moved with a sudden, frantic burst of his old speed, avoiding the thrashing forefeet of the Piebald.
Flame had escaped death by only a fraction of a second. He had put off the end, but only momentarily. With grim realization of what the outcome had to be, Steve awaited the red stallion’s return lunge at the Piebald.
But there was no charge by Flame, no wheeling to move quickly into position to renew the battle. Instead, the red stallion was running with faltering strides down the valley floor. Behind him the Piebald stood still, his large head raised high; then his scream of triumph rang through the valley, echoing to the broken rhythm of Flame’s fleeing hoofs.
T HE P IEBALD K ING
9
Through blurred eyes, Steve watched the running horse. He saw him veer across the valley floor until he had reached the tall grass and his glistening body was lost in shadows. But Steve kept on watching for him. He watched until none of the gray light of early evening was left and the valley had given itself over completely to the night.
Pitch had been silent, for he had seen Steve’s eyes, and thought he understood. Meanwhile, he had given his attention to the Piebald, watching him move about the band, his heavy head held high and confident. The Piebald had neighed repeatedly, and the mares had slowly broken their tight ring. Once more they had begun grazing. Where only the strongest could be king, they had no choice but to accept their new leader.
At that moment, Pitch turned to Steve. But it was as though the boy had heard nothing, had seen nothing save the red stallion. Pitch finally said, “But he wasn’t killed, Steve. He was smart enough to get away.”
Steve’s eyes were no longer tearful, but there was still a tautness to his face. “Yes,” he repeated slowly. “He was smart enough to get away. He knew he was licked.” Steve’s gaze met Pitch’s. “How bad do you think he’s been hurt?”
“Pretty bad. But if you think he ran away to die, you’re worrying needlessly. He’ll take care of himself all right.” And when Pitch saw Steve turn to look at the burly Piebald, he added, “But they have a new leader now. They don’t seem to mind it a bit, either. Just look at them, grazing away as though nothing had happened. You’d think they’d have a little to say about who’s going to be their boss. But they don’t, and they know it. All they can do is to accept this new king, ugly as he is.”
“I’m not accepting it.” Steve’s voice was low and heavy with emotion.
Bewildered, Pitch turned to him. It was several seconds before he said simply, “But you’ve got to.” Then he smiled, adding with attempted lightness, “You and I have nothing to say about this, you know, Steve.”
“I’ve got to do something.”
“But you can’t, Steve!” Pitch’s words were clipped. “And, frankly, I don’t understand why you feel it shouldn’t be this way. This is the survival of the fittest, a contest that’s been going on since the world began. Oh, I know how you feel about that red horse—I haven’t forgotten your dream of Flame. A remarkable coincidence. But you said yourself, Steve, that he knew he was licked. And it was this brute of a horse that whipped him. I don’t like it either, but you’ve got to accept it, Steve,” Pitch concluded flatly. “You couldn’t possibly do anything anyway.”
“I could try to kill the Piebald.” There was no doubt of the sincerity in Steve’s voice.
“You’re kidding,” Pitch said quickly.
“No, I’m not, Pitch.”
It was too dark to see Steve’s eyes. Pitch said, “You’re being silly, Steve. Come on, let’s get the fire going and have some food.”
But the boy didn’t move, and his head was still turned toward the band—toward the Piebald. “If only we’d brought a gun,” he said almost to himself. “I could have killed him with a gun. Still, there must be some other way.”
“Steve!” Pitch’s voice was shrill. “What in the world
Flame had escaped death by only a fraction of a second. He had put off the end, but only momentarily. With grim realization of what the outcome had to be, Steve awaited the red stallion’s return lunge at the Piebald.
But there was no charge by Flame, no wheeling to move quickly into position to renew the battle. Instead, the red stallion was running with faltering strides down the valley floor. Behind him the Piebald stood still, his large head raised high; then his scream of triumph rang through the valley, echoing to the broken rhythm of Flame’s fleeing hoofs.
T HE P IEBALD K ING
9
Through blurred eyes, Steve watched the running horse. He saw him veer across the valley floor until he had reached the tall grass and his glistening body was lost in shadows. But Steve kept on watching for him. He watched until none of the gray light of early evening was left and the valley had given itself over completely to the night.
Pitch had been silent, for he had seen Steve’s eyes, and thought he understood. Meanwhile, he had given his attention to the Piebald, watching him move about the band, his heavy head held high and confident. The Piebald had neighed repeatedly, and the mares had slowly broken their tight ring. Once more they had begun grazing. Where only the strongest could be king, they had no choice but to accept their new leader.
At that moment, Pitch turned to Steve. But it was as though the boy had heard nothing, had seen nothing save the red stallion. Pitch finally said, “But he wasn’t killed, Steve. He was smart enough to get away.”
Steve’s eyes were no longer tearful, but there was still a tautness to his face. “Yes,” he repeated slowly. “He was smart enough to get away. He knew he was licked.” Steve’s gaze met Pitch’s. “How bad do you think he’s been hurt?”
“Pretty bad. But if you think he ran away to die, you’re worrying needlessly. He’ll take care of himself all right.” And when Pitch saw Steve turn to look at the burly Piebald, he added, “But they have a new leader now. They don’t seem to mind it a bit, either. Just look at them, grazing away as though nothing had happened. You’d think they’d have a little to say about who’s going to be their boss. But they don’t, and they know it. All they can do is to accept this new king, ugly as he is.”
“I’m not accepting it.” Steve’s voice was low and heavy with emotion.
Bewildered, Pitch turned to him. It was several seconds before he said simply, “But you’ve got to.” Then he smiled, adding with attempted lightness, “You and I have nothing to say about this, you know, Steve.”
“I’ve got to do something.”
“But you can’t, Steve!” Pitch’s words were clipped. “And, frankly, I don’t understand why you feel it shouldn’t be this way. This is the survival of the fittest, a contest that’s been going on since the world began. Oh, I know how you feel about that red horse—I haven’t forgotten your dream of Flame. A remarkable coincidence. But you said yourself, Steve, that he knew he was licked. And it was this brute of a horse that whipped him. I don’t like it either, but you’ve got to accept it, Steve,” Pitch concluded flatly. “You couldn’t possibly do anything anyway.”
“I could try to kill the Piebald.” There was no doubt of the sincerity in Steve’s voice.
“You’re kidding,” Pitch said quickly.
“No, I’m not, Pitch.”
It was too dark to see Steve’s eyes. Pitch said, “You’re being silly, Steve. Come on, let’s get the fire going and have some food.”
But the boy didn’t move, and his head was still turned toward the band—toward the Piebald. “If only we’d brought a gun,” he said almost to himself. “I could have killed him with a gun. Still, there must be some other way.”
“Steve!” Pitch’s voice was shrill. “What in the world
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