Never has Flame come to me while I have been near the gorge, he thought. Why? Is it because he’s afraid to leave? Steve paused in his thinking, his face troubled. No, it isn’t that, he thought. It hasn’t anything to do with it. I won’t think that way.
Then he had reached the stallion, and there was room only for affection in his eyes. He burrowed his hands in the fiery mane as he talked to his horse.
After several minutes, Flame lowered his head to the grass and Steve slid his hand over the sleek back. For a while he studied the wounds, all of them nearly healed except for the one on the stallion’s chest. But there was no sign of infection and in just a few days it too would be well healed.
Moving to one side of Flame, Steve raised both hands to the stallion’s back. The boy stood there quietly for a few moments before leaning more heavily upon the horse. Finally most of his weight rested upon the stallion.
“Steady, Flame,” Steve heard himself say.
Flame raised his head, turning to the boy before going back to his grazing once more.
Steve’s hands moved over the stallion’s back again; his fingers were nervous and uncertain now that the moment was near. Flame stomped the ground with his hind leg to rid himself of flies.
I can’t very well get on his back, Steve thought. He’s much too high for me. But I could mount him from that rock over there. He’d follow me over there.
The stallion’s small ears pricked forward as Steve moved slowly over to the rock. Without hesitation, the horse followed the boy.
The rock was three feet high and flat on top. Steve stood up on it. It was as good as anything he could want as a springboard from which to mount Flame. He was aware of that, and yet still he hesitated, his left hand upon the red mane.
Finally he raised his other hand to the stallion’s back. Half his weight now rested upon Flame. There was a moment when Flame turned to him, his eyes wide with wonder. Steve talked to him, and the stallion went back to his grazing again.
He’s got complete confidence in you, Steve told himself. He knows you wouldn’t hurt him. Lean more upon him, then move over onto his back. Don’t jump, though. The slower and easier you do it, the better.
Steve knew there was no turning back now. He was going to ride his horse!
Gradually the bulk of his weight fell upon Flame until only the balls of his feet were resting on the rock.
One swing will do it now, he told himself. One easy swing. Keep hold of the mane in case he bolts. Remember, you don’t have any bridle or saddle. You’ve got only your voice. Keep talking to him every second. You have to …
But he had already swung one leg from the rock and it was closely followed by the other as, with his hands resting upon Flame, he bore down on the stallion with all his weight.
Flame’s head came up quickly, but for a fraction of a second he didn’t move. And just then Steve pressed his knees against him and wrapped his fingers in the long mane. All the while he continued talking to his horse.
He felt Flame’s muscles grow taut beneath his knees. He talked faster, desperately trying to keep his voice from wavering. Flame crabstepped, forgetting his grazing. Then the tautness left his muscles and suddenly he bolted.
Steve, his face close to Flame’s neck, could use only his voice in an effort to slow the ever-lengthening, ever-faster strides of the stallion. But all he heard himself saying was, “Flame! Flame!” The wind tore the words from his mouth.
For some time the stallion ran with his ears flat against his head, yet there was no plunging to his gait, no attempt to unseat his rider.
Leaning forward, Steve pressed his mouth close to the stallion, “It’s me!” he cried. “Flame! Flame!” Repeatedly he shouted the horse’s name into the whipping wind.
The stallion’s ears pitched forward, and between them Steve could see the stream cutting across the valley. When Flame came to it he swerved sharply, and Steve moved his body with him. For the first time he felt a part of his horse!
It had come to him with the suddenness of the stallion’s shifting gait as he had turned across the valley. Now there was nothing fearful about the ever-lengthening strides or the wind that tore at his tear-filled eyes. Leaning forward, Steve moved with his horse, glorying in the surge of powerful muscles beneath his legs. No longer did he feel that the stallion was separate from him, that he was riding Flame. It was entirely different now. It was as though he and the horse were one. He was Flame! He thought the same, felt the same! They were running because they loved to run, because this was the way it was meant to be!
As they turned from the stream, heading down the valley once more, Steve heard himself clucking to his horse. Clucking to the rhythmic beat of thunderous hoofs upon soft turf and thinking that all this was far beyond his wildest dreams. For this wasn’t riding but being a part of a giant stallion who was his horse, his very own! It was flying without wings! It was wonderfully effortless and easy. He belonged there on Flame’s back.
He let the stallion run, his tight fingers about the mane long since relaxed, as was his body. He continued clucking softly, his head close to the sleek neck. And beneath his knees he felt the restrained power within Flame and knew the stallion was running at only a fraction of his utmost speed.
Flame galloped with his ears pricked forward; occasionally one or both cocked back as Steve called to him. Finally he slowed to a long, easy lope.
They had approached the ascent to the gorge when Flame swerved quickly away from it, snorting at the same time; then he turned toward the center of the valley, slowing to a canter until he was crabstepping on prancing hoofs.
When Flame came to a stop, Steve sat still for a moment, while the stallion stretched his long neck down to graze. Then Steve slid off, but his hands still rested upon Flame. He knew that now he could never part with his horse.
Nothing mattered now but Flame. Steve faced everything now. There was no sense in kidding himself any longer, he felt. He had been reluctant to talk to Pitch about Flame’s return to his band because he knew full well that Flame wasn’t going back! He had known it for many days—ever since the stallion had first turned away from the gorge leading to Blue Valley. Flame didn’t want to go back. The Piebald had left his mark not only on Flame’s flesh, but deep in his very heart. And it was Flame’s fear of the Piebald, together with his loneliness, that had made it easier for Steve to win the stallion’s love.
Knowing all this, Steve had looked upon the Piebald with new eyes, aware of the viciousness, the reptilian cunning of the new leader. And he realized full well that if Flame had even the slightest fear of the Piebald, he would be killed in battle.
But he won’t have to fight him now, Steve thought, as he stood beside his horse. I won’t have him killed. He means more to me than anything else. I don’t care about the band. Let the Piebald lead them. Let it be the end of this breed, as long as I have Flame. I’ll take him away. I’ll take him home.…
STEVE’S DECISION
17
That evening, as blue shadows blanketed the valley floor below, Pitch listened to Steve tell of his desire to take Flame away from the island. His face grave, Pitch said nothing until the boy had finished.
After a moment of silence, he said slowly, choosing his words with great care, “You haven’t thought this out, Steve. You don’t realize the consequences of what you’re planning to do. Even if you are successful in getting Flame off the island, what will you do with him—a wild stallion? And there’s Tom. What do you think his reaction will be? What of all this?” Pitch gestured toward the towering walls whose summits seemed to reach the darkening sky. “It could possibly be the end of this lost world, you know—a world only the two of us know.” Then he looked straight at Steve, his words clipped and his eyes unwavering as he asked, almost angrily, “And what about your band, Steve? What about all your talk of maintaining this perfect breed of horse? It wasn’t long ago that you said you’d do anything to keep the band as it is. You were going to find some way to ki
ll the Piebald. Remember?”
Steve’s tanned face flushed as he turned from Pitch’s accusing gaze to look at the dark figures of the horses as they moved quietly in the dusk.
“I didn’t mean to be unkind,” Pitch said quickly. “I’m sorry, Steve. It’s just that I’m finding it difficult to keep pace with your reasoning. Why are you so certain that Flame won’t return to his band? Is there actually a reason or is it your riding him that has brought about this sudden decision to take him away?”
Pitch waited for Steve’s reply, but it was several moments before the boy said in a very low voice, “He’s afraid.”
Pitch leaned forward, “I didn’t hear you, Steve.”
Steve turned to his friend. The words came hard, but he repeated them. “He’s afraid.… ”
“Afraid? Afraid of what?”
“Of … of the Piebald.” Steve’s voice wavered, for Flame’s fear of the black-and-white stallion was something he had wanted to keep to himself. But there was no alternative now; he had to tell Pitch everything. “He’s not coming back, Pitch. He’ll never return to his band while the Piebald is there. He won’t go near the gorge leading back to Blue Valley. I’ve known it for a long time.”
Pitch remained silent, but his gaze swept to the band and to the Piebald in the valley below.
“I can’t leave him alone, Pitch.” Steve’s words came faster now. “What good would come of it? He’d stay in the smaller valley until he died, and he’s not meant to be an outcast like that. He needs affection. He’s my horse, and I want him.”
“So much that you don’t care what happens to the band,” Pitch said, without turning to the boy.
“That’s unfair, Pitch,” Steve said angrily. “I can’t do anything about them. There’s nothing you or I can do about the Piebald.”
“No, I guess there isn’t,” Pitch admitted. “But there are other things to be considered, Steve. What of Tom’s reaction to such a horse as Flame coming from this island? What do you think he’ll do?”
Steve’s eyes met Pitch’s as he said defiantly, “He can’t take him from me. He said I could have any horse I wanted if I stayed here two weeks. You heard him, Pitch.”
“Yes, I know,” Pitch replied. “And he won’t go back on his word; I know him well enough for that.” He paused before adding, “But I wasn’t thinking of his taking Flame away from you, Steve. I was wondering what he’d do about this island, once he’s seen Flame. What he and others would do, I mean.”
“I’ll tell him I found Flame on the plain outside,” Steve returned grudgingly. “I won’t tell him any more than that.”
“I don’t think he’ll believe you,” Pitch said gravely.
“Even if he doesn’t, he’ll never find his way into Blue Valley,” Steve returned with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel.
“Perhaps not, Steve. Still …” Pitch paused and his gaze left the boy as he added, “You see, I’m being selfish, too. You want your horse, and I want everything I can possibly find that was left behind by the Conquistadores. Naturally I’d like to keep this world to ourselves.”
“But I would, too, Pitch,” Steve said quickly. “We’ll just have to take a chance that no one else will find it.” He stopped, then asked slowly, “Have you thought of what Tom’s reaction will be to the things you’re bringing back—the pistol, the spurs and all that other stuff? What will you tell him when he asks where you found them, Pitch?”
The man dropped his eyes as he admitted, “I’ll tell him I found them on the sandspit outside.”
“But I don’t think he’ll believe you, either,” Steve said slowly.
They were silent for a long while as dusk slowly gave way to night and stars needled their way through the ever-darkening sky to hang like a jeweled crown above the valley. It was a wondrous view that lay before them, this world of beauty and intrigue that had been untouched for hundreds of years. Now it was theirs alone. But each asked himself, For how long will it be only ours?
Finally Pitch said, “I still think you should leave Flame here, Steve. What will you do with him, if you get him to Antago?”
“I’ll take him home with me,” Steve said slowly.
“It’ll cost money. More than you have.”
“I’ll cable my father when we go back to Antago for the barge,” Steve said, but his voice was hesitant, unsure.
“How do you think he and your mother are going to take it—your asking for money to bring home a horse?”
“It’ll be all right. I’m sure it will. Dad will understand,” Steve replied quickly.
But would it be all right, Steve wondered. Would they send him the money? Would they understand?
“I have to take him home,” Steve told Pitch. “I couldn’t leave him on Antago—with Tom.”
“No,” Pitch agreed. “You couldn’t do that and still keep your horse.” Rising to his feet, he added, “Then maybe you’d better not think too much about taking Flame off this island before you learn what your folks have to say. Maybe we’d better let it go at that for the time being.”
“I’m sure they’ll understand. I have some money saved. It shouldn’t cost too much.” Steve paused, then asked, “Can we look for the way back to the dory tonight, Pitch?”
Nodding, Pitch turned to him. “Yes, we can do that, Steve. I can show you a tunnel that might be it—at least, it seems to be going in the right direction.”
“And we’ll keep looking every evening until we find it, won’t we, Pitch? I’ll leave Flame a few hours early each day, so I’ll have more time to look for it with you. Is that all right, Pitch?” Steve asked anxiously.
“Yes, Steve,” Pitch replied. “That’s all right.”
Three nights went by, with Steve following Pitch through the tunnels for many hours, marveling at his friend’s newly acquired knowledge of this underground world. Pitch walked quickly in the light from his burning torch, stopping only to point out chambers he had found in previous days. Always upon the walls Steve would see his friend’s chalked lines, and when they came to intersections there would be figures and letters of which only Pitch knew the meaning. But when Pitch came upon tunnels he had not been through before, his pace would slacken, and after a few minutes it would be he who decided whether or not they should continue onward.
Confidently Steve placed himself in Pitch’s hands, knowing there were few tunnels left through which Pitch had not already walked and that one night soon they would find their way back. Each night, too, even as he followed doggedly at Pitch’s heels, he would think of what it would be like to have Flame at home where he could be with him always. And in his mind he framed the cable he planned to send to his father, for his father would understand while his mother might not. He would wire, “PLEASE CABLE ME …”
How much money will I need to ship Flame home? he wondered. I’ll have to find out before I send my cable. If it’s only one hundred dollars I have that much saved up. In that case, I’ll say, “PLEASE SEND ME MY ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS. URGENT. I HAVE FOUND MY STALLION.”
No. Perhaps stallion isn’t the best word to use. It might frighten them. I’d better make it horse. I’ll say, “PLEASE SEND ME MY ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS. URGENT. I HAVE FOUND MY HORSE.”
It still doesn’t sound right, he thought. They’ll never understand how important it is to me from that. I’m sure it would be much better if I put it in a letter. I could really tell them how I feel about Flame in a letter. I’ll write to Dad. He should understand. He knows how I feel about horses better than Mom does.
It was early the fourth evening when their burning torch disclosed the fork in the tunnel ahead. Steve saw Pitch come to an abrupt stop, then move close to the right wall.
And in the light each saw it—a large arrow, drawn by them days, or was it weeks, ago? Simultaneously they both cried out, but then afterward they stood quietly before it, neither saying a word.
For both knew they could leave now, anytime they pleased. And they could return to Blue Valley just as e
asily. Also, they could open the upper doors of the sea entrance for their launch and carry away what they both wanted so desperately. But what would be the outcome? Would it mean that this world would be theirs no longer? Would Tom and others search for the entrance to Blue Valley until they found it?
As they linked arms they smiled, each wondering what the other was thinking.
LAST DAY
18
Steve sat quietly on Flame’s back, his hands softly stroking the sleek neck. He had been astride his horse since his arrival in the valley at dawn. Throughout the day he had sat there, longer than ever before. For this day was different from any of the others—this was his fourteenth day on the island, and tomorrow morning he and Pitch would return to Antago.
“But I’ll be back in a few days,” he told Flame. “I’ll be back to get you, and then we’ll never be separated again.”
We’ll never be separated again.
Would it be like that? he asked himself over and over again. Would his mother and father understand his love for Flame as he thought they would? Would Tom keep his word to let him have any horse on Azul Island once he set eyes on Flame? And if he did, would Tom believe him when he told him that he had found Flame on the plain?
Steve’s eyes left his horse for the western walls that separated them from the sea. No, he thought, he won’t believe me—that much I know. How could he possibly? He’ll know we’ve found something, and he’ll look for it himself. But he won’t find the way. He’ll never find the right tunnel or the sea entrance.
Steve’s hands fell about the stallion’s neck as he placed his face close to his horse.
Raising his head, Flame cocked his ears, moved forward a few strides and stopped to graze once more.
Steve let him graze only a short while longer before leaning forward and saying, “Let’s go, Flame.” He clucked softly in the stallion’s ear and Flame’s head came up with a start; then he moved forward on dancing hoofs as Steve squeezed his legs slightly about him.