The Island Stallion's Fury Read Online Free Page A

of Flame and his band. But then, as Pitch had said, the ancestors of these horses mayhave been those which hadn’t met the high equine standards of the Conquistadores, so the Spaniards had kept them on the spit and away from their favorites which grazed in Blue Valley. Then, too, the spit being what it was, windswept and with scarcely any grass, it was only natural that the horses would be very much unlike those of Blue Valley in size and quality.
    Steve heard Flame behind him. He got to his feet to stand beside the stallion. Flame’s ears were pitched forward, his nostrils dilated. He neighed to the mares below. The band scattered, the mares whinnying. Only the small stallion stood his ground. He raised his head, whistling. Flame’s answering challenge shattered the cry of the rival stallion. Then Flame moved uneasily up and down the ledge, his red body trembling in his eagerness to fight.
    Steve went back to the cave, calling Flame and hoping he’d follow him. He kept walking and calling, but only when he was nearing the trail did he hear Flame’s hoofbeats behind him. He began his descent to the floor of Bottle Canyon with the stallion following him.
    Later, when they walked into Blue Valley, Steve looked toward camp and saw that Pitch had already returned. Flame moved away from Steve, cantering toward his band. The boy watched him until he heard the sudden breaking of the cane stalks on his right. Turning around, he saw a heavy bay mare making her way alone through the tall cane. He watched her until she came to a stop in a small clearing not far from the wall. From her size and actions he knew she’d be giving birth to a foal sometime during the afternoon or night.
    Steve turned away. He was going to take a special interest in this foal to come, for never had he seen a newly born foal. He’d watch the mare carefully and, if possible, go to her the moment the foal was born. Would it be a colt or filly? Would it be a red chestnut like Flame or a dark brown bay like the mare?
    Feeling like the luckiest and happiest boy in the world, he shouted to Pitch and burst into a run to tell him about the foal to come.

T HE B AY M ARE
3
    â€œFinish your beans, Steve,” Pitch said a little sternly, “and stop watching that bay mare. She won’t have her foal during the daytime. Mares are just like women; they have their babies at the most unreasonable hours of the night … just to make it hard on you,” he added, smiling.
    Steve smiled too. “How do you know, Pitch? You’re a bachelor.” Finished with his beans, he put the empty plate in a pail of hot water.
    â€œWhat was the name of that couple who ran the boarding house on your block?” Pitch asked in reply to Steve’s question.
    â€œMr. and Mrs. Reynolds,” the boy answered. “You ought to remember … you lived there five years.”
    Nodding, Pitch said, “Yep. And she had three children while I was there. They all were born between three and five o’clock in the morning. Mr. Reynolds and I often discussed how unreasonable it was of Mrs. Reynolds.”
    â€œBut children and foals
can
be born during the daytime,” Steve insisted.
    â€œPerhaps, but I doubt it.”
    Steve reached for the can of powdered milk and, removing the lid, put several tablespoonfuls of the powder into a pint jar half-filled with water. He stirred briskly until the powder was thoroughly mixed with the water, then raised the jar to his lips and drank.
    â€œThis powdered milk is just like the real thing,” he told Pitch, when he had finished.
    â€œIt
is
the real thing. It’s whole milk. All you did was add water.”
    Steve glanced again at the clearing on the far side of the valley. The bay mare was standing up, grazing. She seemed to be in no hurry to have her foal. Perhaps Pitch was right and she wouldn’t have her foal for hours and hours. He washed the dishes while Pitch