The Island Stallion

by Walter Farley

  They were just behind the larger rock, and Steve saw the small alcove where the smaller rock joined the larger one. While he steadied the dory, Pitch jumped out onto the rock and grabbed the boat. “Hurry, Steve,” he said.

  Steve followed, his feet slipping on the slimy, moss-covered rock.

  “Pull her up now,” Pitch said.

  Together they lifted the prow out of the water and then swung the dory sideways until she was directly behind, and protected by, the larger rock. That done, they sat down quickly beside the dory. For a moment they said nothing, each listening to the heavy thud of waves crashing against the face of the rock.

  Finally Pitch asked, “Now what, Steve? It’s just about as bad as in the canyon.”

  “But it’s not as smooth or as steep,” Steve pointed out hopefully. “Maybe we can get a foothold someplace and be able to climb up.”

  “It’s difficult to tell from here,” Pitch said.

  Simultaneously they looked in front of them at the low, dark rock that stretched before them to the wall. Their first task would be to cross it safely. They waited for the waters to drain from the rock, and saw the green, slippery moss that grew there.

  “We’ll have to be careful,” Pitch cautioned. “Very careful.”

  Steve’s eyes were still fixed upon the rock. He studied it intently for a few minutes more before suddenly crawling forward on his hands and knees. He pushed away some of the green vegetation, exposing a long, uneven niche in the rock. A few feet above it he uncovered another. His eyes followed the indentations up to the small crest of the rock, then he turned to Pitch. “They’re almost like steps,” he said excitedly. “Do you think the sea could have cut them in the rocks, Pitch?”

  “I suppose so,” Pitch returned, after studying the niches. “Although they do seem to be about the same distance apart, leading right across. Maybe they even go to the wall.”

  “It’s hard to tell,” Steve said, “because the moss covers them so well. If we can find them, they’ll give us a little foothold.” Steve’s hands were on the rock. “Shall we try it now, Pitch?”

  Pitch knelt directly behind Steve. “I suppose so,” he said hesitantly. “I’ll never be more ready than I am now.”

  They heard a wave strike the face of the rock, then the waters came pouring over the sides sweeping past them and covering the low rock. They waited until the waters drained from the rock and the way was clear again; then Steve went ahead, followed closely by Pitch.

  Steve was in a full crouch, his hands clawing at the rock in front of him until he found the cuts; then he brought his feet up to them, while his hands moved forward again, searching for the footholds he hoped he’d find beneath the green moss. When he reached the small crest of the rock he started down toward the wall, only a few feet away. It was more difficult finding the cuts now—or perhaps there were none, he thought. He stopped looking for them as he heard the next wave crash with a dull thud against the large rock behind him. There were only a few seconds now before the water would sweep over the path he was following. Ahead he saw a long narrow ledge on the wall, a few feet above the rock. He let go. Sliding and slipping, he went over the remaining bit of rock until he had reached the wall, then quickly stepped up to the ledge. He no sooner had turned his back to the wall than Pitch was climbing up beside him.

  They stood there catching their breath while the wave covered the rock, swept up to their feet, then receded, rolling seaward.

  “It could have been worse,” Steve said encouragingly.

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose so,” Pitch said slowly. Then he turned and looked at the ledge running along the wall. “We can’t just stand here, Steve, so let’s see where this goes. If it comes to nothing we’ll just have to call it quits and go back again.”

  Moving slowly, Steve sidestepped along the narrow ledge. He had gone about thirty yards when the ledge ended abruptly at a shallow cleft in the rock.

  Steve and Pitch stood there, saying nothing, their eyes taking in the smooth stone on either side of them. Overhead, the cleft rose about fifty feet. Pitch moved off the ledge and into the cleft beside Steve; there was just enough room for both of them. “Well, this seems to be the end,” Pitch said dismally. “There’s no place to go from here.”

  Steve hated to turn back now, for there was no other way, he knew, of setting foot onto this part of the island. But Pitch was right—there was no place to go from here. No place but up.

  Pitch had moved back to the ledge, and Steve pushed his foot against the wall of the cleft. As he did so he could feel a small indentation in the rock. He swept his foot along it, scattering the small stones that lay there. He could see it clearly now; the indentation was worn almost smooth, but it was still very much like the uneven cuts in the rock they had just climbed over. He glanced at a point a few feet above the first cut; then, quickly, he leaned forward, his fingers finding another niche in the stone wall. Looking above his head, he saw several more slight indentations; but whether or not they went all the way up the wall he could not tell, for they were too shallow to be seen from any distance.

  Pitch had turned away from him, but Steve excitedly called him back. Pointing to the lowest niche in the wall, he said, “Look, Pitch! Here are those cuts again.”

  Crouching down beside Steve, Pitch felt the cuts; then after Steve had shown him the others, he said, “They certainly look the same, Steve. But why would anyone—”

  “Here’s why!” Steve said quickly. He braced his back against the wall opposite the cuts, then raised his feet to the first niche. And there he sat, wedged between the walls of the cleft!

  “You mean …” Pitch began.

  Instead of replying, Steve placed one foot in the next cut, then slid his back up the wall until he was still higher above the ground.

  Pitch looked up at him in amazement. “Can you come down the same way?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Steve said, and he slowly made his way back to the ground. “We can do it, Pitch,” he said. “We can go right up, as long as those cuts are there to give us a foothold!”

  “But do you think they go all the way up, Steve?”

  “I’m sure they do. Those cuts were made by someone as a way of getting up from this ledge! Come on, Pitch,” Steve said anxiously, “you can easily do it.”

  Once more Steve was in the cleft, and a few seconds later he was moving slowly up between the walls. Pitch watched him for a few moments, and then, when it was obvious that Steve wasn’t going to wait for him or turn back, Pitch hesitantly started up himself. He found it easier than he had expected as long as he kept his back hard against the opposite wall and his feet firmly in the cuts. Soon he was gaining upon Steve, who had to spend time uncovering each cut before going on.

  As Steve neared the top he could see the wide ledge above. He pushed himself up the remaining few feet and then crawled out upon it. Pitch was just behind, and Steve reached down to help him up.

  They stood there side by side, looking about them. Below was a precipitous drop to the sea, and above another sheer wall of yellow stone. Pitch had begun to shake his head dismally when he saw the box-shaped stone that rose a few feet above the center of the ledge. “Look here, Steve,” he said, running to it.

  When Steve joined Pitch, he found him looking down a darkened shaft. The hole was about four feet in area, and the stone around it was squared off at each corner, “Somebody built this,” Steve said, looking down into the blackness of the hole. “What is it? Where does it go?”

  Pitch was running his hands around the sides. “This isn’t stone,” he said. “It’s a mortar of some kind. See how it crumbles, Steve. I’d say it’s hundreds of years old.”

  “What’s the hole for?”

  “I don’t know for sure. But it could be a ventilation shaft,” Pitch returned.

  “You mean to tunnels below?” Steve asked. “Tunnels that may lead to the interior of the island?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Steve,” Pitch replied quic
kly. “We’ve really stumbled onto something.”

  Looking down the shaft, Steve said, “How deep do you think it goes, Pitch?”

  Pitch looked about the ledge. “If we had something to drop we could tell approximately,” he said. They searched the ledge but could find nothing on the bare rock; then Pitch put his hand in his pockets and finally withdrew a long piece of white chalk. “This will do,” he said. “I must have picked it up at the Customs office when you arrived.” Leaning over the shaft, he added, “Listen closely now,” and dropped the chalk.

  Steve heard Pitch counting to himself as the chalk fell; then came the soft thud as it struck the bottom of the shaft.

  Pitch said, “About a hundred feet, Steve, as close as I can figure it.”

  “The rope could easily do it then,” Steve said quickly.

  “You mean for us to go down?” Pitch asked, his eyes becoming grave. “You think we should, Steve? We don’t know what we’ll find below. It might be dangerous.”

  “We can’t stop now,” Steve pleaded. “We’ve been looking for a possible way into the interior. We’ve found it. We can easily fit into the shaft.”

  Pitch was silent for a moment; then he said thoughtfully, “And if we find nothing, we can always climb back up the rope. We’ll tie it securely around the top of the shaft here.” His voice had become eager again.

  “Yes,” Steve added, “and we’ll have our flashlight to use below. We’ll have to go back to the dory to get it, and we should get our packs, too. If we find anything and decide to stay, we’ll need everything we have with us. We’d better make sure the dory will stay fast as well.”

  Pitch nodded. “Yes, we’d better, as you say.”

  But they still stood at the edge of the shaft, looking into the blackness below.

  “We found what we were looking for, Pitch.”

  “Much more, actually,” Pitch said slowly. “Much more.”

  UNDERGROUND WORLD

  6

  Steve placed the lid on top of the can of Sterno, extinguishing the flame over which the midday meal had been cooked. Pitch had risen to his feet, wiped his tin plate clean with a paper towel, and walked over to the shaft. He stood looking down for a few minutes, then glanced up at the overcast sky and said, “We’re in for some rain, I’m afraid.”

  Smiling, Steve snapped the lid tightly over the can and placed it inside his pack along with the small folded stove. “It won’t bother us, not where we’re going,” he said.

  On the ground about them, besides the backpacks, were two coils of rope, one lying on top of the other, and Pitch’s pick and shovel, which he had insisted upon bringing along. It had taken them well over an hour to get everything from the dory. They had made their way slowly down the cleft in the wall and along the narrow ledge until they were again facing the sea-swept path to the large rock and the dory lying behind it. Then Steve had insisted upon making the two trips across the low coral rock for the equipment, and Pitch, knowing the boy was surer footed than he, had let him go. On the first trip, Steve had returned with one pack, and on the second he had tied the pick and shovel to the rope so Pitch could haul them across the turbulent waters. Steve had followed with the second pack fastened high up on his shoulders so it would not hinder him as he bent far over on his way across the slippery rock. The rest had been easier, for Pitch had gone up the cleft again and pulled up all the equipment by rope while Steve waited below.

  They had then decided to eat, telling each other they were hungry, when actually they weren’t. The meal had been unhurried, almost leisurely, until each wondered if the other was deliberately putting off their descent down the shaft.

  Steve told himself repeatedly that there was nothing to be frightened about. He really wasn’t frightened. Well, perhaps just a little, he admitted to himself. There was always something frightening in the unknown. They didn’t know where the shaft led, if indeed it was a shaft as Pitch thought. The darkness below made it worse. If it were light, it would be different. One could do all sorts of things in the daylight. That’s why everything else they’d done today was different from what faced them now. Yet, Steve argued with himself, wouldn’t it be much easier than climbing over the slippery rock and scaling the cleft? All they had to do now was to slide down a rope. But it was black, terrifyingly black, below—and that made all the difference in the world.

  Pitch left the shaft and walked toward him. There was nothing else to do now. There was no more equipment to be brought up to the ledge. They’d eaten. Everything was put away. They couldn’t just sit there. It would be raining soon.

  Pitch started to say something, paused to clear his throat, then began all over again. “Shall we lower the packs?”

  “We’d better go down first and see what’s there,” Steve said slowly. “No sense lowering the stuff if we’re not going to stay. We’d just have to haul it up again.”

  Pitch nodded without saying anything. After a few minutes, he picked up one of the ropes and went over to the shaft. Steve followed.

  Pitch drew the rope around the top of the shaft, tied one end, then pulled hard, tightening the knot. Satisfied that it wouldn’t slip, he threw the coil down the shaft. The rope disappeared into the darkness of the hole, uncoiling like a brown snake until the end struck the bottom with a dull thud.

  “At least we know the rope reaches the bottom,” Pitch said.

  Steve said quietly, “I’ll go down now, and when I get to the bottom I’ll let you know whether to lower the packs or not.” He reached for the flashlight Pitch was holding in his hand.

  “I’m going first,” Pitch said, just as quietly as Steve.

  “But it’s easier for—” Steve began.

  Pitch already had hold of the rope and one foot was resting on the edge of the shaft.

  “Pitch, it’s so much easier for me to climb up, if it’s necessary. I can make it fast, Pitch!”

  Straddling a side of the shaft, Pitch placed the flashlight in his pocket and carefully buttoned the pocket flap over it. “Someone has to be in charge of an expedition like this,” he said with feigned lightness. “And because of my age I’m electing myself.” He looked up at Steve. “There’s really nothing to it, you know. We’ve gone through much worse today.”

  Pitch’s hands tightened about the rope as he slid into the shaft and began working his way down, his feet pressed stiffly against the wall. Steve watched him until he could no longer see the top of Pitch’s white hat, and he found himself thinking how silly it was for Pitch to be wearing his hat when he was going a hundred feet or more under the ground. Taking off his own hat, he flung it to one side.

  For a few minutes, Steve could hear the sound of Pitch’s feet scraping the wall. The rope was taut. Fingering it, Steve waited until the sounds from Pitch no longer reached his ears and the rope had lost its tautness. He knew then that Pitch had reached the bottom of the shaft. “Pitch! Pitch! Are you all right?”

  There were a few seconds of frightening, agonizing silence, then Pitch’s voice came up the shaft so suddenly that the sound burst upon Steve’s ears. “I’m all right. It’s a tunnel, just as we thought, Steve. I’m going to look around.”

  “Pitch! You’d better wait,” Steve called. But as the echo died away, there was only deadening silence within the shaft.

  Hanging over the side, Steve waited. Every minute seemed an hour. His thin lips were set, his dark eyes stared into the blackness below. If anything happens to Pitch, he thought … If anything happens …

  Then Pitch’s voice came up the shaft again. “Come down, Steve,” he called excitedly. “I’ve really found something.”

  Steve had one leg inside the shaft when he saw the packs lying on the ground. “Pitch!” he shouted. “What about the packs? Shall I lower them down first? Are we going to stay?”

  “Yes, Steve. Yes, you’d better lower everything down. We can’t stop now—not now.”

  Anxious to get below, Steve hurriedly tied the second coil of rope about the packs an
d lowered them into the shaft. “Coming down,” he called to Pitch. “Watch your head.”

  When he felt the packs touch the bottom of the shaft, he flung his leg over the side once more. But then he stopped again when he caught sight of Pitch’s pick and shovel. Surely Pitch wouldn’t have any use for them; they’d been enough of a nuisance already. He grabbed hold of the rope to let himself down, then hesitated again. Finally he called down the shaft, “How about the pick and shovel? Do you want them, too?”

  “Oh, yes, Steve,” came the quick reply. “I want them very much.”

  Shaking his head, Steve climbed out of the shaft and pulled up the second rope. When he had drawn it to the top, he tied the pick and shovel to it and lowered away. As soon as he heard the implements strike bottom, he was on his way down the shaft.

  He lowered himself quickly, the rope sliding between his hands. The darkness closed in about him, and a strong current of air from above beat upon his head. He took one quick look up at the sky and saw the heavy gray clouds overhead, then he turned away. He didn’t have far to go when Pitch flashed the light upon him, then switched it off again. Steve figured that Pitch was saving the battery, but he thought it unnecessary since they had brought along four extra batteries.

  The light came on again and Steve saw Pitch’s face behind the glow as his feet found the stone floor.

  “Notice how smooth it is,” Pitch said, flashing the light downward. “We’re not the first here by any means. Look here too, Steve.”

  He flashed the light over the yellow walls on either side of them, and then directed it toward the ceiling, which was so low that the two of them had to stand in a crouched position beneath it. “This tunnel is partly natural in formation, Steve. It could have been cut as far back as the Ice Age, then pushed up by some giant upheaval.” Pitch paused, then added with great awe, “But a lot of it has been worked out by hand. Notice the perfect regularity of the cutting on each side and on the ceiling here.”

  Steve’s eyes were following the beam of light. “By whose hands?” he asked.