The Island Stallion's Fury Read Online Free Page B

fingered the cat-o’-nine-tails he had found in the tunnels that morning.
    When Steve had finished, he took the short-handled whip which Pitch offered him for examination. He felt the nine knotted leather lines, each about three feet long, which were fastened to the handle.
    â€œThe Spaniards used it for flogging?” he asked Pitch.
    â€œI guess so … sometimes,” the man replied quietly.
    â€œThen in many ways Tom is like them,” Steve said. “Tom and his bull whip.”
    Pitch went over to the stove to clean it. It was obvious that he didn’t want to discuss the stepbrother with whom he’d lived on Antago for the last two years.
    â€œFlame and I went to Lookout Ledge today,” Stevesaid after a while. “We saw the band there—eight mares with foals, and the stallion. Tom must have taken all the weanlings and yearlings in his round-up last year.”
    â€œI guess so,” Pitch said, moving away.
    Steve’s eyes wore an expression of concern as they followed Pitch. No matter how often he’d tried he couldn’t get Pitch to talk about Tom. Tom had been commissioned by the government of Antago to remove the surplus horses from the spit of Azul Island every five years. He would leave a small band to propagate … at the present time it consisted of the eight mares and a stallion. Tom sold the horses for what he could get and took his fee, the remainder of the money going to the government of Antago. But the meager sum of money received for the small, wiry horses wasn’t important either to Tom or the government. Steve knew that Tom acted as agent solely for the pleasure of gathering and then breaking these horses to his iron hand and will. The government was interested in Tom’s “wild horse round-up” solely because of the pictures and stories they could place in foreign newspapers as a result of it. It was one of these pictures that Pitch had sent him last summer.
    Tom hadn’t been at his Antago sugar cane plantation when Steve had arrived from the United States a few days ago. And all Pitch had told him was that Tom was away. Nothing more, even though he’d asked several times.
    Steve didn’t want to think about Tom any more than Pitch did, so he turned his thoughts now on Flame. The stallion had taken his band far up the valley andSteve was thinking of joining them when Pitch called to him from the entrance of the cave.
    â€œI want to show you some of the things I’ve found in the tunnels and chambers,” Pitch said, taking the lantern. “I have them in here.”
    They walked to the far end of the cave, and Pitch placed the lighted lantern beside a wooden box. Removing the lid, he began taking out the relics that were there. With great care, he placed them on the ground one at a time … a tarnished silver goblet, a horseshoe, a heavy shoe stirrup of solid bronze, beautifully engraved; a short sword, a long lance or spear, which the Conquistadores carried into battle; a helmet and a coat of mail with its interlinked rings and riveted ends to protect the wearer; and more, much more. It took Pitch all of fifteen minutes to remove his precious relics from the box and show them to Steve.
    â€œI don’t believe there’s a finer private collection in all the world,” Pitch said proudly as he put the things back in the box.
    When they left the cave, they stood for a while on the ledge overlooking Blue Valley. Flame and his band were far away. The bay mare was still grazing in the clearing.
    â€œWant to see a little of the tunnels this afternoon, Steve?” Pitch asked. “I’d especially like to show you where I have all our extra supplies stored.”
    He led the way up the trail to the waterfall, then stopped at the great opening where the underground stream flowed. Taking a flashlight from his shoulder bag, he said, “I want you to enter these tunnels only incase of an