valley and listened to the birds. He had plenty of company today! Not once did he think fearfully of what had happened the day before at sunset. It was something he was glad to have experienced. How many other people had seen a glowing meteor fall to earth? And wouldn’t it add further interest to the written record he’d kept of his life on Azul Island?
Steve thought of the filled notebooks he had hidden away. They told of his finding Flame and the band and all the exciting times he’d shared with them. They were something he had kept completely to himself. Even Pitch didn’t know of them.
When Steve had washed the breakfast dishes he wanted very much to share this glorious morning in play with Flame. But first he had some work to do. There was the stove to be cleaned, crates of provisions to be opened and stored away, blankets and clothing to be aired. There’d be time later for Flame, plenty of time, all the rest of the day.
For several hours he worked, emerging from the cave every so often to look at the horses. He always drove himself back inside. But the desire to play was very strong on such a day! Finally he was finished except for getting a fresh supply of water. Picking up a bucket, he climbed the trail. The birds, still perched beside the waterfall, flew away at his approach. He was sorry that he had interrupted their song.
One, a bright blue bird with crested head, dove headlong down the wall, not leveling off until just before he reached the pool. The other, a mottled brown-backed bird, was less daring. He glided down, circling several times before coming to rest.
Steve made a mental note to get an accurate description of them for Pitch, who’d probably tell him that the previous night’s wind and rain had swept these birds to Azul Island from Antago.
Steve got his water from the rushing stream and then returned to the ledge. Now for Flame!
The red stallion and the band had stopped theirplay and were grazing. The air remained crisp and cool even though it was almost noon. This had never happened before, and Steve marveled at it. Even the marsh at the far end of the valley wasn’t sending up its foul vapors as it usually did at this time of day. He looked for the birds but couldn’t find them. He hoped he hadn’t scared them away. They belonged with this lovely day.
Steve whistled to Flame and the red stallion came loping toward him as he hurried down the trail. Flame stopped a short distance away, neighed and tossed his head, his heavy forelock falling over his eyes.
“Come on,” Steve called.
The stallion shook his head but finally he came forward.
Steve gathered Flame’s forelock. “I keep braiding this so you won’t go blind trying to see through it, and you keep loosening it somehow,” he said, laughing. “Stand still now, and we’ll do it over again.”
Flame tossed his head when Steve had finished, and the braided forelock moved up and down like a thumping whip. Steve slid onto the stallion’s back.
Flame didn’t bolt as he had done the previous afternoon. He stood restless but unmoving, awaiting commands from Steve’s legs. Finally the light touch came and he went off at a slow gallop.
Steve kept Flame at that gait for a long while. They went down the valley, circled the band and came back. It was a day meant for riding and Steve intended to make the most of it. Just to be astride his horse, to be alone with him, was more than he could ever want.
But that wasn’t exactly what he had thought yesterday, he reminded himself. Hadn’t he wanted Flame’sgreatness to be appreciated by others? Hadn’t he once again daydreamed of racing Flame? Yes, he admitted all this and he knew the reason for it.
Steve recalled the colorful poster he had seen in the Cuban air terminal during his long flight from the United States to Port of Spain, Trinidad, on his way to Azul Island well over a month ago. He had read it with great interest, as he did anything that had to do with horses.