They often ran by daylight, around and around, leaping over logs and
rocks and pounding in a reckless chase over the rough trail. Midnight
could easily outdistance the filly, but he never ran away from her when
she dropped behind.
As the days passed, both horses became sleek and fat, but Midnight
did not lose his speed or power. He never became lazy, because of the
nervous, high spirits which filled him. He was fast coming to the place
where he would not be satisfied with the company of one filly, but
another season would pass before he was ready to go forth.
* * * * *
In a town below the ridges and wild barrens, behind drab, gray walls
old Sam had at last given up the fight. One morning he did not answer
early call and they found him lying on his cot peacefully sleeping.
He would not stir and seemed not to have the wiry strength that had
carried him along. The warden and the doctor came. Sam was taken to the
hospital and placed on a white bed. Outside the door of his room the
doctor faced the warden.
“The state will not be burdened over a couple of months longer by that
old codger,” he said.
“What ails him?” the warden asked.
“What would ail any wild thing that was cooped up in one of your
cells?” the doctor asked, then turned abruptly away.
The warden went back to his office and looked into Sam’s file. No one
had taken any interest in the case except Tex and he had written only
one letter because writing was something he seldom did. The warden put
the file away and made a note of what the doctor had said.
14. Beside the Castle Rocks
With an uneasy jerk Tex tore open the envelope the major handed him.
He was not used to getting letters and this one was postmarked at the
state prison. He fished out a single sheet of paper and stared at it.
The major had read the postmark and stood waiting for Tex to speak.
There was a brief line at the beginning of the letter. The message was
from Sam and the warden had written the letter for him. Tex turned away
from the major and walked down to the horse corral before he read any
further. He wanted to be alone. Leaning over the pole gate he finished
the letter. The message was brief, very much like Sam. Tex’s lips moved
as he repeated the words to himself.
“I put off writin’ figurin’ to see you. Reckon I won’t, so the warden
is writin’ this to you. They got a buryin’ spot down here they call
Woodpecker Hill. It’s good enough fer an old gopher miner but I still
got a hankerin’ to get back to the top of the world. If it won’t put
you out too much, Tex, I’d like to be planted near the ledge trail at
the foot of the castle rocks. Jest lift the rock under the right front
leg of the stove and you’ll find a poke of dust I cached. There’ll be
enough in it to do the job. I want you should keep what’s left over.
Figure I’ll hang on till I get a letter back from you. The doc says no,
but I’ve fooled ’em before. Sam.”
Tex folded the sheet into a wad and shoved it into the pocket of his
chaps. He stared for a long time through the white sunlight. His bay
gelding came over to the fence and nudged his arm. Tex turned around.
“We shore let old Sam down,” he said grimly. “But this time we’ll not
flop on him.”
He reached over and caught the horn of his saddle which was tossed
across the top pole of the corral. As he was jerking the cinch tight
around the belly of the bay a few minutes later, the major’s shadow
appeared near the gate. Tex did not turn around. He did not feel like
telling the major anything. The last time he had tried to talk to him
about getting Sam freed his boss had been irritated and short in his
refusal. Tex had a feeling the major even believed he had invented the
story about the black stud, with the help of Shorty, in order to get
his sympathy. The major watched in silence until Tex faced the gate,
then he spoke.
“I want to have a look at the new stock. You can ride into the aspen
range with me and show me around.”
Tex nodded. There was no use in writing to Sam now. The mail would not
be picked up until the next day. He could take a couple of days off and
ride in, but he didn’t feel equal to facing the old man after the way
he had let him down.
By midafternoon the pair were high in the aspen country and close to
the spruce belt. Tex had taken the major to the meadows where the new
stock grazed. They had halted on a ridge as the major had a way of
doing and were gazing over the vast country below. The major always got
a thrill out of looking over his vast domain. He never tired of the
rolling foothills and the wide, grassy valleys, all his.
Tex could see the high mesa on the rim of Shadow Canyon. He could see
the castle rocks where Sam wanted to be planted. A desire to ride down
to the spot laid hold of him. He could get the poke of gold while he
was there. When the major was ready to move on, Tex headed down the
slope. Within an hour they broke out on the high meadow. The major
looked across at Tex questioningly but said nothing. He knew none of
the new stock were run that far south. But he was more interested in
the letter Tex had got than he cared to show and was sure this visit
had something to do with it. He feared the old man had died in prison,
and the thought stirred the old train of doubts as to the course he had
followed.
They rode down to the castle rocks before going to the cabin. Tex
dismounted and stood at the base of the rocks where Sam had said he
wanted to lie. When he looked over the expanse of country below he knew
why Sam had picked this spot. From the ledge he could see far across
the hazy lower valley to the distant peaks of the Sleepy Range, while
on the right he could look out over the purple expanse of the desert
with its spires and red rims gleaming in the late sunlight. At his feet
yawned Shadow Canyon. From its twilight depths came the rumble of a
rushing stream. The music rose and fell in steady cadence. Tex drew in
his breath sharply and turned toward the major.
As he turned a flash of movement below caught his eye. He stepped
closer to the canyon rim and looked down on a little meadow. At first
he saw nothing but a little beaver lake, a grove of aspens, and a stand
of spruce. Then a black horse flashed out of the timber running madly.
Close on his heels came a pinto filly. They were heading straight at
a barrier of logs. They reached the barrier and lifted like birds,
sailing over it easily. Their manes and tails flowed out as they
pounded along.
“Look!” Tex called hoarsely as he pointed downward.
The major slid from his horse and stood beside Tex. The flying horses
had vanished into the aspen grove and Tex grunted disgustedly. In a
moment they appeared again and took the log barrier in a mad leap. Both
men stood in silence watching the big black stallion as he cleared the
barrier and raced away. The horses vanished but appeared again as they
charged around the little circle below. Then they vanished and did not
appear again.
For a long minute the two men faced each other. It was the major who
spoke.
“Tex,” he said gruffly, “I’m a stubborn fool.” He held out his hand.
“Let me see that letter you got from the state prison.”
Tex dug out the letter and handed it to him. The major read it quickly.
When he had finished he folded it carefully and handed it back to Tex.
Relief and eagerness showed on his face, as he turned toward his horse.
“We’ll ride for the ranch. If I hit the trail hard enough I can catch
the midnight train at Painted Rocks.”
Tex grinned. He said nothing, but he was in his saddle before the major
reached his horse.
15. Home to Stay
The old yellowbelly whistler was uneasy. He scented the coming of
a cold snap, a heavy snow perhaps. The aspens were flaming yellow,
the oak brush purple and red, its rounded clumps looking like fine
upholstery laid on an immense piece of furniture. The calico chips
darted around in frantic haste as they gathered seeds to add to their
bulging granaries. Even the rockchips were more active than usual. They
did not spend so much time hugging their fat bellies and mooning into
the distance. The dog colony was as noisy and busy as usual but there
was a difference in their chatter. This was a time of uncertainty.
Indian summer had to end. It had held the high country in its drowsy
spell for many days. Now the air had a different feel.
Down by the castle rocks there was a newly made pile of rocks. This
disturbance of the scenery had upset the small folk of the meadow for
a while but now they were used to it. The calico chips used it as a
hiding place and even the whistlers had explored it carefully.
Suddenly the meadow rang with an eager whinny, followed by a loud
snort and the pounding of hoofs against the dry, hard ground. A black
stallion and a pinto filly broke from the head of the Shadow Canyon
trail. They raced wildly around the mesa, kicking and dodging.
They swung down past the castle rocks and the black stallion made a
magnificent show of shying and plunging as they passed the pile of
rocks. Saluting the mound with a flash of his heels he raced back
toward the old cabin.
Midnight slid to a halt before the cabin and called loudly. He advanced
toward the door shaking his head and snorting, his eyes rolling wildly.
The door of the cabin hung open. A blue-white wreath of smoke curled
out and up into the air, then old Sam stepped through the doorway. He
stood for a moment steadying himself, one hand against the casing, then
he shuffled outside and sank down on the ancient willow chair. As he
seated himself he dug into a pocket of his worn jacket and brought out
a handful of dingy lump sugar.
“No human critter could of got me outside today the way my rheumatiz
joints is shoutin’ fer a storm,” he said.
He held out one hand with two lumps of sugar in it. The black stallion
edged closer, his legs trembling, his nostrils flaring eagerly. The
pinto filly crowded ahead of him and her pink nose deftly whisked the
sugar out of Sam’s palm. Old Sam chuckled as he placed two more lumps
in his palm.
“Lady, you act plumb scandalous fer a wild hoss,” he said.
Midnight had edged close now. He gathered up the two lumps and crunched
them eagerly. Even after weeks of coaxing and tempting Sam had not
quieted all the fears in the heart of the stallion. Sam doled out the
sweets slowly, making them last as long as possible. When they were
gone he got to his feet, and picked up a tin pail beside the door.
Walking to a bare spot of ground near the corner of the cabin he
poured out a liberal measure of oats.
Midnight stood watching, ready to charge away. The pinto shouldered up
close to Sam, letting him run his hand along her neck. Watching her
gather up the oats was too much for the black; he crowded in to get his
share, but not until Sam had backed away.
Midnight and the pinto gathered up every grain of oats, then they
trotted out into the meadow and began feeding. Sam filled his pipe and
settled back to let the sun warm his joints. He was glad his visitors
had routed him out. The sun was really fine. After a few minutes of its
warmth he began thinking about walking down to the new prospect hole
he had dug at the base of the castle rocks. He chuckled to himself as
he thought about it but he did not move. He was remembering how he had
written to Tex asking him to dig a hole on that very spot. He wondered
what Tex would have done if he had dug that hole and then discovered
he had uncovered a vein of gold-bearing quartz. Sam had a feeling Tex
would have dug a buryin’ hole and let it go at that. That was what he
thought of Tex.
Out on the meadow a chipmunk had mounted a stone. His voice rang out.
“Chock! Chock! Chock!” like the rattle of an old alarm clock. Instantly
every chipmunk in the meadow raced to his sing perch and the meadow
rang with their song. The fat yellowbelly on guard stretched his neck
and blasted a short whistle, then pulled in his neck with a deep
chuckle. He always disapproved such a chatter.
Sam’s pipe rolled to the corner of his mouth and turned upside down.
One fumbling hand found the gold chain of his big watch. He pulled it
out and bent above the dial. His lips moved as he counted. When the
chorus died away he was grinning happily.
“One hunnert eighty a minnit,” he mumbled. “That there’s a youngster
jest comin’ into his growth. Come spring he’ll do two hunnert.”
As he tucked the ancient watch back into his pocket he sniffed the
air. Twisting his neck he looked up at the spruce ridge. Gray clouds
raced above the tops of the trees, and he could hear the moaning of
a cold wind rushing through the needles. Below the clouds moved a
curtain of white, swirling flakes. Sam got to his feet. His watery eyes
rested for a moment on a pile of baled hay stacked against the end
of the cabin and flanked by a great stack of split firewood. Tex had
fixed everything. Let the snows come, he’d be snug as any one of the
yellowbellies. And the two horses would not have to worry either.
“I reckon I’ll jest hole up fer a spell,” he said.
Down on the meadow Midnight had jerked up his head and was watching the
storm sweep across the mesa. Sam stood at the door looking out on the
scene until the form of the big stallion was swallowed by the wall of
snow.
As handsome as he is wild--that’s
MIDNIGHT
Son of a beautiful purebred mare and a wild stallion, the gangling colt
grows up under the stern law of the wild ... until his flying hooves
and bitterly learned store of experience make him leader of his own
untamed band.
The thrilling tale of a freedom-loving horse in the Western mountains.
SCHOLASTIC BOOK SERVICES
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Transcriber’s Note:
Spelling and hyphenation have been retained as they appear in the
original publication except as follows:
Page 20
and cerainly limited _changed to_
and certainly limited
Page 95
Midnight back away a few yards _changed to_
Midnight backed away a few yards
Page 103
One moonlight night as Midnight _changed to_
One moonlit night as Midnight