The Island Stallion Read Online Free Page A

of a horse’s skull is as hard as a rock,” he said, his face unsmiling once more. “You could break a hundred bottles over it without hurting the horse.”
    How did he know? thought Steve cynically. Had he ever been a horse? Had he ever been hit heavily over the head with a bottle?
    Tom hadn’t finished. “It’s not the bottle, but the water in the bottle that does the trick,” he said. And now his voice was slightly contemptuous of their silent criticism. “The horse thinks the water is his own blood as it streams down over his head and into his eyes. It scares him. It scares him so much that he never forgets it, and you won’t ever find him throwing back his head again.” Tom settled back in his chair once more, as though awaiting their reaction to his full explanation.
    Pitch was busy cutting his meat. Steve looked down and toyed with the food before him.
    Silence hung heavily about the room until, suddenly, it was shattered by Tom’s explosive laughter. “You’re both too soft,” he said angrily. And then, to Steve, “Why, I wasn’t any older than you when I used my first bottle on a horse’s head. We toughened up pretty young in those days.” He stopped, turned toPitch. “Or did we?” he added, smiling. “Perhaps I’m mistaken. Perhaps it was pretty much up to the man himself.” Once more he addressed himself to Steve. “Phil left England to go to college in the States, while I joined up with the British Army and went to India. I got put in the cavalry, and that’s where I learned the bottle trick. We used to get a lot of our horses from Australia in those days. They were ugly-looking animals called Walers. Uglier than the ones from Azul Island, and much bigger, too. They had a nasty way of throwing their heads back at you. The way we stopped them was with the bottle.” Tom paused, smiling. “Yes,” he added, “first the bull whip, running them until they’re groggy, then finish up with the bottle. It never fails to break a horse—one who’ll give you a decent fight.”
    Steve raised his eyes and studied Tom. Was that it? he asked himself. Was it the thrill of overpowering an animal in physical combat that Tom enjoyed so much? Tom was looking at him, nodding his large head. Nodding as though he had no trouble reading Steve’s every thought.
    “Yes,” Tom said, still smiling. “It’s a pity that there were so few horses with any spirit in this last group from Azul Island. There were only three of the whole lot of thirty that put up any sort of a scrap. They seem to have less spirit than they ever had. Now, fifteen years ago when I first went to the island it was different. There’d be about ten or more who’d give me a good workout.”
    Tom was silent, and Steve thought he had finished until he suddenly said, “There’s no other reason I wantto bring in these horses from Azul. They don’t make any money for me. Nobody will pay much for them. And then ten percent of whatever I do get has to go to the government. It doesn’t leave me with anything. Oh, I didn’t mind when I could look forward to a little fun, but if the horses don’t show more spirit next time, I’ll let someone else go to Azul Island.”
    And now Pitch was talking. Steve heard him telling Tom about their proposed camping trip to Azul Island, the trip he’d planned on taking for several weeks. Yes, Pitch was saying, he was still very much interested in the island in spite of what Tom had told him. He still believed that Azul Island had played a part in the Spanish colonization of the New World. He wanted to look around. Yes, and fortunately Steve, too, was interested in colonial history. He had asked to go. They planned to spend two weeks.…
    When Pitch mentioned their intended length of stay upon Azul Island, Tom laughed harder than before, and his chair creaked as though in resentment of the heavy pounds of flesh and bone that made up this man. Finally he sat forward again, his elbows on the table and his