to a saddle on the ridge above. The meadow was really a bench with a
rock wall on one side and a slope on the other. It lay along the edge
of a deep canyon but it was not a trap as the little meadow had been;
it was wide open at both ends and timber grew close, affording shelter
which could be reached in a few seconds. Midnight watched the trail
above and the meadow below, he tested the air, and he listened.
Suddenly he stiffened, his nostrils flaring as he listened intently.
The sound of a loosened stone had come to him. The pinto sensed
something and edged close to his side. Midnight snorted warningly and
the mares instantly lifted their heads, ready to leap to cover.
Then Midnight saw a rider come charging out of the timber above him.
The man was mounted on a bay gelding and he was standing up in his
stirrups whirling a rope around his head. The bay was reaching out with
powerful strides which carried him over the rough ground at terrific
speed. Midnight shrilled a warning to the mares. The pinto froze into
terrified stillness. She did not run but stood rooted beside Midnight,
staring at the oncoming rider. Midnight expected the roar of guns but
no explosions came. He was sure other men were hidden below to cut
off any retreat. But he was on the wrong side of the band of mares to
drive them upward. He did what the charging cowboy least expected,
something the chestnut stallion never would have done. He laid back his
ears, bared his teeth and charged straight at the bay, screaming his
challenge as he leaped forward.
Tex was startled by the action. He gave the bay his head so the big
horse could save himself. The bay swerved, dodging aside as he would
have dodged the charge of an infuriated bull. The loop Tex was swinging
sagged and jerked into a useless snarl as the bay lunged aside.
Midnight plunged in and reared, lashing out with his hoofs, reached for
the bay with his teeth. His pounding hoofs missed the saddler but his
teeth nipped a gash in the horse’s flank. The bay was a high-spirited,
nervous beast. He plunged and ducked his head. Grunting and snorting
he started to pitch. Tex had to ride as he had never ridden before to
control his mount. He saw Midnight whirl past, then wheel to charge
again--the black stallion had gone stark mad. His hand dropped to
the butt of his forty-five. He might have to shoot the big fellow to
save himself. He jerked out his gun and fired twice into the air over
Midnight’s head.
The crashing reports jarred some of the rage out of the black stallion.
He pivoted rapidly. In that moment Tex got the bay under control and
jerked in his rope. The shot had helped quiet the saddler. With the
pinto at his side Midnight broke for the trail leading upward.
Tex set his spurs and sent the bay thundering after the black stallion.
This was just what he wanted. He worked desperately to swing out a
loop. The black had a hundred yards of go in the open the way he was
headed. With the big colt running away Tex could drop a rope on him
and pull him down. He raised himself in the stirrups and swung out his
loop. Then Tex’s eager grin vanished. The black stallion was running
away from his bay! He was leaving the fast saddler behind in a way that
made the saddler seem slow. Tex overhauled the pinto and passed her.
She was running her best, with neck stretched out and mane flowing,
heading upward in an attempt to follow the black.
Tex held on until the black stallion thundered out into the saddle
above and vanished down the far slope. He had not used his spurs on the
bay. He knew his horse had given everything he had. On the ridge Tex
pulled up while the bay blew and pawed. Suddenly Tex laughed. He had
never seen such speed. Now he was certain he had to capture the big
fellow. He just couldn’t have a horse on the range that was faster than
the one he owned. Then his laugh died away. He had a more important
reason for catching the black; in the excitement he had forgotten it.
Midnight charged through the timber and kept going until he reached
the bottom of a canyon. He halted in a dense growth of river alder and
called long and loud to the pinto. From far up the mountainside she
answered him. Her call was frantic and excited. Midnight listened and
heard a shout from the man who had chased him. He kept still for a long
time. Finally he called to the pinto again and she answered him from
lower down the slope. She was hurrying to him as fast as she could
make her way down the rough slope. Midnight waited and listened. After
a time he decided the bay and his rider were not coming down into the
canyon. He could hear the pinto rattling stones and nickering eagerly
but there was no other sound.
The pinto broke into the alder stand in answer to Midnight’s call
as she reached the bottom of the canyon. They stood close together,
watching and listening.
Up on the ridge Tex turned the bay and headed him back down to the long
meadow. Night would soon settle and he would have no chance to trail
the black after dark. His best course was to follow the mares and drive
them into the lower country so that the black stallion would have to
come down to round them up. He sent the bay galloping along the trail
the fleeing mares had made as they raced off the bench.
Deep in the canyon Midnight was undecided what he should do. He was
certain he could not stay where he was. The man would be sure to follow
them. He finally followed his instinct, which was to put many miles
between himself and the country which had proved so dangerous. He did
not have a strong urge to follow the mares and round them up. His
instincts for leadership were not strong enough to make him look for
them. He knew of only one place where he had always found safety and
where he had never been attacked. That place was the little meadow
under the rim below the high mesa. With a snort he headed up the
sloping side of the canyon.
The high mesa was far across the mountain on the southern edge of Major
Howard’s range lands. The old mares had led the band along the backbone
of the continental divide and down into the lower valleys. Midnight’s
wild instinct led him unerringly toward the place of his birth and
early colthood. All that first night the two horses moved steadily
south and east, climbing upward, following the twisting course of the
divide. At dawn Midnight and the pinto fed close to a stand of balsam
and spruce. Five mule deer and a band of elk fed on the same meadow.
Midnight had a feeling that the deer and the elk would take alarm if
anyone approached, or it might have been his early friendship with the
old timber-line buck that made him select the spot as a feed ground.
The deer and the elk paid little attention to the two horses. They
recognized them as friends and harmless. Neither of them was tainted by
man smell or the reek of a saddle blanket pungent with leather oil.
Midnight had learned another of the lessons of the wild, a lesson that
had long since been mastered by the elk and the deer. He would feed at
dawn and at dusk, when the dim light made rifle sights blur and when
the eyes of the upright walking killer play tricks on him. All other
wild things had learned that this was the law. The sunlighted meadows
were death traps by day, but in the soft dusk of early morning or
evening there was safety. The big killers obeyed the rule but they did
it as much because their prey came out of hiding at that time as for
protection.
The band of elk was headed by a lordly bull who was master of the ten
cows by virtue of his power and savage willingness to battle any other
bull who challenged him. As soon as his own sons grew to the age where
their antlers began to spread into sweeping weapons and their desires
led them to notice the cows he drove them out of the band. They were
then lone bulls for a time until they were able to win a harem of their
own. Nor was he satisfied with defense of his cows. He challenged the
world to come and try to wrest supremacy from him. His battle moods
came in midsummer and fall when his shoulder veins were swelling with
hot blood, and his antlers had hardened to polished lances of bone.
The old wapiti bull was beginning to feel this pugnacious mood. For
weeks he had been rubbing and polishing his antlers. They gleamed like
the varnished surface of a piece of fine furniture. During the gray
of dawn he had fed near the cows. Now that the white light from the
sun-bathed peaks above was making the meadow bright he began to show
signs of restlessness. The cows fed on, eager to fill their paunches
before they sought deep cover to lie down. The old wapiti shook his
horns and lifted his muzzle. He trotted to a little knoll well above
his band. He was filled with courage and desire, proud of his fine
antlers, conscious of the power within his twelve hundred pounds of
weight. He halted and filled his lungs with air, raised his muzzle,
and poured forth a guttural roar that increased in pitch to bugle
tones, higher and higher until it was a blasting whistle which screamed
through the still air of the mountainside. The high notes quavered
and faded, ending in a half dozen savage grunts. The old bull seemed
to know that he had just executed one of the most inspiring pieces of
music in all nature’s mountain songs. He shook his head and listened
intently.
From a ridge above the challenge of the lord of the band was answered.
The challenger’s bugle was not so high and shrill nor so powerful,
but it was eager and defiant. The bull on the knoll shook his head and
grunted angrily, then he lifted his muzzle and sent his call ringing
out through the high, thin air. Again the challenge was answered. A
young bull was coming down the slope.
In a few minutes the challenger appeared, breaking out of the spruce at
a trot, his head swinging back and forth. He was lighter than the old
bull by a few pounds and his antlers were not so well filled, but he
was big boned and young, a lone knight seeking the end of the lonesome
trail, desiring to take his place at the head of a band of cows.
The old bull squealed a few short, sharp blasts, his horns swept low,
he charged to meet the invader. The young bull came on, his pace
increasing to a fast lope. The two great brutes crashed together, their
horns locking as they grunted and twisted. For several minutes they
tussled in this manner, each trying to sweep the other off his feet.
The young bull was forced to his knees but came up with a lunge which
set the old one back. Then they parted and backed away, heads still
lowered, spreading horns protecting vital parts of their bodies. For
a moment they halted with eyes glaring and breath whistling into the
grass, then they charged again and the force of the impact sent them
both to their knees. The old bull was well aware of the advantage his
few extra pounds gave him and he kept hammering away, thrusting the
youngster to his knees, eager to weaken him so that he would expose
himself to the ripping thrust of horns.
The combatants had moved down the slope and the young bull was now on
the downhill side, moving slowly toward the spot where Midnight and the
pinto stood watching the battle. A yellow band of sunlight had slipped
out across the grass. The mule deer, led by an old doe, had slipped
into the timber to seek a hiding place for the day. The cow elk ceased
feeding and stood watching the combat out of calm eyes which betrayed
no hint of favor for either warrior. They would accept the lordship of
the winner without question. After all, their real leader was a wise
old cow who knew the ways of the trail and the best hiding places. The
lord of the herd was master only for the time of the love moon.
The smaller bull began to retreat a little before the onslaught of
the old bull. They had been fighting a quarter of an hour and the
youngster’s wind was beginning to give out. They had backed away, the
challenger still savagely willing to charge but very short of breath.
As they lunged together, the young bull went down; this time one foot
slipped and he fell sidewise. Instantly the monarch shook his horns
free, backed away a step and lunged, his lances lowered. The sharp
daggers of bone ripped into the side and flank of the young bull. He
floundered and struggled as the death wound racked him, then he got to
his feet with an effort. Staggering but with his defenses again down
and ready he lunged at the old bull. The monarch smashed at him. This
time he was down with his whole side exposed and the victor was on him.
But the old bull was at the end of his strength, too. He tried to tear
his adversary into shreds but did not have the power. After a half
dozen weak thrusts he backed away and stood, blowing and grunting
savagely, while the youngster got to his feet and staggered toward the
woods seeking a secluded spot where he could lie down.
Midnight snorted and pawed. The cows shook their heads and turned
toward the woods following the lead of the wise old cow. With a savage
grunt the monarch trotted after them.
Midnight turned away. With the pinto filly at his side he trotted
into the timber and there they bedded down for the day. That night
they moved again, heading along a ridge with the white stars lighting
the rocky trail. All night Midnight kept going and dawn found them at
the edge of the high mesa. With the gray light about them they fed
close to Sam’s deserted cabin. Midnight felt safer in these familiar
surroundings. Even the cabin seemed to give a friendly protection
to him. He crossed the meadow and halted near the head of the trail
leading down into Shadow Canyon. The pinto was afraid of the cabin at
first but when Midnight walked up to it in passing across the meadow
and sniffed about, she joined him. The man smell was dead and old. It
lacked the pungent freshness which roused fear and caused flight.
The old yellowbelly whistler mounted his perch on the high rock and
sounded an “all’s-well” whistle. The mesa came to life with the
chipmunks singing their chorus, the prairie dogs barking, and the other
chips racing about. With the coming of life to the meadow Midnight
headed down the trail to cover.
The two horses came to the crevice which lay across the ledge trail.
It was no longer a barrier, being filled with rocks and torn tree
trunks with gravel piled in the cracks. Midnight moved down into the
sunken mass and over it. Together the two plunged up the far side. Now
Midnight felt secure. With the high walls towering above him and the
sheer drop into Shadow Canyon guarding the lower side, there was only
the entrance across the debris-filled crevice and that was hidden from
the main trail by bushes screening the rocky ledge.
He set to feeding and the pinto joined him. They stayed in the shade
of the aspen grove which afforded them complete protection from anyone
who might halt on the rim above and look down. All such a pair of eyes
would see was the pale-green canopy of the aspen grove. They grazed
peacefully until they had eaten their fill, then Midnight led the pinto
to the bed of needles under the Engelmann’s spruce over near the wall.
There they lay down in the cool shade.
13. Tex Takes the Trail
Tex followed the trail of the mares until almost dark. He came up with
them several times and sent them galloping into the lower valleys.
He did not shoot any of them because he wished to leave them as an
attraction for the black stallion. With less than half an hour of
daylight left he headed over a ridge to one of the high-country
cabins where food and horse feed were always kept ready for wandering
cowpunchers and for the boys who rode the high range during the summer.
As he slid from his saddle he saw that someone else was using the
cabin for the night. Yellow light streamed out of its one dusty window
and the smell of frying bacon and boiling coffee floated down to the
corral. Tex unsaddled the bay, watered and grained him, then rubbed him
down. He always cared for his horse before thinking of his own comfort.
As he shoved open the cabin door he saw Major Howard and Shorty sitting
at the plank table nailed to the wall under the window. They were just
finishing a meal of hot biscuit, sugar syrup, bacon, and coffee which
Shorty had fixed.
“Hello,” Tex greeted them. “Any grub left?”
Shorty grinned widely and the major nodded. Shorty shoved aside the
packing box he had been sitting on.
“I’ll scorch some bacon and warm up the coffee,” he said. “I
overestimated the boss’s appetite for biscuits, so there’s plenty.”
“Shorty made enough biscuits for six men,” the major said.
Tex eased his lank frame down on the packing box. He was ravenously
hungry. Reaching for a biscuit he broke it, exposing its snowy center.
The major watched him as he crammed half the biscuit into his mouth.
“I have been down to the meadow where you trapped those wild horses.
You did a nice job, Tex.”
Tex grunted as he shoved the other half of the biscuit into his mouth.
The major added by way of defending himself against killing the mares:
“Not a single head worth rounding up.”
“I reckon not,” Tex agreed. Then he leaned forward and spoke with
considered slowness: “The stud got away and he’s a winner. He outran my
bay on level ground in a straightaway run.”
The major showed his interest at once. He had always wanted to capture
a real wild stallion that had quality. He had an idea he could do some
crossbreeding that might have interesting results.
“Stallion?” he asked.
“A black stud, long two-year-old. Fine racin’ legs, big chest, and the
heart of a winner. He turned on me and come near knockin’ me out of my
saddle.” Tex grinned as he remembered that charge.
The major smiled too, an eager smile. “He must have spirit. Racing legs
and body--h-mmm.” He picked up a biscuit absently and crumbled the
corner of it. Then he shot a penetrating glance at Tex and asked, “And
you think you know his sire and dam?”
“That colt is out of Lady Ebony by the chestnut stud that led the
wild band. The chestnut is the thief that stole your mare, major. The
chestnut is gone, can’t figure exactly how he got killed, but I’m sure
he’s dead. The black colt couldn’t handle him, not yet. But the black
was running the band and he got the job too young.” Tex reached for
another biscuit. “I reckon he’s learning fast, though.”
Major Howard got out his pipe. He loaded it carefully, then lighted it.
He was watching Tex narrowly. For a full minute he puffed deeply, the
blue-white smoke curling up around his graying hair. When he spoke his
voice lacked the assurance it usually carried.
“You never give up once you get an idea, do you, Tex?”
“It’s as clear as day to me,” Tex said simply.
“This long two-year-old can outrun anything on my ranch.” The major
spoke almost to himself.
“And rest while he’s doing it,” Tex said.
“You better bring him in. He may not be so good as he looked today, but
if he has the markings of that black mare I’ll know it. I’d like to
experiment with a stallion like that.”
“I figure on bringing him in if it takes all summer.” Tex leaned
forward. The bacon Shorty had set before him went unnoticed. “If you
figure I’m right you could do something for Sam?” Tex knew he was
treading on dangerous ground. Mention of Sam always irritated the major.
“When I’m convinced, I’ll do what I can,” he said gruffly.
Tex knew there was no use talking any more about it. He would round up
the black and bring him in. Once the major set eyes on the stallion he
would know the black was Lady Ebony’s son. Then the major would get Sam
out of his cell. Tex had the major figured that way.
With supper over the men rolled up in their blankets. The major slept
in the wall bunk while Tex and Shorty bedded down on the floor. They
did not stay up longer than the time it took to wash the dishes and
split some wood for the breakfast fire. They would all be up and in the
saddle by daylight the next morning. Tex meant to ride the upper range
and to map out his campaign. He had a feeling there was need for haste.
The black stallion would have to be brought in that summer. Sam had to
be got back to his high mesa if he was to come at all.
The next morning Tex was up before the other two men had wakened. He
made coffee in the blackened pot and finished up what had been left
of Shorty’s biscuits. With a can of tomatoes, a tin of fish and some
coffee from the cupboard he left the cabin.
The rising sun found him on a high ridge overlooking the sweep of the
lower slopes of the Crazy Kills. He studied the meadows below, watching
the timbered edges of the clearings, but he saw no sign of the black
stallion. After that he set about checking the meadows, following the
trails from valley to valley. About noon he came on two of the wild
mares. He did not alarm them and they did not know he had seen them.
Later he came on three more in a meadow far from where he had located
the first two. At four that afternoon he found two others feeding
beside a stream miles from the others. And he had come across no sign
of the black stallion, not even his tracks. He began to wonder what
had happened to the colt. And he was beginning to wonder if the band
had not separated for good. The mares he had come on had been feeding
or lying down. They had not seemed to be looking for the others. Tex
refused to be worried, but he rode until darkness forced a halt. He
built a little fire to heat water for coffee. He had eaten the tinned
fish and tomatoes at noon. But he was determined to camp where he was
and go on with the search in the morning.
The next day Tex rode until evening without coming on the black
or crossing his trail. He was convinced now that the stallion was
making no effort to round up the mares, that he was too young and
inexperienced to have developed band leadership. He knew he faced a
tough job but he had no idea of quitting. He would need a pack horse
and supplies to stay in the hills more than two days. That meant he
would have to return to the home ranch.
He rode back to the high-line cabin and cooked a meal. There was no one
at the cabin and he rolled up on the bunk as soon as he had eaten. The
next day he headed for the home ranch.
The major did not object when Tex told him his plans. But Tex knew
that a week would probably be all he would be allowed for the hunt.
The major would be calling him in to take charge of other work. He was
convinced his boss was giving him this time so that he would have a
chance to settle the matter that had been between them since Sam was
taken away.
Tex rode into the high country. He laid his plans carefully. He meant
to cover the range from timber line down in a careful check of all
meadows and feed grounds. He was sure he would miss no spot where a
wild horse would stay because he had ridden the Crazy Kill slopes for
fifteen years and knew every foot of the ground.
Methodically he worked, from the north limits toward the south. He
accounted for all the wild horses except Midnight and the pinto filly.
At the end of the week he was worried. The black stallion must have
gone down into the desert or over the divide into the wild country
beyond Major Howard’s range. He had to admit he had failed in a job
that seemed to him important. He knew there was no use trying to make a
ride into the desert. That vast expanse of sand and canyons stretched
clear to the Mexican border, while the wild country beyond the Crazy
Kills was worse than the desert. It was canyon-slotted and grown dense
with timber. No ranchers used it as a range. It was virgin wilderness
and it was a hundred miles deep.
When Major Howard ordered Tex to take charge of the drive that would
bring the new herds of cattle to the high country from the railroad
yards he did not object. He had had his chance and had failed.
* * * * *
At the foot of the high walls overlooking Shadow Canyon, Midnight and
the pinto stayed hidden in the aspen grove by day. At night they either
fed in the little meadow or climbed up to the high mesa. When they were
on the high mesa they raced and played. They never stayed after dawn
broke. Twice they scented man smell on the wind and dashed to cover
along the ledge trail.
The day Tex checked the high mesa for tracks or signs they were feeding
below and had not been on top for several days. Rain had come and their
tracks had been washed out. He had passed on after looking inside Sam’s
cabin and noting how it was falling apart from disuse.
The pinto pony trusted Midnight and he had his past experience to make
him feel secure in his hideout. But he did not forget the lessons he
had learned, and no buck deer was more alert and watchful than he.