light. The wise old mare selected a sheltered little meadow for a
stopping place. It was small and the band of thirty horses had to crowd
close together, but it smallness offered protection against cougars and
wolves. The cunning and harsh leadership of the chestnut stallion had
taken much of the natural wariness away from the mares. They had always
depended on him to guide them.
Late that night Midnight had his first chance to take his place as
protector and lord of the band. The mares and the colts had bedded
down. Midnight and the pinto had raced around the clearing and come
to a halt on a wooded knoll overlooking the meadow. They stood close
together, snorting and pawing and playing. They pretended to see forms
in the black shadows under the spruce. While they were standing there
a lank cougar passed below the high point. His nose wrinkled and his
long, black-tipped tail lashed as he scented the mares and colts
sleeping in the open.
Circling to windward the yellow killer crept to the edge of the meadow.
He was looking for the sentinel he expected to find on guard over
the band. When he saw no guard he snarled softly and his yellow eyes
flamed. He peered intently at the bedded horses and his eyes fastened
on a colt standing close to his mother who was lying in a deep hollow.
The colt’s head was down and his furry rump was toward the king cat.
Silently, like a tawny shadow, the cat slid through the grass toward
the unsuspecting colt. When he was within striking distance he drew
his powerful legs under him and flattened his head between his massive
forepaws. His long claws moved slowly in and out, sheathing and
unsheathing their sharp points; his lips pulled away from his fangs.
Up on the knoll Midnight was dancing on his hind legs, his ears back,
his bared teeth reaching to nip at the neck of the pinto. She whirled
and lashed out at him with her slender feet. Midnight dodged the blows
and crowded against her, shoving her roughly to one side. She laid back
her ears and sunk her teeth into the loose skin of his shoulder.
The pain angered Midnight and he whirled to teach her a lesson. His
lunge was halted as the savage scream of the cougar cracked the
stillness. His forefeet struck the ground with a thud and he stood
beside the pinto, staring toward the mares. The frightened whinny of a
colt mingled with the cry of the big cat. That cry from the stricken
colt sent a surging rush of rage through Midnight. He plunged straight
down the slope toward the spot where the cat had made his attack. In
the meadow the mares had lurched to their feet and were snorting and
milling about. With a ringing call the black stallion charged to the
rescue.
The cougar had landed on the colt’s back, striking him down instantly.
The little fellow was dead in a moment. Standing on the limp body of
his victim, the yellow killer faced the angry mares who plunged around
him. Midnight charged through the circle and leaped at the killer, his
ears laid back, his battle cry ringing. This was something the cougar
had not expected. He had decided there was no stallion with the band.
Now he arched his back and reared to meet Midnight. He lashed out at
the black as he came in.
The cougar stayed a minute too long in facing the enraged Midnight. He
expected the stallion to swerve and rush past, but Midnight did not
swerve. He lifted his forefeet and struck straight into the face of
the killer. His smashing hoofs descended on the head and shoulders of
the king cat. The blows sent the cat rolling and tumbling over and
over on the grass. Instantly the mares joined the attack. Once a leader
had braved the terrible fangs and claws of the cat they were ready to
finish the job.
Screaming and rolling, the cougar tried to escape, to get to his feet
and leap clear of the smashing hoofs, but the hoofs beat him down and
trampled him. Teeth tore at him as he twisted and lashed. His claws and
teeth were poor protection against the sharp hoofs of the horses. He
was battered back on the grass each time he tried to get his feet under
him. In a minute’s time he was a bloody pulp and the mares had backed
away. They stood in a circle around him, their nostrils flaring, their
eyes rolling.
Midnight danced about snorting and blowing excitedly. He was aware
again of his power and was beginning to understand the job he had taken
over from the chestnut. The mares stood waiting for him to decide what
should be done. When he did not offer to lead them away from the scene
of the kill an old mare struck out and the others followed except the
mother whose colt was dead. She stood over him nickering and calling,
trying to get him to his feet.
The pinto went with the mares. She had been badly frightened by the
attack and wanted to stay close beside her mother. Midnight trotted
after the band and stood by while they bedded down in another meadow
near the scene of the attack. He walked around sniffing and snorting,
expecting another cougar to come out of the night. When nothing
happened, he lay down for a few hours’ rest just before dawn. One of
the old mares at once got up and set to feeding apart from the herd.
She seemed to sense that Midnight had much to learn about leadership.
The next day the band fed in the meadow until the old mare decided they
should move on. Midnight did not offer to lead them, so she struck
out. They headed deeper into the lush grass country. They passed many
white-faced cows and yearling steers. Occasionally a lordly bull would
saunter out of the shade to watch them. The band had invaded Major
Howard’s finest grass belt. They did not know the danger this would
bring, all they thought of was the fine grass and the plentiful supply
of water in the clear, rushing streams. There was aspen shade for the
middle of the day and there was spruce timber for shelter from the
sudden and violent thunderstorms with their cold rain.
The band soon forgot the chestnut stallion. Midnight was an easy
master. He let them wander where they wished. But he was a fierce and
terrible fighter when roused. They accepted him without much concern,
giving way to his few demands.
The thunderstorms seldom lasted over half an hour and the spruce
needles shed the rain. Midnight was happy in the easy life. The pinto
played with him, racing over the grass in the mornings or at dusk. She
did what he demanded without making any demands of her own. And now
Midnight had begun to watch for enemies while the herd fed. He was
slowly learning what was expected of him.
12. Doom of the Band
Tex dropped the saddle he was dragging across the yard. He faced Major
Howard, his lean face expressionless. The major was out of sorts that
morning and when he was in such a mood he was short-spoken. In his
irritation he did not notice that Tex was not in a jovial frame of mind
either.
“The boys tell me there’s a band of thirty wild horses down on the
aspen range. I want you to take a crew up there and clean them out.” He
added as an after-thought, “Use rifles and make sure none of them get
away.”
Tex scowled. He was dead set against shooting any sort of horse, even a
scrub.
“Why not round ’em up and sell ’em?” he asked.
The major grunted disgustedly. He could never understand the quirks in
the nature of his range boss. Tex knew the wild horses were worthless
on the market. They would be tough and mean to handle, half of them
never could be broken, and they would not bring ten dollars a head. To
the major this was a simple matter of business. Tex did not object to
raising fine cattle for slaughtering, therefore he should not object to
killing a few head of worthless horses. The major spoke impatiently.
“You know it would cost more to corral and handle that bunch than we
could get out of them,” he snapped. “Kill them all. While I had more
open range than I could use I wasn’t so particular, but I’ve just
bought two big herds of whitefaces. It will take every foot of grass
I own to run them.” The major noticed that Tex was not convinced. He
added more quietly, “This is business, big business.”
“I reckon so,” Tex answered as he reached down and caught the horn of
his saddle.
The major was ruffled by Tex’s reply.
“If you don’t want to handle this job I’ll get another man to take
charge of it.”
“I’ll handle it,” Tex said grimly. Then he added almost to himself, “I
thought that chestnut stud was the smartest hoss on the range. Never
figured he’d trail his herd down into cow country where the boys ride
regular.”
“Well, he has and I want that scrub stuff killed,” the major answered.
Tex dragged his saddle into the corral and whistled to his bay gelding.
The bay trotted to meet him and Tex let his mouth relax into a grin as
he patted the big fellow’s neck.
“I reckon we’ll have to do the dirty work,” he said softly.
Tex picked four men to go with him, men who could handle saddle
carbines expertly. He did not want any careless shooting. The kills
would have to be clean. When he explained the major’s orders to the
men they growled but none of them refused to go. They all shared Tex’s
dislike for the job, but they would carry out the boss’s orders.
The execution crew rode away from the ranch with thirty-thirty rifles
slapping under their stirrup flaps. The boys who had reported to the
major had given the location of the herd. Tex did not expect to find
the band where the boys had seen them, but by riding to that meadow
they could pick up the trail. Thirty horses would leave plenty of
tracks.
Tex speculated gloomily on the foolish turn the habits of the wild band
had taken. The big stallion at their head must have lost his cunning or
else he had met with disaster and a younger leader had taken his place.
Silently the men rode through the timber and up the long ridges leading
out of the lower valley. They entered the aspen belt and took a trail
which ran along the top of a rocky ridge. From that ridge they crossed
over to another and finally followed a red-granite cliff wall which
led them into a narrow meadow. Towering rims of granite formed a half
circle around the meadow with scattered spruce close to the wall on
the lower side where the meadow broke off into the lower country. The
entrance to the narrow valley was grown over by a stand of young aspen
trees. Tex hoped to pick up the trail of the herd in this meadow and
follow it from there. He halted his men in the dense cover and scowled
across the meadow.
At the upper end fed the band of wild horses he sought. They had not
moved their feed ground since the boys had first located them. Tex
was disgusted with them; they were acting like brood mares in a farm
pasture.
“The chestnut stud isn’t running that bunch,” he said gruffly.
The men nodded agreement and Shorty Spears, horse-breaker for the
ranch, spoke up.
“Must be an old mare at the head of that herd. This is just the spot an
old biddie would pick, grass knee-high, water close in.”
Tex nodded. He was studying the band carefully. Finally he gave his
orders.
“Two of you take the upper side along the wall. Keep in the brush cover
until you work your way down close to them. Make clean jobs, no gut
shooting or broken legs. Shorty, you and Cal take the lower side along
the rim. They won’t break down over that wall. I’ll wait here in the
outlet and pick off any that break past you boys. They have to come out
this way. Now get going.”
The men divided forces and rode away. They were eager to get a bad job
done. It would be no sport for them, shooting down a band of mares
and colts. The horses were trapped and would be helpless before the
repeating rifles. Tex watched them go. He noted grimly that even the
wind was against the wild horses. They had no sentinel posted and Tex
could spot no stallion among them. The execution should be quick and
complete.
Midnight fed beside the pinto filly. They had just finished a race
around the meadow and were standing in a clump of young spruce and
balsam looking down over the lower valleys. The rim at their feet broke
off steeply. It was matted with brush; ragged rocks jutted up through
the green leaves. The black stallion was nervous and uneasy, though he
did not know why. He had a feeling of confinement, similar to that he
had felt while he was a prisoner on the meadow below the high mesa. He
tossed his head and pawed, snorting impatiently. He was making ready to
drive the band out of the closed meadow.
With a sharp nicker he whirled and laid his ears back. The pinto edged
away from him. With mane flaring and tail flowing around her heels she
kicked high into the air and dashed away toward the mares. Midnight
charged after her, sending his warning call ringing across the meadow.
The mares jerked up their heads and stared at him, then looked around
uneasily to see what had startled him. When they saw nothing they fell
to feeding again. They had no intention of leaving this horse heaven
until they were driven out, and their experience with Midnight did not
make them leap into action the way a command from the chestnut would
have acted on them. This meadow was a safe retreat from cougars and
wolves. No killer could slip up on them with the steep rim on one side
and the high walls on the other.
Reaching the first mare, Midnight rushed at her, and when she did not
leap away he fastened his bare teeth on her rump. The mare squealed in
pain and surprise. Humping her back and bucking up and down she fled
before his lashing attack. Midnight rushed at another and sent her
staggering as his powerful chest smashed into her. It had taken him
days to get worked up to this nervous and panicky pitch, but he was
roused now and meant to drive the band out of the meadow.
He was swinging around the band, slashing at the mares with his teeth
or crashing into them to get them to hurry when the silence of the
valley was shattered by two crashing reports from near the base of the
cliff. An old mare near Midnight staggered, turned halfway around,
then sank to the grass without making a sound. Another mare plunged
into the air and slid on her side until she came to rest in a grassy
hollow, her legs beating the air in jerky spasms. The two shots did
more to snap life and action into the band than Midnight had been able
to accomplish. The mares charged wildly toward the aspen grove which
marked the outlet to the trap. Mothers crowded colts along as fast as
the little ones could run. The spitting and crashing of rifles echoed
along the canyon wall and mares plunged into the grass mortally wounded
at every leap the band took. A cloud of dust rolled up behind the
charging band and in that cloud of dust Midnight ripped and lashed as
he drove the wild ones on.
The pinto filly had rushed to her mother when the first two shots rang
out. Together they were leading the flight. Suddenly the mother swerved
and staggered, plunged down into the grass. The pinto planted her feet
and halted. Her sudden checking of speed saved her from a bullet which
had been aimed to break her neck. The lead burned across her forehead
raising a red welt. The little mare whirled and plunged back into the
mass of plunging horses. She found Midnight savagely working to force
the pace, and crowded close to him.
The charging rush of the mares was checked and they swerved in
bewildered fashion as a new burst of flame and death leaped at them
from a scrub-oak clump on the edge of the rim well down toward the
aspen grove. Mares collapsed and colts leaped and ran about wildly.
Midnight had only one thought, to drive the mares out through the aspen
grove and into the open country. This was his first meeting with the
deadly guns of man and, like all wild things, the death which struck
from far off filled him with terror. But he did not desert the mares. A
great rage possessed him and almost crowded out the terror. Screaming
and biting he worried the flanks of the rapidly thinning band.
Death held the little meadow in its bloody grip. The grass was marked
by twisted bodies. But Midnight knew there was one avenue of escape.
When the mares hesitated before the guns of Shorty and Cal he attacked
their flanks with fury and drove them on. This was not just the way Tex
had planned it. He had figured that the fire from the oaks would make
the band circle back around the meadow, giving his men at the lower end
a second chance to kill. He had been sure the band would mill around
and around the mesa until all were shot down. Now he sat in his saddle
waiting grimly. It looked as though he would have to turn them.
Midnight had driven the mares into full gallop again. Many went down as
they swept close to the oak clump where the two men were hidden, but
they charged straight past. Suddenly the vicious crack of a rifle broke
from the edge of the aspens. Tex had opened fire, his carbine working
with speed and murderous accuracy. In the hail of lead mares went down,
bucking and twisting. The attack was too much for the remnant of the
band. They dodged and tried to double back. Midnight reared and plunged
at them, screaming madly. The bewildered and panic-stricken animals
turned toward the rim and the black stallion sent them plunging toward
it. When they would have halted at the dizzy drop, with its matted and
ragged rocks, he lashed them on over the edge. They tumbled downward,
plunging, rolling, sliding, and twisting. One mare went down with a
broken leg, another struck a jagged pinnacle of rock and rolled over.
Behind them Midnight and the pinto took the leap as they came to it.
Tex lowered his rifle. His eyes were on the black stallion and there
was an excited gleam in them. He had never seen such a magnificent
beast or such a feat of reckless daring. But all these feelings were
over-shadowed by something else. He was looking at the long legs, the
powerful chest, and the slender body of the stallion. He was sure he
knew the sire and the dam who had brought him into the world. Here was
the son of the chestnut stallion and Lady Ebony! He wet his lips and
then grinned eagerly. He did not give the escape of a small part of
the herd any thought. His mind was making plans, leaping ahead to what
he would tell Major Howard. He was remembering the voice of Sam saying
that Lady Ebony would come back to the high country. He was roused by
Shorty’s amused voice.
“What’s eatin’ you? You look like you was seein’ angels or somethin’.
Me, I’m plumb sick to my stummick.” Shorty moved over to where he could
see the trail the band had made in escaping. He bent forward and stared
at it. “You don’t mean to say some of ’em went over the side here?”
Tex nodded, reloaded his carbine, and made ready to end the misery of
the mare who had broken her leg.
“How many got away?” Shorty asked. He had a sudden suspicion that Tex
had not taken full advantage of his chance to clean out the band.
Certainly the slope where the wild ones had plunged down to safety was
open and within easy range of the spot where Tex was planted.
“Ten head and a stud,” Tex said and spoke as though to himself.
“Must have been a fire-eater of a stud to force them mares down over a
cliff like that,” Shorty said with a quick grin.
“He’s a fire-eater,” Tex agreed softly.
The other boys had ridden up and were looking at the trail. Cal spoke
in his slow drawl.
“I passed up one shot an’ you can report it to the major if you want.
I had a broadside at a black stud but jest couldn’t find my sights for
watchin’ him tear into those mares.”
“That stud learned something here today that he won’t forget,” Tex said
grimly.
“I’ll bet a month’s pay we don’t ever catch that bunch in a place like
this again,” Shorty said.
The others grinned. They knew the stallion would be wiser and more
wary now that he had met the guns of men. They were not sorry he had
got away. Any horse that would lead a crazy charge down the face of a
brush-matted cliff deserved a break and was no scrub. One of the others
said:
“I caught a glimpse of him through the dust. He’d make any of the
major’s blooded stuff look like a broom tail if they were stood up side
by side. Can’t figure where such a hoss could have come from, must be a
freak.”
Tex grinned but said nothing. He knew where the big black came from. As
he moved away he remarked:
“I reckon he might have some good blood in him.”
A plan was forming in the mind of the range boss and he was eager to
work it out. He wanted to be alone so that he could get it all ready.
He turned to his men.
“You boys ride on down to the ranch and report to the boss. Tell him
I’m staying on the trail of the ones that got away. I’ll be in late
tonight.”
Shorty grinned. “Figure you might be lucky enough to dab a rope on that
black?” he asked.
“I’d trade every horse in my string but the bay for him,” Tex admitted.
Shorty laughed. He had missed the real significance of the remark. He
thought Tex wanted the black as a saddler. Tex was a nut when it came
to saddle stock. He remarked in an amused voice:
“It’ll be a case of sneaking and trailing from now on, and when you do
dab a rope on him you’d best have some help handy. That baby bites and
kicks like a cougar.”
Tex nodded full agreement as he rode away from the men. He took the
regular trail off the mesa and rode around to the foot of the cliff.
He had no desire to send the bay down over the trail the black had
made for the mares. At the bottom of the cliff he picked up the trail
and followed it. He did not have to dismount to tell the tracks of the
stallion and those of the mares. The tracks of the leader were clean
and deep, with perfect alignment. The trail led up the mountain in an
almost straight line and the horses did not halt until they reached the
barrens high under the rims of the Crazy Kill peaks.
As he rode along Tex planned his course of action. He would ambush the
black and drop a rope on him. Taking him now would be possible, Tex
figured, because the black was still a colt and could be handled if
properly worked. If he stayed in the wild another year he might develop
into a horse that could never be broken. He was just learning the
tricks of leadership; that was shown by the trap the mares had walked
into. Tex grinned eagerly as he planned. He was sure he could convince
the major, once he looked at the midnight black, that his theory about
Lady Ebony was correct.
He was also sure that, once convinced that Sam had not stolen the mare,
the major would get the old man out of the pen quickly. Major Howard
was an influential man and a determined one when he set out to do
anything. He was a shrewd judge of blooded horses, and that would help.
Tex was eager to capture the black at once. He had a feeling that if
Sam was ever to come back to his high mesa he would have to be set
free that summer. He had talked to the warden and to the doctor at the
prison and both agreed with him. It was Tex’s way never to consider
failure. The bay he rode was the fastest horse on the range and Tex
had accumulated some money and a great many possessions betting on his
speed. He was at his best in rough country where sure-footed accuracy
counted for more than speed, and he was powerful enough to handle the
black once Tex roped him. The bay could lay a five-year-old maverick on
his side without budging when the bulk of the critter hit the rope.
Tex halted behind a clump of bushes on a ridge and sat looking up a
long, narrow valley. His keen eyes lighted up with excitement as they
rested on a small band of horses feeding close to the timbered edge of
the valley. He spotted the black stallion with a pinto filly feeding
beside him. Deliberately Tex studied the ground and laid plans. It
would take most of an hour to circle the band so as to have the timber
as a screen for his approach and the wind right. And his plan called
for sending them back into the lower country instead of higher into the
barrens where trailing would be tough. He was sure the band would feed
for at least an hour. The mares were fagged and hungry, he could see
that, even at a great distance. Heading the bay up a narrow ledge, he
climbed to the top of the rim overlooking the valley and dropped down
on the far slope.
The pace Midnight had set in driving the mares into the high barrens
had taxed their strength. They had finally refused to go any further
and he had let them pause to feed and rest. But he was nervous and
kept moving about, jerking his head high, sniffing and snorting.
The excitement of the battle on the mesa below was still in him. He
lacked the experience of the chestnut stallion and he did not know the
country into which he was headed. Instinct had made him strike for the
barrens, but he did not know where to go now that he had reached the
rough country. So he let the mares feed while he moved about pulling
a mouthful of grass here and there. The pinto stayed close by him as
though sure he would protect her from all danger.