The Island Stallion

by Walter Farley

  Pitch went closer to the exit, peering at the dark-green moss clinging to the wall above the hole. “I wonder—” he began, then stopped, leaning forward to run his hand through the moss.

  Steve saw Pitch’s fingers probe into the heavy growth on the wall. Then they bent until they were clawing, digging. And Pitch didn’t stop until he had a large area cleared of the growth.

  “It’s wood underneath!” Pitch shouted. “Wood, Steve, right above the hole!” His hands worked furiously now, clearing away more of the moss.

  The import of Pitch’s discovery didn’t register with Steve until Pitch had cleared an area six feet high and as many feet wide above the hole. Then Steve saw the paneled rectangular door and the beamed grooves above and below. It was a sliding panel!

  Now Pitch was digging far over on the side of the hole, and finally his frantic fingers found the indentations in the wood by means of which the Conquistadores must have pulled the panel across the grooved supporting beams. Pitch thrust his fingers into the holes and tugged hard, The door didn’t budge. Pitch then called to Steve, who got hold of the lower holes and pulled too. Together they forced the panel through the green moss. Then the door moved easily in the grooves, and before them was the opening to the sea, heightened by all of six feet!

  Even Pitch was quiet as they looked out upon the ocean. “It’s high enough now for anything,” he said finally. “Even to have gotten their horses through.” Then his gaze turned to the other side of the canal and he added, “There’s a panel over there, too. They come together over the middle of the canal.” His eyes gleamed.

  “We could get the launch through here, Steve! We could load her up with everything we find! Steve, do you realize what this means? Here we have an entrance to this lost world from the sea! We must be on the northwest tip of the island—don’t you think so, Steve? We could easily find it from the boat, couldn’t we?”

  But Steve wasn’t listening to Pitch. He hadn’t listened since Pitch had mentioned that the exit was large enough “even to have gotten their horses through.” But he wasn’t thinking of the horses of the Conquistadores. He was thinking of Flame. And as he looked at the hole, now more than ten feet high, he thought how easy it would be to get a small barge in to take his horse from the island. His horse! Flame!

  You shouldn’t even think of it, he told himself. It’s impossible.

  But I don’t think anything is impossible now, he thought soberly. And the hole is large enough to get a barge through. Even Pitch would agree to that.

  But you shouldn’t be thinking of it, he told himself again. You don’t even have Flame. You’re not going to have him. You gave Pitch your word you wouldn’t chase him any longer. And there’s something else even more important. What about the Piebald? What about the band? You want Flame to go back to his band, don’t you? What about all your talk of this perfect breed of horse—of the foals now in Blue Valley and those to come? Would you forget all that just to have Flame? Was it only talk to show Pitch how much you knew about horses—about breeding? Was that all it was, just talk, or were you sincere?

  I was sincere, he thought. I am sincere. It wasn’t just talk. I want nothing more than for Flame to lead his band again, for he’s their rightful leader. The band will never be the same if the Piebald remains their king. So I shouldn’t be thinking of taking Flame away, even if it were possible, which it isn’t.

  Steve’s eyes were focused upon Pitch, who was closing the panel door.

  “I don’t want to take any chances of this entrance being seen by anyone on the outside,” Pitch said. “We can always open it again when we’re ready to come in this way. What we’ve got to do now, Steve,” he added quickly and with great concern, “is to go back the way we came. That’s what we’ve got to do next.”

  “Sure, Pitch,” Steve said. “Sure.”

  With Pitch doing all the talking, they walked back through the tunnel until they came to the chasm. Steve kept looking ahead, hoping he might catch a glimpse of Flame.

  “We don’t have to get excited about this,” Pitch was saying in a high, broken voice. “We’ve got plenty of time to use that entrance and to do a good job of exploring this island. All I want to do now is to make sure we can get back to the dory all right. Then we’ll have two ways of getting to Blue Valley.” Pitch stopped, and then he said frankly, “I guess I might as well admit it, Steve. I’ve never been so excited about anything in my whole life!”

  “I know,” Steve said.

  Pitch looked at him as though he were seeing Steve for the first time in a long while. “But you don’t seem very enthusiastic about what we’ve found, Steve. You’re certain you realize—”

  “What this means? What we’re doing?” Steve finished for him. “Yes, I know, Pitch.”

  Pitch said slowly, “Then it’s still the horse, Steve. Isn’t it?”

  Steve shrugged his shoulders. “It’s still the horse, Pitch. I feel the same way about him as you do about all these other things. I just can’t forget him as you’d like me to do, Pitch.”

  Pitch said seriously, “I know how you feel, Steve, but I’m thinking of your safety. I must hold you to your promise that you’ll have nothing more to do with that wild stallion. He’s savage and would kill you if you ever got close to him. You know that as well as I do. If you’d only admit it, it would be much easier for both of us.”

  Steve didn’t want to argue with Pitch again. He felt, from what he’d seen of Flame, that the horse would not hurt him. So he said only, “I promised you that I wouldn’t run after him any more, Pitch. I’ll keep my word.”

  “And if you don’t run after him, you’ll have nothing more to do with him,” Pitch muttered as they went along. Then, changing the subject, “It’s getting dark. Good thing we’re going to camp out here. I wouldn’t like to think of going back through that marsh at night.”

  They had reached the end of the chasm, with the smaller valley spread out before them, when they saw the red stallion again.

  He stood knee-deep in lush grass. And the dusk cloaked his torn body in a soft veil of gray, concealing the ravaged flesh.

  His long neck was stretched down to the stream and the blood-matted mane fell about his head as he drank deeply.

  Pitch and Steve had stopped in their tracks. For different reasons, neither dared to move as they watched the red stallion. Pitch was afraid to move, lest the stallion attack them; while Steve was afraid his horse would run away again once he became aware of their presence.

  “What’ll we do, Steve?” Pitch asked anxiously. “We can’t camp here with him around. He might kill us.”

  Steve didn’t answer; his eyes were upon Flame.

  Pitch said, “We can go back to the cavern. We can stay there tonight.”

  “We need our packs,” Steve said simply. “We need food and water. We’ve got to stay here, Pitch. He won’t bother us. I’m sure he won’t bother us.”

  “Maybe he’ll move away, farther from our packs,” Pitch said hopefully. “Then we can get them and run for it.”

  The red stallion raised his head, ears pricked forward. Without moving his body, he turned his eyes in their direction. For all of a minute he stood there, quietly watching them; then he went back to his grazing.

  “You see, Pitch!” Steve’s words came fast. “He’d never bother us. He’s seen us, but it hasn’t made any difference to him. He’s not even leaving!”

  Pitch was talking now, but Steve didn’t listen. He hadn’t lost his horse after all! Flame was here, less than a hundred yards from where they stood! And most important, oh! most important of all, was that he hadn’t run away again at the sight of them. It was as though the stallion had accepted them. It was almost as though he knew they had helped him. Steve felt it had to be this way.

  “Steve! What’s the matter with you? You’re not even listening to me!” Pitch saw the specks of light in Steve’s eyes, and he knew that look, knew what it meant.

  Steve walked forward.

&nb
sp; “Steve! You promised me you wouldn’t go near him! You gave me your word! Steve!”

  The boy’s footsteps came to a halt, but he didn’t turn to Pitch as he said, “I’m only going for the packs, Pitch. I’m not chasing him. I promised you I wouldn’t chase him.”

  “But, Steve, he might …”

  The boy was walking forward again, toward the packs, toward the stallion! Pitch stood still, not knowing what to do, but his eyes never left the boy.

  Steve was talking now, calling to his horse. He had nearly reached the packs when the stallion stopped his grazing again and turned his small, wedge-shaped head toward the boy. No fire burned in the large, glazed eyes and only his blown-out nostrils disclosed any of his former hatred for the figure who continued to track him. But after a short time his nostrils stilled and he went back to his grazing.

  He knows me, Steve thought excitedly. He knows that I don’t mean him any harm, and that’s half the battle. If I could only follow through now by staying with him while he’s so tired. If only I hadn’t given my word to Pitch!

  Steve’s eyes left the stallion and rested on the packs. In his own would be the first-aid kit. He could cleanse Flame’s wounds and prevent any possible infection. He wanted to take care of him so much!

  But you promised Pitch, he reminded himself again. You told him you wouldn’t run after Flame, that you wouldn’t go to him.

  But what if Flame comes to me? he thought. What if I stand still and call him and he comes? I won’t be breaking my word then.

  You’re being silly, he told himself. He wouldn’t come to you, even now after all you’ve done for him.

  Why wouldn’t he? Steve’s other self argued. He hasn’t run away, has he? He’s standing there, not even moving, while I walk over closer to him. He knows I mean no harm. He knows I’ve helped him. He would have moved away by now if he didn’t.

  Steve turned to look at Pitch when he reached the packs. His friend was still standing in the same spot as though he had frozen in his tracks.

  If only he had come with me, Steve thought, I could have asked him. I don’t want to turn back now. I want to stay here, close by my horse.

  And all the time Steve continued talking, calling to the red stallion. Even though he thought of Pitch, wondering whether his friend had moved closer or not, he talked to his horse. And it seemed to him the stallion listened, for Flame paused more often in his grazing to turn to him.

  Steve could hear Pitch calling, but he didn’t take his eyes off Flame. If Pitch would only come over, he could reason with him, ask him to release him from his promise. If ever there was a time to win the confidence of Flame, this was it! The horse was too tired, too beaten to move away. Flame would respond willingly to all the kindness he could offer him, Steve was certain.

  But Pitch stayed and Steve could only remain still, talking to the stallion, hoping he would come to him.

  After a long while the red stallion, still chewing the grass, moved in Steve’s direction.

  Excitedly, Steve watched him, yet his voice remained low.

  “I’ve got to have patience,” he said aloud to himself, knowing it did not matter what Flame heard. “I’m sure he’s coming, but it’ll take time. I’m keeping my promise to Pitch. I’m not chasing Flame. I went for the packs because Pitch wanted them. I don’t have to go back right away. I didn’t tell him I would. I’m waiting, Flame. I’ve got lots of time. I’m going to stay here until you come all the way.”

  Now the red stallion was only twenty yards away from Steve, and the boy could see the bulging veins that stood out on the sides of his head. The ears were cocked, coming almost to a point at the tips. He held long blades of grass in his mouth without chewing them. He was listening to Steve, associating this voice with the one he’d heard so often during the past few hours. His large eyes became curous as he saw the figure lower itself close to the ground, so low that he had to look down to see him.

  Steve was squatting on the ground, knowing that the stallion would be less frightened of him if he made himself as small as possible. He was certain Flame was coming to him. It was just a matter of a few minutes before he would be able to touch him. He began talking once more, his hand outstretched.

  Five yards away the stallion stopped to graze again. Steve moved a few feet toward him, then came to a halt, thinking it best that the stallion come all the way to him. Flame moved closer, his teeth still chopping the grass. Steve waited, his heart pounding, and he tried to keep the excitement from his voice. The stallion didn’t look up again, but his head moved alongside Steve’s hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, the boy moved his hand to the stallion’s muzzle. Gently he touched the mole-soft skin, and there was no objection, no movement from Flame at his touch. Steve stroked the horse. “You’re mine, Flame,” he said. “You came to me, just as I’d hoped you would. It’s the way it should be.”

  After a while, Steve examined the blood-clotted wounds. There was only one that caused him concern. It lay low on the stallion’s chest and the open flesh was covered with the sand and dirt of the pit. It needed to be cleansed or it would become infected. The other wounds on the stallion’s strong body had already begun to heal.

  Steve rose to his knees, running his hand across the blood-caked mane. He wanted to take care of the chest wound, but he would have to wait until the stallion had complete confidence in him.

  So for a long time Steve stood beside his horse, moving with him as he grazed and always talking to him.

  The valley was steeped in darkness when he heard Pitch call to him. Turning slightly, he saw Pitch only a few yards away from the packs.

  “I’m all right,” Steve said, his eyes turning back to the stallion. “He came to me, Pitch. I didn’t chase him this time. I kept my word.”

  And the voice that came out of the darkness was low and resigned. “I saw him,” Pitch said. “I know, Steve. Now I know.”

  Pitch said nothing more, and when Steve turned to him again, he saw that Pitch had opened the packs and that the stove was already on the ground.

  Flame moved, but Steve walked beside him, always stroking, always talking.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “you’ll let me help you more. Tonight we’ll just get used to each other.”

  And when the small stove cast its light into the blackness, Pitch could see the outline of a boy and a giant horse standing close together.

  PITCH MAKES HIS MOVE

  15

  Lying on his back, Pitch stared at the stars. The moon had risen above the valley’s walls, so he knew that he had slept for a little while. He rolled over on his side to take another look at Steve’s blanket, knowing in advance that he wouldn’t find Steve asleep in it. Pitch wondered if the boy was going to use it at all.

  There was a nickering, a sudden start from the stallion, and Pitch’s gaze swept in his direction. He stood silhouetted against the walls in the moonlight. Steve was beside him, and across the still night air Pitch could hear the boy’s soft murmurings as he talked to the red stallion.

  Would Steve stay with his horse all through the night? Would he never sleep? Pitch’s own eyes were heavy and his body weary from the exhaustion of the day’s work and excitement, yet his mind was too active and Pitch tried his best to quiet it.

  You don’t have to worry about Steve any longer, he told himself. You’re silly if you do. The stallion won’t harm him. You’ve seen that for yourself. This relationship between Steve and the stallion is something you don’t understand, but you saw for yourself that the stallion came to Steve. He always will be his horse from now on. Maybe he always has been, for all you know. Maybe Steve has always known this red stallion, just as he says. Maybe it is his Flame. Who are you to doubt it? Not after all you’ve seen today. You’ve read of such things happening between man and horse, although Tom once said it never actually happened. “It’s storybook stuff” … those were his exact words. Tom, with his big hands. Tom, with his bull whip and bottle. Tom, who thought there was only one way to conqu
er a wild horse. “You’ve got to break him with your own hands,” he would say. “You’ve got to show him who’s boss!”

  I wonder what Tom would say to all this, Pitch thought. I wonder if he’d believe it even if he witnessed it, as I’m doing.

  But Tom never would have Steve’s patience. Never would he have waited for this stallion to come to him, urging him on only by kindness and by his voice.

  Pitch listened to the sound of Steve’s voice and thought again: It’s Steve’s voice that’s winning the confidence of this stallion as much as anything. I’m sure Tom couldn’t talk that way even if he wanted to. I don’t think there are many people in the world who could talk that way to a horse. A voice like that has to come from the heart. It’s like a mother talking to her child—that’s the only comparison I know.

  But stop thinking about it, Pitch told himself almost angrily. Maybe Steve can do without sleep, but you can’t. You’re getting old, man. You need your sleep. Steve’s young. He’s all right—he’ll always be all right. You don’t have to worry about anything. And if you have to think, you’d better think about the sea exit and what you might find in some of those other caves in Blue Valley. Better still, don’t think of anything until tomorrow. Tomorrow you can start looking for the way back to the dory, too. Steve will want to stay with his horse. You might as well accept that now, because nothing is more important to Steve than what he’s doing now. He might not like you to go alone, but just tell him you want to look around the caves all by yourself. Tell him you can get around faster that way, since you know exactly what you’re looking for. That’s a laugh, your getting around faster without Steve.…

  Pitch’s eyes left the boy and horse and turned to the stars overhead again. After many minutes, heavy lids dropped over his eyes and his breathing became deeper as he fell asleep.