You came to me, just as I’d hoped you would. It’s the way it should be.”

After a while, Steve examined the blood-clotted wounds. There was only one that caused him concern. It lay low on the stallion’s chest and the open flesh was covered with the sand and dirt of the pit. It needed to be cleansed or it would become infected. The other wounds on the stallion’s strong body had already begun to heal.

Steve rose to his knees, running his hand across the blood-caked mane. He wanted to take care of the chest wound, but he would have to wait until the stallion had complete confidence in him.

So for a long time Steve stood beside his horse, moving with him as he grazed and always talking to him.

The valley was steeped in darkness when he heard Pitch call to him. Turning slightly, he saw Pitch only a few yards away from the packs.

“I’m all right,” Steve said, his eyes turning back to the stallion. “He came to me, Pitch. I didn’t chase him this time. I kept my word.”

And the voice that came out of the darkness was low and resigned. “I saw him,” Pitch said. “I know, Steve.
Now
I know.”

Pitch said nothing more, and when Steve turned to him again, he saw that Pitch had opened the packs and that the stove was already on the ground.

Flame moved, but Steve walked beside him, always stroking, always talking.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “you’ll let me help you more. Tonight we’ll just get used to each other.”

And when the small stove cast its light into the blackness, Pitch could see the outline of a boy and a giant horse standing close together.

Lying on his back, Pitch stared at the stars. The moon had risen above the valley’s walls, so he knew that he had slept for a little while. He rolled over on his side to take another look at Steve’s blanket, knowing in advance that he wouldn’t find Steve asleep in it. Pitch wondered if the boy was going to use it at all.

There was a nickering, a sudden start from the stallion, and Pitch’s gaze swept in his direction. He stood silhouetted against the walls in the moonlight. Steve was beside him, and across the still night air Pitch could hear the boy’s soft murmurings as he talked to the red stallion.

Would Steve stay with his horse all through the night? Would he never sleep? Pitch’s own eyes were heavy and his body weary from the exhaustion of the day’s work and excitement, yet his mind was too active and Pitch tried his best to quiet it.

You don’t have to worry about Steve any longer, he told himself. You’re silly if you do. The stallion won’t harm him
.
You’ve seen that for yourself. This relationship between Steve and the stallion is something you don’t understand, but you saw for yourself that the stallion came to Steve. He always will be his horse from now on. Maybe he always has been, for all you know. Maybe Steve has always known this red stallion, just as he says. Maybe it
is
his Flame. Who are you to doubt it? Not after all you’ve seen today. You’ve read of such things happening between man and horse, although Tom once said it never actually happened. “It’s storybook stuff” … those were his exact words. Tom, with his big hands. Tom, with his bull whip and bottle. Tom, who thought there was only one way to conquer a wild horse. “You’ve got to break him with your own hands,” he would say. “You’ve got to show him who’s boss!
”

I wonder what Tom would say to all this
, Pitch thought.
I wonder if he’d believe it even if he witnessed it, as I’m doing
.

But Tom never would have Steve’s patience. Never would he have waited for this stallion to come to him, urging him on only by kindness and by his voice.

Pitch listened to the sound of Steve’s voice and thought again:
It’s Steve’s voice that’s winning the confidence of this stallion as much as anything. I’m sure Tom couldn’t talk that way even if he wanted to. I don’t think there are many people in the world who could talk that way to a horse. A voice like that has to come from the heart. It’s like a mother talking to her child—that’s the only comparison I know
.

But stop thinking about it
, Pitch told himself almost angrily.
Maybe Steve can do without sleep, but you can’t. You’re getting old, man. You need your sleep. Steve’s young. He’s all right—he’ll always be all right. You don’t have to worry about anything. And if you have to think, you’d better think about the sea exit and what you might find in some of those other caves in Blue Valley. Better still, don’t think of
anything until tomorrow. Tomorrow you can start looking for the way back to the dory, too. Steve will want to stay with his horse. You might as well accept that now, because nothing is more important to Steve than what he’s doing now. He might not like you to go alone, but just tell him you want to look around the caves all by yourself. Tell him you can get around faster that way, since you know exactly what you’re looking for. That’s a laugh, your getting around faster without Steve.…

Pitch’s eyes left the boy and horse and turned to the stars overhead again. After many minutes, heavy lids dropped over his eyes and his breathing became deeper as he fell asleep.

When Pitch opened his eyes again, the gray light of dawn had blotted out the stars. For a moment Pitch could have been anywhere; then he heard the shrill call of the stallion and it pierced his sleep-laden mind, bringing it back to reality. Quickly he turned to the blanket beside him. It was empty but wrinkled, and at least he knew that Steve had lain down on it sometime during the night.

As he glanced over toward the walls, he noticed that the stove was already burning.

A hundred yards beyond, Pitch saw the stallion slowly moving away from Steve, who stood watching him. Steve was holding a pot in his hand; he turned just then and started back toward the stove.

Pitch rose to his feet and went over to the stove. He waited until Steve was within earshot before asking, “Have you been up the whole night?”

There were dark circles under Steve’s eyes. “I slept a little,” he said, placing the pot down on the ground.

“What have you been up to?”

“He’s got a bad cut on his chest,” Steve replied. “It was dirty. I cleaned it just now.”

Pitch cast a quick glance at the first-aid kit that lay on the ground beside Steve’s pack. The package of gauze was open.

“I just used hot water and soap,” Steve was saying as he bent over the kit. “I want to put some iodine on the cut a little later on.”

“But maybe iodine is too strong for him, Steve,” Pitch protested. “It’ll burn like the devil. Have you thought of that? It might undo all the good you’ve done.”

“I thought of diluting it with water,” Steve answered, his voice troubled, too.

“Did you have much of a job getting the cut cleaned?”

“A little,” was all Steve said.

Pitch knew it had been more difficult than Steve would admit. It was one thing to stroke the stallion and another to cleanse his lacerated flesh. “Let’s have some breakfast,” he finally said with attempted lightness. “I’m sure hungry.”

While Pitch boiled the water, Steve opened a can of ham and prepared the powdered eggs. They spoke little while breakfast was being cooked, and it was only when they were eating that Pitch said, “I suppose you want to stay here with him.” He didn’t wait for Steve’s reply, but went on. “I thought I’d go back to Blue
Valley. There are some caves I’d like to look into. Wouldn’t be surprised at what I might find in them.”

“But we were going to …” Steve paused, then continued in a steady voice, “… we were going to look for the way back to the dory.”

“That can wait awhile,” Pitch returned. “Or I might even stumble on it.” He smiled as he saw the concern on Steve’s face. “And don’t think for a moment that I’ll get lost again. I guess we’ve both learned our lesson on that score. I’m not taking any chances, Steve, so don’t you worry about me. I still have the chalk, and I’ll be able to mark every inch of the way if I happen to go into any of those tunnels. No more arrows like the last time. And I’ll have burning torches this time—they don’t break.” He laughed before adding, “But I probably won’t even look for the way back, Steve. As I said, there’s plenty to find in those caves near the waterfall to keep me busy.”