Suddenly they popped wide open. He saw a big brown bear slide off the
rim above and come down the trunk, sliding and scraping the bark loose
in a shower of wood bits. The bear was descending tail first, moving
around the tree as he came down.
The black colt scrambled to his feet. The memory of the savage
silvertip was fresh in his mind. He tossed his head and snorted loudly.
The brown bear halted his descent and peered down at him, then began
to slide again. Then Midnight saw another bear, larger than the first,
swinging off the mesa above. The big fellow came down amid a shower of
bark and twigs. Midnight whirled and fled as far as he could get away
from the spruces. He halted and stood watching the two bears, ready to
dodge and run if they charged at him.
The two bears paid no attention to Midnight. They grunted and growled
as they walked into the aspen grove, where they prowled about rooting
into the dead leaves, overturning rotting logs. Then both sat up
letting their big paws droop over their shaggy bellies. They sat
looking up at the spruce trees. Down the leaning tree came two more
bears. Midnight pawed frantically but he was as far away from the bears
as he could get. The two newcomers joined the first pair in the aspen
grove. There was much growling and grunting, with many deep woofs
added. Midnight remained where he was, trembling and pawing the ground.
Within an hour seven bears had arrived by way of the leaning spruce,
and the grove was noisy with their gruff voices.
One he-bear walked to an aspen tree. Lifting himself to his full height
he gashed a mark on the trunk with his teeth. Another male, who had
been sitting watching him, got to his feet and walked to the tree. He
gashed the tree higher than the other had been able to reach. Then
a big fellow with a furry red face strolled to the tree. He grunted
several times as he stood up. He marked the tree a full six inches
above the highest mark, then dropped to the ground and faced the
other bears. The males backed away from him as though recognizing his
superior prowess. He strolled to one of the she-bears and nosed against
her. She accepted the caress and the big male turned toward the spruce
trees. He ambled to the leaning tree and started to climb. The she-bear
followed him obediently.
One of the other males edged close to a female, rumbling in his chest
as he moved toward her. Another male stepped forward and the two big
fellows faced each other. An angry argument followed. The aspen grove
rang with the roars of the two males, but they did not fight. One of
them backed away and the other led the she-bear to the sloping spruce
in triumph. They went up the tree and out on the mesa.
There were two males and one female left. The smaller fellow, a
smudged, black-faced bear, had edged close to the last she-bear. He
woofed and grunted in an attempt to get her to go with him, but she
just sat and looked up into the aspen branches. The larger he-bear
walked toward her. The little bear with the black face crowded in front
of her, growling warningly.
The big bear shuffled up to him, reared, and cuffed him hard alongside
of the head. The little fellow danced up and down and his roars shook
the branches of the aspens and echoed along the rock walls, but he
backed away from the she-bear.
The big fellow walked around her and grunted deeply. Then he headed
toward the leaning tree against the wall. She followed him while the
little bear sat with a sad expression on his face watching them. He
remained where he was until they had climbed out onto the mesa above.
He whined a little, ambled to the tree, and began climbing out of the
basin.
The love moon of the bears had risen. This secluded spot was the scene
of their first summer romancing. The pairs would wander away into the
woods and remain together for a while. Midnight did not understand the
nature of the gathering, but he did realize that they had not come to
the mesa prison to attack him. He edged out toward the grove which
reeked with bear scent. Snorting and jerking his head, he trotted
around to the lower end of the mesa where he nibbled a few blades of
grass. The wind carried the strong bear smell to him and he moved to
the upper end again where he bedded down for the night.
Then next morning while Midnight was feeding close to the beaver lake
he met another stranger. The animal was not large and it waddled
along at a slow pace. It had long, yellowish hair and it seemed
too dull-witted and slow to be dangerous. Midnight advanced. The
dull-witted one lifted the hair on his back but otherwise paid no
attention to the little horse.
Midnight had never met a porcupine. He thought the spines sticking out
of his back were long hairs. The dull gnawer of bark sat down when
Midnight got close to him. Only his tail moved, jerking up and down.
Midnight extended his soft muzzle and sniffed in a friendly manner. He
kept his legs planted wide so that he could leap if the porky came to
life suddenly and attacked him. The gnawer did not move, he huddled
into a ball of spiny fur, pulling his head back until only the tip of
his snout showed. Midnight tossed his head and pawed, his nose extended
closer as he sniffed and sniffed. Suddenly he felt a quick stab of pain
in his tender muzzle. He leaped back with a snort. An ivory barb that
was half black with ebony stuck out of his lower lip.
Midnight galloped away through the aspens, across the little meadow to
the far side. The pain in his lip increased as the barb dug deeper.
He halted and thrust his muzzle into the fresh, black dirt of a
pocket-gopher mound. He raked his nose back and forth in the damp
earth. The cool dirt soothed the burning sting but it also drove the
barb deeper into the tender flesh. Midnight next tried rubbing the
wounded spot against the trunk of a tree. The quill caught in the
rough bark and pulled free. It came away red with a little piece of
Midnight’s flesh clinging to it.
After that he left the dull gnawer of bark strictly alone. The porky
fed on the meadow or in the tops of the low bushes where he hung like a
spiny ball. His clicking grumble could be heard at any time during the
day.
And each day Midnight circled his prison seeking a way to get off the
mesa. He was uneasy and wanted more room. There was plenty of feed
and there was water, but there was no room to gallop. The confinement
worried him. He was not like the dull porky or the beavers, he was used
to wide spaces and an elevation from which he could look down on the
world. From the little mesa he could see nothing but trees, the canyon
wall, and the lake.
One day late in the spring two men rode down past the cabin at the edge
of the mesa. The meadow was green with waving grass, flowers rioted
in their hurry to produce seed before the brief high-country summer
slipped away. The ridges were blue with lupine or gold with mountain
daisies. In the shade clumps of columbine lifted their delicate blue
bells, exposing white hearts. Major Howard and his range boss, Tex,
were riding together.
Tex halted near the upper end of the meadow. He slid to the ground and
bent over a scattered mass of bones. Major Howard lighted his pipe and
waited. The eyes of the range boss were intent. He remained bent over
the bones so long that the major spoke impatiently.
“What’s so interesting about a pile of bones?”
Tex straightened and his eyes wandered to Sam’s cabin thoughtfully.
“Winter kill by a pack of wolves,” he said briefly.
“A horse the boys missed in the roundup?” the major asked with a show
of interest.
Tex nodded. “Some hide and hair left,” he said and his slow smile
showed for a moment. “I reckon this hoss was Lady Ebony.”
The major did not dismount. But he turned his horse and stared down at
the bones. He knew what Tex was thinking and it irritated him. He shook
his head grimly.
“Couldn’t be,” he said shortly.
“I figure it that way,” Tex answered. “It explains a lot of things fer
me.”
“You never did think old Sam stole that mare,” Major Howard said.
“No,” Tex replied quietly.
“I did and I still do. You cow-country boys are too soft-livered. The
old fellow left his cabin for three weeks or so. He refused to tell
where he had been. He had three hundred dollars in cash to pay an
attorney. He refused to tell where he got the money.” The major’s lips
pulled into a tight line. “You’ll have to dig up more proof than that
pile of bones.” He was staring at the desolate cabin, trying hard to
urge away the doubt Tex had raised in his mind. Major Howard was at
heart fair and honest. He smiled suddenly. “I wouldn’t be surprised to
see that mare at one of the races this summer.”
Tex shook his head. “You won’t see her at any track, boss.” He paused
and his gaze was somber; he was watching the chipmunks romping in the
grass over by the castle rocks. Sam had brought those little fellers
in. He’d be right surprised to know there was at least a half dozen
more of them now. Tex made a mental note of the increase. He’d tell Sam
when he stopped by to see him.
“The old fool is better off where he is. He has decent grub and a warm
place to sleep,” the major said gruffly.
“He don’t seem much interested in anything. Did ask if the mare showed
up, though, when I stopped by to see him.” Tex swung into his saddle.
“You let your feelings get the best of you,” the major said. It
irritated him the way Tex stubbornly clung to his belief that Sam was
innocent. “Besides, he came near killing a man,” the major added as
though to clinch the argument.
Tex said no more. The major was not his kind. He was really a stranger
in the high country, and a good deal of a tenderfoot in many ways. Like
Sam, Tex had lived all his life in the rough mountain country. The
range boss had long since ceased trying to understand his employer.
“I reckon he did plug that deputy,” he agreed. His manner and tone said
plainly that he would have done the same thing.
They rode on in silence. Tex drew himself into his shell and spoke only
when he had to answer a question, but he kept thinking about the pile
of bones. He thought of Sam too. The last time Tex visited the old
fellow Sam had a strange look in his eyes. Tex could not forget that
look; it haunted him. It was a homesick, lonesome look.
10. Escape
Midnight was never quite satisfied within the confining walls of his
prison. There was plenty of fine grass, shade, and water, but the
constant feeling that he was being held a prisoner irked him. He worked
out a route around the outer limits of the meadow which gave him a
chance to run. There was an open stretch along the high walls. From
there he made a trail above the beaver lake through a pile of slide
rock that had fallen from the cliff above. The trail swung to the lip
of the canyon, following a crooked course until it curved back and
around the lake again. Big rocks and fallen trees offered barriers.
The little stallion soon learned to take these barriers in clean jumps
which sent the blood pounding through him.
The racing gave him an outlet for his energy, a chance to give play to
his growing muscles. Snorting, shying, and whinnying shrilly he would
race around and around, his mane and tail flying, his nostrils flaring.
The exercise kept his body tough and hard. The blood of the chestnut
stallion which flowed in his veins would not let him surrender to the
peaceful existence offered by the sheltered meadow.
Midsummer found the little horse rapidly growing into a big and
powerful brute with a body which combined the slender legs, the
intelligent head, and the great heart of Lady Ebony with the rugged
strength of his father. His eyes betrayed the wild horse in him. They
flashed white rims when he was excited or angry and he bared his teeth
savagely when roused.
One day Midnight heard sounds which excited him greatly. They came
from the mesa above. He heard the pounding of many hoofs and above
the nickering and snorting of mares rose the squeal of a stallion
challenging the world defiantly. Midnight was resting in the shade of
the aspen grove after a wild run around the meadow. He dashed out into
the open and stood staring at the top of the canyon wall.
As he stood there a horse appeared. A pinto filly stood with lowered
head looking down into the canyon. She was a trim little mare with a
lithe, slender body and a yellow mane and tail which flowed in the
breeze. Midnight called to her eagerly and she turned her head to
locate him. Her ears pricked forward as she answered his call with a
quick eager whinny. Instantly wild excitement surged through the black.
He raced back and forth, keeping in the open, looking up at the pinto
as he danced and kicked.
The little mare seemed to appreciate his efforts. She edged closer
to the rim and nickered softly. The sound of her call sent Midnight
leaping through the timber, pounding around the trail he had made. As
he flashed into the sunlighted spaces below the rim he looked up to
see her standing still, cut sharply against the sky, looking down at
him. Again Midnight raced around his beaten pathway. As he flashed past
the crevice which barred him from escape he halted and stared at the
wide crack in the rock shelf. The trail beyond that fissure led to the
little mare!
Midnight backed away a few yards, lowered his head, and sniffed. He
suddenly lost his fear of the deep gash in the earth. With a defiant
squeal he charged straight at the gaping crack. His flying hoofs sent
rocks sailing into the canyon below. As he charged down on the barrier
he gathered his hard muscles under him for the long leap. Like a black
meteor he shot through the air. Leaping over barriers along this race
course had given Midnight needed training. His body arched as he
hurtled into space above the crevice. His forefeet reached for the
far ledge, landed and clung while he lashed with his hind feet in an
attempt to pull himself to safety. For a moment he hung there, poised
above the chasm, plunging and struggling, then he stumbled forward,
safe on the ledge trail.
Snorting and kicking, he pounded up the ledge until he came to the main
trail leading out of Shadow Canyon. Doubling back along that trail
he charged upward. With a clattering of loose stones he burst out on
the edge of the meadow and halted to look for the pinto. The little
mare had turned away from the rim. She stood looking at him, her neck
arched, her mane blowing around her shoulders. She nickered and pawed
at the grass tufts under her feet.
Midnight plunged toward her, eager to make friends. When he was within
a few yards of her she whirled and fled. Midnight raced after her,
calling wildly. The pinto ran toward the band of mares feeding in the
center of the mesa. Above them the chestnut stallion stood guard, his
sleek coat gleaming in the sun, his massive head erect. His protruding
eyes watched the pinto as she raced toward the mares with the black
colt close behind her. Midnight’s speed was greater than that of the
little mare and he was soon racing shoulder to shoulder with her.
A scream of rage broke from the chestnut stallion. With ears laid back,
nostrils flaring, he charged to meet Midnight. His teeth were bared
and his eyes flamed. He meant to finish this young upstart at once.
Midnight saw him coming and shoved over against the little mare,
heading her away from the band. The boss of the herd came on at top
speed. He was running at an angle to the course the two colts had taken.
Midnight had no fear of the big stallion. He was so wildly glad to see
a band of horses that he had no thought of battling any of them. The
chestnut came on with terrific force. He struck Midnight a smashing
blow which turned the colt halfway around and sent him staggering.
Midnight twisted and fought to keep from going down. The chestnut
reared and lashed out with his forefeet. His teeth reached for the
colt’s shoulder and his scream rang across the meadow.
As Midnight righted himself a terrible rage took him. He wanted to
fight the big stallion, to smash him, to tear him. Swerving, he let the
little mare dart into the band, then he whirled to meet the chestnut.
The big stallion was eager for the kill. He had smashed young stallions
before, driving them out of the band, and he expected to make short
work of this fellow. Midnight answered the challenge by lunging to meet
the leader’s second charge. The big stallion raised his heavy hoofs and
met Midnight’s attack with smashing blows which battered the colt back.
Pain brought a realization that the big stallion wanted to kill him
just as the wolf pack had often tried. He dodged the next attack, but
lunged in as the chestnut missed his target.
His feint only half saved him. The chestnut’s teeth ripped his shoulder
and a crushing blow staggered him. Midnight leaped away from the next
charge, which came as soon as the big fellow could wheel about. The
little black was outweighed and his strength was nothing compared with
that of the chestnut. The band of mares watched without showing much
excitement. The pinto stood in their midst, her ears well forward, her
eyes rolling.
When the chestnut charged again Midnight whirled and fled. He raced
away down the meadow with the big stallion thundering after him. The
chestnut was filled with savage eagerness. The victory was his and he
meant to overtake this black stallion and kill him. But Midnight was
the son of Lady Ebony, and had her fleetness. For a short distance he
sprinted as fast as he could run and in that time discovered that he
could easily outrun the big leader of the band. When he had satisfied
himself of this he circled around the meadow whinnying defiantly and
kicking up his heels.
The chestnut was wild with savage rage. He thundered after the flying
colt, but though he strained every muscle he could not overtake
Midnight. Nor could he seem to outwind or tire him. The colt raced and
dodged without seeming to feel the terrific pace. Around the mesa they
raced, then around again. The chestnut began to tire. His breath was
whistling from his nostrils and his flanks were streaked with lather.
Suddenly he swerved and came to a halt beside the band of mares.
Blowing and snorting he pawed defiantly, challenging Midnight to come
and fight. Midnight halted and nickered eagerly to the pinto filly.
The pinto answered his call. This angered the chestnut and he whirled
to lunge at her. Before the little mare could leap aside, his big body
smashed against her and his teeth sank deep into the fleshy part of
her back. Squealing and kicking, the pinto sprawled on her side in
the grass. The chestnut reared threateningly as she scrambled to her
feet. With a squeal of fright the pinto darted out of the band and ran
away across the mesa. The chestnut did not follow far. He was watching
Midnight, fearing the black would try to steal some of his harem.
Midnight leaped after the pinto. He soon overtook her and raced along
beside her. The chestnut stallion was furious. He forgot the other
mares and plunged after the colts. His speed was great enough to
overtake the pinto, and he forced her back into the band. Midnight
charged the big fellow and the chestnut whirled to give battle. The
filly raced in among the mares and stood watching.
The chestnut was eager to close with Midnight again. He lunged in and
his weight sent Midnight staggering back. Then he lunged once more,
before the black could get his balance. He landed squarely against
Midnight’s shoulder and the colt went down. He rolled and lunged while
massive hoofs pounded him and the chestnut’s teeth ripped gashes along
his side. Finally Midnight staggered to his feet. He ducked drunkenly
and saved himself from another smashing blow from the shoulder of the
chestnut. Pain stabbed through his shoulder joint and hampered his
speed as he tried to run away. The chestnut sensed that his victory was
about to be complete. With squeals of triumph he charged on the colt.
Midnight thought of the ledge trail where he had always found haven
when wolves and cougars came. If he could reach that ledge he would
make a stand.
Desperately the little stallion plunged toward the castle rocks. The
chestnut overtook him and smashed him aside, but Midnight dodged and
raced on, not stopping to fight. Again the chestnut smashed him, his
teeth ripping gashes across Midnight’s rump. The black staggered and
weaved under the terrible battering but he kept going. He reached the
ledge and plunged upward with the chestnut slashing at his back, trying
to smash him to the ground where he could finish the fight.
Midnight tried to whirl about on the ledge. He suddenly realized that
if the big fellow got him trapped in the shelter at the end of the
trail the chestnut would kill him. He managed to turn around and face
the charging leader of the band. They smashed together and Midnight
went down, sprawling and kicking on the narrow ledge. He rolled over
and his hoofs slid over the rim. In a moment he was sliding down over
the edge.
Screaming and pawing, the chestnut glared over the rim. He saw his
adversary land on a shelf below and stagger slowly to his feet. The big
stallion raced up and down the trail but saw no way to reach the colt
below.
* * * * *
The spot where Midnight landed was only a few yards below the place
where he had landed when the silvertip shoved him over the edge. He got
to his feet panting and blowing. For a long time he stood trembling,
favoring his pain-raked shoulder. Then with a squeal of defiance he
hobbled along the ledge and down to the little meadow where he had
lived before the band came to the mesa. He was eager to cross the
crevice again and join the horses above, but when he reached the aspen
grove he halted to ease the pains shooting through his shoulder. After
a bit he moved on. He halted at the edge of the crevice and stood
listening. He did not try to leap across the narrow chasm, he would
have to wait until the pain left his shoulder. Above he could hear the
triumphant snorting and calling of the chestnut stallion. Slowly he
turned and walked back to the aspen grove. After a time he lay down on
a bed of dead leaves and grass.
He lay still and listened. From the mesa came the sounds of the feeding
herd. For a time the chestnut pranced about nickering and snorting.
The mares fed eagerly, not paying any attention to him, except when he
came close to one of them. The ears of the little horse in the aspen
grove followed every sound intently. He snorted and struggled painfully
to his feet when the chestnut blasted a warning to the mares. There
was a rolling thunder of hoofs as the wild band charged across the
mesa and into the timber. Midnight tried to race to the crevice but at
the first step he stumbled and almost fell. Slowly he hobbled to the
edge where he stood shaking his head and calling loudly. The rhythm
of the pounding hoofs died away quickly and Midnight was alone again.
He turned back and hobbled at a slow walk toward his bed in the aspen
grove.
In the days which followed Midnight listened for the sound of racing
hoofs and the whinny of the band, but the big stallion did not lead the
mares back to the high mesa. He ranged far up on the side of the Crazy
Kills where the trails were steep and broken and the meadows small and
surrounded by dense cover. In the barrens close to timber line few
cattle ranged and none of Major Howard’s riders cared to make the steep
climb, knowing the stray cows that climbed up that high would come down
long before roundup time.
Midnight dropped into his former way of living. As soon as his shoulder
became sound he began making his usual rounds of the little race
course. And many times he charged to the edge of the crevice where he
would slide to a halt and stand snorting and shaking his head. His leg
was still stiff, too stiff for so long a jump, and he did not have the
nearness of mares to fill him with wild excitement. He did not forget
the wild band and the pinto filly, but his wild desire for freedom was
not hot and driving. His body filled out and his legs and chest took on
a ruggedness which made him lose the coltish look.