The boy’s eyes were bright as he said quickly, “I didn’t, Pitch! I couldn’t have known of Azul Island when I was only seven years old!”
“You knew of it when you were only five,” Pitch replied slowly. “Not by name, of course. Nor did I.”
“You! What did YOU have to do with it?”
Pitch was uncomfortable. “I was the one who told you about it,” he said, his eyes avoiding Steve’s. “I was visiting your father one day when you came into the room to show him a drawing of a pony you’d made; then you showed it to me. You sat on my lap and I told you a story about horses. It was a story based on one of Tom’s first letters to me from Antago. He had written of going to an island not far from Antago to wrangle the wild horses that were there. He described everything in great detail, including, of course, the canyon and cliff. I passed this all on to you, making it as vivid and real as I possibly could. And you and I pretended that we were with Tom, going down the canyon, watching the horses run ahead of us. We had a lot of fun making believe—” Pitch stopped and his eyes met the boy’s. “I’m sorry, Steve, real sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Pitch,” Steve said, angry with himself. “I guess I knew all the time there had to be an explanation for it all. But,” he went on, smiling a little, “I guess I was trying to convince myself that something very unusual had taken place, that for some strange reason I was being told of an island where I should go.” His voice dropped. “I suppose I even expected to find Flame here. It’s my wild imagination, Pitch. At least Dad would call it that,” he concluded bitterly.
Pitch was quiet for a while, then he said, “But there’s nothing wrong with having an imagination, Steve. Let it loose now, here on this island.” His voice became eager, excited. “Azul Island has been uninhabited by people since the days when Spain ruled the world. Think of the relics, the historical treasures we may find hidden within this canyon. We’ll look around tomorrow, Steve. We’ll do some digging, you and I!”
“Yes,” Steve said softly. “Sure, Pitch.”
THE STALLION ON THE CLIFF
4
That night Steve lay awake for a long time, his head protruding from the tent so he could watch the moon as it flooded the canyon with its light.
Why think about it any longer? he asked himself. There’s no sense to it any more. You have your explanation for it all. What more do you want? Flame? Sorry, but he’s part of your little dream too. You’ll have to give him up along with the rest. It was nice having Flame again. You felt much the same as you did when you were seven, when you first rode him through the park, didn’t you? Pitch’s picture of Azul Island brought everything back again. But Pitch’s explanation tonight brought you back to reality as well. Now you know how silly you’ve been, coming to this island in search of an imaginary horse. Too bad you can’t have him. Too bad there is no Flame. But there are other horses here. They’re nothing like your imaginary Flame, but they’re horses nevertheless. Tom said he’d give you one if you stayed two weeks. You’ve always wanted a horse of your own, so here’s your chance. Tomorrow you can take a closer look at them. Tomorrow you can take your pick of them. Yes, and tomorrow Pitch wants to start digging. Pitch, the historian. Steve, the archaeologist. You’d better go to sleep now. It’s getting late, and the moon is well up.…
Steve didn’t know how long he’d slept when suddenly he found himself wide awake again. He must have slept for some time, he reasoned, for the moon was directly overhead. What had awakened him? It seemed to have been something loud and shrill, like a whistle. He must have been dreaming. Pitch was sleeping soundly beside him. The night was very still. Yes, it had been a dream. He’d better go back to sleep again.
He had just closed his eyes when he heard the loud snort of the stallion, followed by nervous neighs from the mares. Then there came the sound of restless hoofs against stones.
Steve opened his eyes, wondering why the horses were moving about. An animal? Perhaps. Maybe even the moon. He’d heard somewhere that a full moon could make horses restless. He turned over on his stomach, looking at the small band grouped near the opposite wall of the canyon. The moonlight made everything very distinct and he could see that all the horses were on their feet, moving about nervously. The stallion was trying to keep them together. One of the mares neighed loudly and the sound was echoed by the whinnies of the others. Several tried to break away from the group, but the stallion cut them off. He tossed his head, snorting repeatedly. It was obvious to Steve that the stallion was keeping the mares from breaking away. He watched for a long time, his eyes never leaving them. Finally he saw the stallion turn his head away from the mares and raise it high, snorting loudly. The other horses, too, moved about more restlessly than before.
At that moment the canyon echoed to a high-pitched whistle. Shrill, loud and clear, it vibrated from wall to wall until it lost itself in the rolling plain beyond. The whistle was like nothing Steve had ever heard before, and his breath came short. Then he forced himself to turn his head upward. Slowly he raised it until he could see the cliff high overhead.
A horse stood there, silhouetted against the bare moonlit walls like a giant statue! His small head was raised in haughty defiance, and the only thing about him that moved was the long mane that swept back in the night breeze.
Steve had stopped breathing. He closed his eyes. It’s not true, he thought. I’m dreaming. Nothing is true. I’m still asleep. I heard nothing, saw nothing, actually. Pitch is asleep beside me. The horses are asleep. I heard nothing. And nothing is on the cliff. Nothing, nothing, nothing!
But he opened his eyes and looked again. The horse was still there. Steve could see the high crest upon the long neck, the giant body which seemed so much out of proportion to the small head.
“Oh, Pitch! Pitch!” Steve shouted, pounding the sleeping figure beside him. If this were all a dream would he feel his fist sinking into Pitch’s back? Would Pitch sit up, as he did now, grabbing him, shaking him by the shoulders?
“Steve! What on earth is the matter? Stop it!”
Then it’s not a dream, Steve thought. This much of it, anyway. “Look up on the cliff, Pitch. Tell me what you see. Quick!” His voice was tired, beaten.
He watched as Pitch turned his head toward the cliff. For a frightening few seconds Pitch’s face disclosed nothing. Then his eyes widened, the corners of his mouth twitched nervously and he said, “I see a horse … a horse on the cliff! Incredible!”
Steve closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked up at the cliff. The horse was gone, the cliff deserted. Pitch’s gaze met his. “We’re sure, Pitch?” Steve asked. “We actually saw a horse standing there?”
Nodding, Pitch replied in a voice so low Steve could barely make out his words. “I saw a horse. I’m sure I saw a horse,” he said, “but I can’t believe it.”
Steve, too, found it difficult to believe what only a few hours ago he would have accepted so eagerly and without question. But that was before Pitch had explained to him why he had always known this canyon of Azul Island.
The two lay on their blankets through the long hours before dawn, each knowing the other was not asleep, each alone with his thoughts. And every so often, first one and then the other would raise his head and look up at the cliff, only to find that there was nothing there.
The sky was becoming a dull gray when Steve said, “Pitch.”
“Yes, Steve.”
“We’re both very sure now?”
There was a moment’s silence before Pitch replied. “Yes, very sure. We couldn’t both have had the same illusion.”
“No,” Steve agreed, slowly. “We couldn’t have. It was a horse, all right … a very beautiful horse.” He didn’t call him Flame. He didn’t think of him as Flame. He didn’t know whether this horse was the color of fire or not. He didn’t care. This was no imaginary horse upon the cliff, but a giant stallion, very much alive. This was no dream, for Pitch too had seen him. This was reality. A horse had stood upon the cliff only a
few hours ago.
Pitch said, “He was there. But how did he get there?” To Pitch, the horse on the cliff meant that there had to be more of Azul Island that was habitable than this canyon and the plain beyond. Otherwise, where could the horse have come from? It seemed impossible for the greater part of this island to consist of anything more than mountainous yellow rock, just as he’d told Steve. Yet he must be wrong, because living proof had stood upon the cliff.
They rose with the dawn and ate a hurried breakfast; then, without a word to each other, made for the end of the canyon. Arriving there, they looked up at the cliff, then cast their eyes over the sheer canyon walls. Very slowly they walked about the canyon, examining every foot of the walls in search of a possible way to the cliff from the canyon floor. Finally they were back from where they had started and Pitch said, “I’m certain now that he never reached the cliff from this canyon. It’s impossible for a human to do it, much less a horse.”
“Then he had to come from up there,” Steve said slowly.
“But from where, Steve?” Pitch asked incredulously. “Look at that sheer wall behind the cliff!”
Steve said, “We can see it rising above the cliff, but actually we can’t tell from down here what happens when it meets the cliff. There may be a cave or path or something. There has to be a way. He got there.”
“Yes,” Pitch agreed, “there has to be a way.” Then he became excited. “Do you know what this means, Steve?”
“It means there has to be more to Azul Island than you thought,” Steve returned.
“More than anyone thought,” Pitch corrected hastily. “More than anyone has ever dreamed! Why, Steve, the presence of that horse up on the cliff has to mean that the Spaniards did inhabit this island at one time! How else did that horse get up there? Could Tom or anyone else now have the audacity to tell me that the Antago chamber of commerce was responsible for him too? Not for one moment, Steve!”
Steve smiled at Pitch’s last remark, but the intent look in his friend’s eyes convinced him that Pitch had not intended to be humorous. “You’re right, Pitch,” Steve said seriously. “And what we have to do now is to find a way into the interior.”
Pitch shook his head sadly. “I’d give five years of my life to do it, Steve,” he said, “but I don’t see how. I really don’t. Certainly we can’t get up from here.”
“No,” Steve agreed. “But there’s the sea, Pitch,” he added eagerly. “We can take the launch and look for a place where it might be possible to climb up.”
“I doubt that we could even get close enough to look, Steve. The waves would crash us against those stone walls. You’ve seen them. You know.”
“But we could try, Pitch,” Steve insisted. “There’s no other way.” He paused, then added slowly, “Unless you just want to stay here in the canyon.”
“No,” Pitch denied quickly, “I never could be content to stay here now! You’re right, Steve. We must do everything we can to get into the interior. This is probably the most important thing that’s ever happened to either of us. Come on, we’ll get the boat and see what we can find.”
A short while later they were in the launch and running alongside the island. The launch rolled on the giant swells that crashed heavily against the walled barrier of Azul Island.
They had gone a good distance when Pitch said, “I’m afraid I was right, Steve. We can’t get close enough to the island without crashing, much less try to find a possible way up the sides. It’s no use.”
But Steve’s eyes were turned shoreward toward a bursting spray of white foam, where a wave had struck something just before reaching the walls of Azul Island. In the few seconds before the next long line of waves rolled shoreward, Steve saw a dark greenish rock that rose from the sea only twenty feet or less from the mountainous shore. “Pitch,” he said, “I see something. Bring her in closer here.”
Cautiously Pitch brought the launch around, his eyes never leaving the waters in front of the prow. “We really shouldn’t, Steve,” he said gravely. “There are far too many submerged rocks along here.”
Momentarily Steve glanced into the clear waters about them, and he too saw the black shadows of the rocks below, some rising higher than others and easily capable of putting a hole into the hull of the launch. He heard Pitch mumbling something about being a greenhorn at a time like this. But the launch kept its slow, steady course toward shore as Pitch skillfully avoided the rocks.
“Tell me what you see, Steve,” Pitch said, without taking his eyes from the swirling waters.
They were but thirty or forty yards away from the large moss-covered rock, and coming in just to the right of it. Steve watched a giant swell descend upon the rock, and waited for the white, foaming waters to pour from its sides. Then he saw a long narrow rock behind the larger one. “Pitch!” he shouted. “There’s another rock behind the big one that’s just ahead of us. It goes right up to the wall!”
Another swell struck the large rock, and this time Steve watched the waters as they cascaded off its sides and swept past both rocks until they rolled up against the yellow walls of Azul Island. He noticed that the waters struck the walls with little force and then would roll seaward again until they were stopped by the incoming waters that swept around the big rock. The result was a small channel alongside the two rocks, of swirling but navigable waters.
“What is it, Steve?” Pitch asked impatiently, as he turned the launch away from the shore. “We can’t get any closer. It’s too dangerous.”
“We could get in there by using the dory, Pitch,” Steve told him excitedly. “The big rock stops the waves before they get to the wall. The waters flow around it and alongside the smaller rock behind until they strike the wall. But they don’t have any force, Pitch. They just slap up against the wall and then roll back until they meet the next wave coming around the big rock. The result is that it’s fairly smooth close by the smaller rock.
We could get in there with the dory, Pitch. We could slide her in alongside the big rock just after a wave has struck, then pull her up onto the smaller rock, directly behind the big one, so we’d have her to get away on.”
“It sounds too dangerous,” Pitch said thoughtfully.
“But Pitch, what else can we do? And if we’re careful it shouldn’t be dangerous.”
“I don’t know, Steve,” Pitch began. “There may be an easier way farther on. We’d better go all the way around the island first.”
“Okay,” Steve said dismally, “but I doubt that we’ll find anything else. If there was an easier way of getting onto this part of the island, it would have been discovered long ago.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever looked before,” Pitch replied insistently. “We wouldn’t have either if we hadn’t seen the horse last night,” he reminded Steve.
“Yes, I guess you’re right,” Steve agreed. But as the launch pulled still farther away from shore, he continued looking back at the waves striking the dark, greenish rock.
They were well out of danger from submerged rocks when Pitch turned to Steve, saying, “We’ll go around to the other side of the island now, and if we find no other way, we’ll come back in the dory as you suggested, Steve.”
As they rounded the tip of Azul Island, the wind whipped into their faces and the launch dipped deeply into a far heavier sea.
Steve said, “It’s worse here, Pitch. We wouldn’t have a chance of getting in. The wind is driving the waves too hard against the walls on this side.”
Pitch nodded grimly as the launch was tossed heavily about on the rough sea. “You’re right, Steve, we’d better go back.”
“For the dory?” Steve asked quickly.
“For the dory,” Pitch repeated solemnly.
THE SEARCH
5
Two hours later, after having taken the launch back to the pier, they returned in the dory to the large green rock they had seen earlier. They had broken camp, and now their backpacks, along with several coils of rope and Pitch’s
pick and shovel, lay at the bottom of the dory as the small boat lightly rode the high swells.
“Perhaps it was silly to bring all this gear along,” Pitch said. He was sitting beside Steve, both pulling hard on their oars. “Even if we’re able to reach shore, we may not find a way up the sides, you know.”
“But if we do,” Steve said, “we’ll be glad to have everything with us. It’s too long a row to go back for our gear.”
The dory fell swiftly into a deep trough, then rose high with the next swell. Steve saw that they were nearing the large rock, and his face became set.
Pitch said warningly, “Careful now, Steve.”
A moment later they stopped rowing, but their oars remained in the water, directing the course of the dory and holding her back from riding in on top of the swells. They were both tense, for they knew that if they went too far to the left they would be swept against the rock and too far to the right would mean being carried all the way in against the walls of Azul Island. There were only a few feet of swirling waters where they could bring in the dory safely.
A heavy swell slipped under them and crashed against the rock, its spray coming down on top of their heads. As the dory went down into the trough before the next swell, Steve said, “Now, Pitch!” Together they plunged their oars downward and pulled hard. The small boat leapt ahead, its prow parallel with the rock. The wave behind them struck the face of the rock and water poured in torrents about them. Steve’s fingers clawed at the jagged stones as he pulled the dory forward, and Pitch struck his oar viciously into the water as though he were wielding a canoe paddle. The dory’s prow pushed sluggishly into the strong current flowing back from the walls of Azul Island, and for a moment Steve thought they would be pushed back to the front of the rock again. Then the waters from the rock surged forward to meet those coming from the wall. Now there were turbulent waters beneath the dory, but neither a forward nor backward current.