The Island Stallion's Fury (5 page)

BOOK: The Island Stallion's Fury
2.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Steve waited no longer for the mare to come to him. Lifting the colt, he carried him slowly toward the mare. She shied and trotted around him, returning to the filly. Steve followed her, moving with her as she circled the clearing. Finally she came to a stop, and Steve succeeded in shoving the colt gently but firmly toward her belly. The mare's ears swept back as the colt touched her. Viciously she reached down and bit him, causing the blood to come; then she whirled and took the filly to the far side of the clearing. Steve bent over and lifted the colt to carry him to the mare again. But when he straightened up he found she was going through the cane with the filly close behind.

Steve stood there holding the little colt. As he watched the mare and filly go up the valley to join the band, he realized that what he held in his arms was an
orphaned
foal!

O
RPHANED
F
OAL
4

The foal never moved while Steve held him with one arm around his chest, the other beneath his rump. The eyes of the boy and the colt were the same, dazed and unseeing.

Finally Steve turned his eyes away from the valley and focused them upon the foal.

What was he going to do with him? How could he get him back to the mare? And if he didn't how could he keep him alive?

Bewilderment left his eyes now to be replaced by worry, concern, even fear for the life of this soft, slippery foal in his arms.

Don't get excited
, he told himself.
Put him down. Put him down. You can't do anything with him in your arms. Be calm. You'll get him back to the mare. Everything will be all right. Pitch will help you
. Pitch!

He put down the foal and turned quickly in the direction of the ledge. “Pitch!” he shouted. But there was
no answer from his friend, no sign of him. Pitch was still sleeping.

Again Steve let his eyes travel over the foal standing so close beside him. The tiny hoofs never moved, but the skinny body with ribs showing prominently beneath the wet coat wavered a little. Steve put a hand on him to steady him.

“You'll be all right,” he said in a broken voice. He tried to get a grip on himself, then repeated his words, more convincingly this time. He spoke for his own benefit as much as for the foal's. “She'll come back. I know she'll come back to you.”

But he wasn't at all certain of this. And with that knowledge fear rose within him again. If the mare didn't return for her foal, or if he couldn't get him to her, the colt would die.

Why hadn't he left the mare alone? Why couldn't he have stayed away from the clearing? If he had not been there to pick up the colt, to confuse the mare, she might have accepted both her twins. He knew nothing about a foaling mare. It would have been so much better if he had just left her alone!

“But she might have abandoned the colt anyway,” Steve said aloud in his own defense. “I know that … I read it somewhere … or someone told me.”

The colt turned large blurred eyes upon him, not understanding what had happened.

Steve fought the fear still rising within him.

You've got to do something
, he told himself.
Try to remember what you've read in all those horse books
. Try to remember!

I will. I will
, he promised.
I'll try to remember. Foaling mares. Newly born foals. There were chapters on it. Twin foals. There was something on twin foals. When a mare has twins, she may very often neglect one foal
 … Neglect … not abandon.
Nothing I ever read said the mare completely abandons one of her twins. So she might accept this colt, take him back, if I can only get him to her!

Steve got to his feet and ran from the clearing. With Pitch's help he might be able to do it! But once more in the wild cane he came to a sudden stop and turned back. Gradually he was recalling what he'd read should be done for a newly born foal. He grabbed several large green leaves from the cane stalks on his way back to the clearing.

Dropping to his knees before the foal, Steve cleaned the mucus from the small nostrils so the colt would have no trouble breathing; he removed some from the corners of the eyes which now were slowly, very slowly, following his movements. He ran the dry leaves over the wet coat. Soon the sun would be over the walls of the valley, drying the foal more thoroughly than he could do now.

Getting to his feet, Steve touched the colt on his short stubble of a mane, then ran from the clearing. But again he stopped after running only a few yards, and looked back.

The foal was watching him, had even taken a few steps toward him.

Steve went back to pick him up, to carry him. The small body was quiet in his arms, the head turned a little toward him, wet nostrils lightly touching him.

Steve tripped on the cane stalks but regained his
balance and his grip on the slippery coat. He shifted the foal in his arms; it weighed only about forty or fifty pounds, and most of the weight was in its long, stilted legs. When he reached the cropped grass of the valley, Steve found it easier to carry him.

“Pitch! Pitch!” he shouted. There was movement on the ledge, but no response. “Pitch!”

Steve was almost directly beneath the ledge when Pitch rose to his feet and looked down. Steve shouted to him again.

Pitch flicked his eyes over at the band up the valley, then back to Steve again.

“Put that foal down and let him go back to his dam,” he shouted. “She'll be after you, if you don't.”

“She left him! Please come down, Pitch. Please!”

“What?”

“His dam doesn't want him. She let him go!” Steve shouted.

Pitch started down the trail.

After lowering the colt to the ground, Steve backed away from him slowly. The stilt-legs moved cautiously a few steps, then stopped. The head turned a little toward Steve, and the foal would have lost his balance and fallen had it not been for the boy's quick hands.

Pitch was now beside him. “What's happened, Steve?” His words were clipped in his excitement. “Where's his dam? He's just been born, hasn't he?”

“She had twins, Pitch.
Twins!
” Steve's voice was high in spite of his efforts to be calm.

“You mean … well, where is she? Why isn't she taking care of this one? What's happened to her? Where
is she?” Pitch was just as excited as Steve. And perhaps it was this that helped the boy regain a little of his own composure.

“I was there when it happened. She just ran off with the other … a filly. We've got to get him to her, Pitch! He needs her.”

“Yes, yes, I know that. But where is she?”

“Back with the band.”

“Then let's take him to her … that's all we have to do.”

“But that isn't all, Pitch,” Steve said.

“Not all? Why isn't it?”

“She has to accept him.”

Pitch didn't say anything right away. His puzzled gaze turned from Steve to the foal at the boy's side. Then, “Why won't she accept him? She's his mother, isn't she?”

As patiently as he could, Steve explained all that had happened.

When he had finished, Pitch said, his voice rising again, “But she can't do that! This foal needs her. He's got to have her. He'll die!”

Once more Steve lifted the colt and held the trembling body. “We'll take turns carrying him up the valley,” he said.

They had just started when Flame came down to meet them. He stopped beside Steve, but didn't touch the foal.

Steve talked to the stallion but kept walking. He realized that Flame sensed something was wrong.

“Careful, Steve,” Pitch warned. “He might think
you're going to hurt this foal. Let me take the colt; you handle Flame. It'll be better all round.”

Steve gave the foal to Pitch, then turned to Flame, putting a hand on his arched neck. The stallion was tense, excited. He kept watching the foal, never taking his eyes off him. Steve stayed close to him, careful but not afraid.

After a short while he took the foal again, talking to Flame all the time. “We're not hurting him,” he said. “We're taking him back.” The foal raised his head a little when Flame bent down and sniffed him. Their noses had only touched when the stallion drew back quickly. Bolting, he moved ahead of them, whirled and came back. As he walked beside them again, Steve noticed that much of the stallion's restlessness was gone. Perhaps Flame in some way now sensed what had happened. At least, he knew they meant no harm to this foal.

Steve saw the bay mare grazing with the others. Beside her was her filly, nursing again.

Pitch said, glancing at the foal in Steve's arms, “He looks terribly weak. How long can they go without food, Steve?”

“I don't know, Pitch. But he needs some pretty soon. He's so little.”

They stopped, for the band was less than a hundred yards away and some of the mares had turned in their direction. The suckling foals moved away first, running behind their mothers for the protection afforded by their large bodies.

“Don't startle them,” Steve warned, “or we'll never catch up to them.”

“What should we do then?” Pitch asked. “How are we ever going to get close enough to them to do any good?”

Steve moved forward. “A little closer, then we'll put him down,” he said. “We can just hope his dam will take him when she sees him alone.”

“Maybe she's forgotten by now she ever had him,” was Pitch's retort.

Steve was silent.

They left the foal not more than fifty yards from the band, and walked back down the valley. Only when they were a good distance away did they stop and watch to see what would happen to the foal.

Flame had followed them but now he too stopped, midway between them and the foal. He seemed undecided whether to go to Steve or return to the colt, who stood alone, bewildered and waiting.

For a while nothing happened. The foal stood as still as a statue, his eyes fixed on the band. Over the eastern wall of the valley came the sun, its rays finding him and drying his wet coat; his eyes blinked in this new light. But he remained still, never moving.

“The band means nothing to him without his mother to guide him,” Pitch said in a low voice. “He doesn't even know they're his kind. He doesn't belong.”

The bay mare moved away from the band, the filly staying close by her side. “Watch her,” Steve said hopefully. “She may be going to him.”

But the bay mare was only taking her newly born filly away from the older foals. She knew the others played rough and her filly needed a few more days
before she'd match them in strength. The mare came to a stop, then lowered her head to graze, never noticing the colt who stood such a short distance away from her.

The colt looked at her, but there was no sign of recognition, no attempt on his part to go to her. Instead, his head moved slightly in the direction of the others in the band. But he did not go to them either. Perhaps he was afraid. Perhaps he had no interest in them.

“The mare isn't going to take him,” Pitch said. “He doesn't mean a thing to her. It's just as though he'd never been born to her. I never heard of such a thing.” He paused, then added indignantly, “It's not right of her, Steve. It's not right. Let's get a rope, lasso her, tie her up and get the colt to her!”

“It wouldn't work,” Steve said miserably. “We couldn't get a rope on a wild mare like her. And even if we did we couldn't get her to let the colt nurse, to accept him … unless she wanted to. And she doesn't want to.”

Suddenly the foal's small tail moved with a jerk, and he shook his thin body.

“Flies,” Steve said bitterly.

Pitch watched the other foals in the band making use of their mothers' sweeping tails as their protection against flying insects and he understood Steve's bitterness.

Flame trotted past the foal and went to the band. He encircled the mares, neighing repeatedly as though in reprimand. But he served only to frighten them and they moved farther up the valley.

Flame came back and stopped a few feet away from the colt. His long tail whisked the air, and for the
first time the colt moved. Carefully he shuffled over the ground until he was beside the great stallion and making use of Flame's long tail to keep the flies off him.

“That's it,” Pitch said. “His father's taken over.”

“But Flame can't give him any milk,” Steve pointed out. “He needs the mare for that.”

“Yes, he needs …” Pitch stopped, then his voice rose excitedly. “But we've got milk, Steve! Lots of it!”

Quickly the boy turned to him. He'd never thought … In all the excitement it had never occurred to him that they had powdered whole milk, that they could give it to the foal, that perhaps they could keep him alive without the mare!

His excitement matched Pitch's. “Maybe we can. Maybe that's it!”

Together they ran to get the colt. Pitch picked him up without ever thinking that Flame might resent his hasty handling of the foal.

Steve took the colt's hindquarters, while Pitch picked up the fore. Carrying the colt in this way, they went down the valley at a fast walk, Flame following close behind.

Near the water pool, they set down their burden and ran up the trail. Arriving on the ledge, Pitch was the first to reach the tin of powdered milk. Excitedly he took it in his hands, turning it around to find the instructions on the back of the label.

“I know they use powdered milk in formulas for babies when they can't get bottled milk,” he said, his words tumbling over one another.

“Take it easy, Pitch,” Steve jibed. “Don't get so excited. You passed the instructions. They're on this side.”
He tried to steady the can in Pitch's hands, but he only succeeded in fumbling too.

“Who's excited? I'm not excited. Don't
you
get excited. Mrs. Reynolds—you know the Mrs. Reynolds I boarded with on your block, the one who had all the kids—well, when she went on an automobile trip she always took powdered milk instead of bottled milk so it wouldn't spoil.”

BOOK: The Island Stallion's Fury
2.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Blackout by Tim Curran
Cowboy Come Home by Kenny, Janette
The Velvet Glove by Mary Williams
The Trib by David Kenny
The Last Free Cat by Blake Jon