Chapter V: Part 5

Midnight whirled about and stood with lowered head, hot breath whistling through his flaring nostrils, his eyes rolling so that their white rims gleamed in the morning sunlight. He watched the body of the chestnut turn over and over in the air as it shot down to land in a mangled heap on a pile of rocks. Stamping and snorting he waited for the chestnut to get to his feet and start back to finish the battle. The chestnut did not move, but lay, a mangled heap of broken bones and twisted muscles at the foot of the cliff. Midnight challenged his adversary many times as he stood there on the high rim. When he got no reply he turned toward the mares who had not stopped their eager feeding. The pinto nickered eagerly and left her grass pulling to trot toward him. The mares lifted their heads for a moment as he came closer. Midnight trotted to them, dancing as he approached.

With the pinto beside him he raced once around the meadow, then the two joined the mares. Midnight was too excited to start feeding. He walked around sniffing at the colts, edging up to the mares. The old ones laid back their ears and warned him to keep his distance. When he tried to nose one of their colts they humped their backs warningly. But they accepted him as the master of the band and waited for him to assert himself in the savage and harsh manner to which they were accustomed. But Midnight lacked much in leadership. He really wanted to be a member of the band and not a leader. He wanted to play with the pinto filly. His rage had cooled and with it had gone much of the strange power he had felt while battling the chestnut stallion. The pinto did not understand why she was interested in Midnight but she stayed close to his side and divided her attention between him and the lush grass.

Toward evening the mares became restless. They were used to seeking cover before night fell. One old mare moved away from the band. She had decided that this new leader was not going to seek a safe retreat. She shook her head, then moved into the timber. The others followed her with Midnight and the pinto coming along behind, nipping at each other and making a great show of kicking their heels and lashing at each other. And the old mare changed the course the chestnut had so insistently followed. She headed across the ridge and down into a deep valley.

The mares followed their new leader. They expected the chestnut stallion to come charging through the woods after them to drive them back toward the high ridges, but they did not want to go higher and did not intend to head that way until he came.

The moon swung up over a spruce ridge and flooded the valley with white light. The wise old mare selected a sheltered little meadow for a stopping place. It was small and the band of thirty horses had to crowd close together, but it smallness offered protection against cougars and wolves. The cunning and harsh leadership of the chestnut stallion had taken much of the natural wariness away from the mares. They had always depended on him to guide them.

Late that night Midnight had his first chance to take his place as protector and lord of the band. The mares and the colts had bedded down. Midnight and the pinto had raced around the clearing and come to a halt on a wooded knoll overlooking the meadow. They stood close together, snorting and pawing and playing. They pretended to see forms in the black shadows under the spruce. While they were standing there a lank cougar passed below the high point. His nose wrinkled and his long, black-tipped tail lashed as he scented the mares and colts sleeping in the open.

Circling to windward the yellow killer crept to the edge of the meadow. He was looking for the sentinel he expected to find on guard over the band. When he saw no guard he snarled softly and his yellow eyes flamed. He peered intently at the bedded horses and his eyes fastened on a colt standing close to his mother who was lying in a deep hollow. The colt’s head was down and his furry rump was toward the king cat.

Silently, like a tawny shadow, the cat slid through the grass toward the unsuspecting colt. When he was within striking distance he drew his powerful legs under him and flattened his head between his massive forepaws. His long claws moved slowly in and out, sheathing and unsheathing their sharp points; his lips pulled away from his fangs.

Up on the knoll Midnight was dancing on his hind legs, his ears back, his bared teeth reaching to nip at the neck of the pinto. She whirled and lashed out at him with her slender feet. Midnight dodged the blows and crowded against her, shoving her roughly to one side. She laid back her ears and sunk her teeth into the loose skin of his shoulder.

The pain angered Midnight and he whirled to teach her a lesson. His lunge was halted as the savage scream of the cougar cracked the stillness. His forefeet struck the ground with a thud and he stood beside the pinto, staring toward the mares. The frightened whinny of a colt mingled with the cry of the big cat. That cry from the stricken colt sent a surging rush of rage through Midnight. He plunged straight down the slope toward the spot where the cat had made his attack. In the meadow the mares had lurched to their feet and were snorting and milling about. With a ringing call the black stallion charged to the rescue.

The cougar had landed on the colt’s back, striking him down instantly. The little fellow was dead in a moment. Standing on the limp body of his victim, the yellow killer faced the angry mares who plunged around him. Midnight charged through the circle and leaped at the killer, his ears laid back, his battle cry ringing. This was something the cougar had not expected. He had decided there was no stallion with the band. Now he arched his back and reared to meet Midnight. He lashed out at the black as he came in.

The cougar stayed a minute too long in facing the enraged Midnight. He expected the stallion to swerve and rush past, but Midnight did not swerve. He lifted his forefeet and struck straight into the face of the killer. His smashing hoofs descended on the head and shoulders of the king cat. The blows sent the cat rolling and tumbling over and over on the grass. Instantly the mares joined the attack. Once a leader had braved the terrible fangs and claws of the cat they were ready to finish the job.

Screaming and rolling, the cougar tried to escape, to get to his feet and leap clear of the smashing hoofs, but the hoofs beat him down and trampled him. Teeth tore at him as he twisted and lashed. His claws and teeth were poor protection against the sharp hoofs of the horses. He was battered back on the grass each time he tried to get his feet under him. In a minute’s time he was a bloody pulp and the mares had backed away. They stood in a circle around him, their nostrils flaring, their eyes rolling.

Midnight danced about snorting and blowing excitedly. He was aware again of his power and was beginning to understand the job he had taken over from the chestnut. The mares stood waiting for him to decide what should be done. When he did not offer to lead them away from the scene of the kill an old mare struck out and the others followed except the mother whose colt was dead. She stood over him nickering and calling, trying to get him to his feet.

The pinto went with the mares. She had been badly frightened by the attack and wanted to stay close beside her mother. Midnight trotted after the band and stood by while they bedded down in another meadow near the scene of the attack. He walked around sniffing and snorting, expecting another cougar to come out of the night. When nothing happened, he lay down for a few hours’ rest just before dawn. One of the old mares at once got up and set to feeding apart from the herd. She seemed to sense that Midnight had much to learn about leadership.

The next day the band fed in the meadow until the old mare decided they should move on. Midnight did not offer to lead them, so she struck out. They headed deeper into the lush grass country. They passed many white-faced cows and yearling steers. Occasionally a lordly bull would saunter out of the shade to watch them. The band had invaded Major Howard’s finest grass belt. They did not know the danger this would bring, all they thought of was the fine grass and the plentiful supply of water in the clear, rushing streams. There was aspen shade for the middle of the day and there was spruce timber for shelter from the sudden and violent thunderstorms with their cold rain.

The band soon forgot the chestnut stallion. Midnight was an easy master. He let them wander where they wished. But he was a fierce and terrible fighter when roused. They accepted him without much concern, giving way to his few demands.

The thunderstorms seldom lasted over half an hour and the spruce needles shed the rain. Midnight was happy in the easy life. The pinto played with him, racing over the grass in the mornings or at dusk. She did what he demanded without making any demands of her own. And now Midnight had begun to watch for enemies while the herd fed. He was slowly learning what was expected of him.

12. Doom of the Band

Tex dropped the saddle he was dragging across the yard. He faced Major Howard, his lean face expressionless. The major was out of sorts that morning and when he was in such a mood he was short-spoken. In his irritation he did not notice that Tex was not in a jovial frame of mind either.

“The boys tell me there’s a band of thirty wild horses down on the aspen range. I want you to take a crew up there and clean them out.” He added as an after-thought, “Use rifles and make sure none of them get away.”

Tex scowled. He was dead set against shooting any sort of horse, even a scrub.

“Why not round ’em up and sell ’em?” he asked.

The major grunted disgustedly. He could never understand the quirks in the nature of his range boss. Tex knew the wild horses were worthless on the market. They would be tough and mean to handle, half of them never could be broken, and they would not bring ten dollars a head. To the major this was a simple matter of business. Tex did not object to raising fine cattle for slaughtering, therefore he should not object to killing a few head of worthless horses. The major spoke impatiently.

“You know it would cost more to corral and handle that bunch than we could get out of them,” he snapped. “Kill them all. While I had more open range than I could use I wasn’t so particular, but I’ve just bought two big herds of whitefaces. It will take every foot of grass I own to run them.” The major noticed that Tex was not convinced. He added more quietly, “This is business, big business.”

“I reckon so,” Tex answered as he reached down and caught the horn of his saddle.

The major was ruffled by Tex’s reply.

“If you don’t want to handle this job I’ll get another man to take charge of it.”

“I’ll handle it,” Tex said grimly. Then he added almost to himself, “I thought that chestnut stud was the smartest hoss on the range. Never figured he’d trail his herd down into cow country where the boys ride regular.”

“Well, he has and I want that scrub stuff killed,” the major answered.

Tex dragged his saddle into the corral and whistled to his bay gelding. The bay trotted to meet him and Tex let his mouth relax into a grin as he patted the big fellow’s neck.

“I reckon we’ll have to do the dirty work,” he said softly.

Tex picked four men to go with him, men who could handle saddle carbines expertly. He did not want any careless shooting. The kills would have to be clean. When he explained the major’s orders to the men they growled but none of them refused to go. They all shared Tex’s dislike for the job, but they would carry out the boss’s orders.

The execution crew rode away from the ranch with thirty-thirty rifles slapping under their stirrup flaps. The boys who had reported to the major had given the location of the herd. Tex did not expect to find the band where the boys had seen them, but by riding to that meadow they could pick up the trail. Thirty horses would leave plenty of tracks.

Tex speculated gloomily on the foolish turn the habits of the wild band had taken. The big stallion at their head must have lost his cunning or else he had met with disaster and a younger leader had taken his place.

Silently the men rode through the timber and up the long ridges leading out of the lower valley. They entered the aspen belt and took a trail which ran along the top of a rocky ridge. From that ridge they crossed over to another and finally followed a red-granite cliff wall which led them into a narrow meadow. Towering rims of granite formed a half circle around the meadow with scattered spruce close to the wall on the lower side where the meadow broke off into the lower country. The entrance to the narrow valley was grown over by a stand of young aspen trees. Tex hoped to pick up the trail of the herd in this meadow and follow it from there. He halted his men in the dense cover and scowled across the meadow.

At the upper end fed the band of wild horses he sought. They had not moved their feed ground since the boys had first located them. Tex was disgusted with them; they were acting like brood mares in a farm pasture.

“The chestnut stud isn’t running that bunch,” he said gruffly.

The men nodded agreement and Shorty Spears, horse-breaker for the ranch, spoke up.

“Must be an old mare at the head of that herd. This is just the spot an old biddie would pick, grass knee-high, water close in.”

Tex nodded. He was studying the band carefully. Finally he gave his orders.

“Two of you take the upper side along the wall. Keep in the brush cover until you work your way down close to them. Make clean jobs, no gut shooting or broken legs. Shorty, you and Cal take the lower side along the rim. They won’t break down over that wall. I’ll wait here in the outlet and pick off any that break past you boys. They have to come out this way. Now get going.”

The men divided forces and rode away. They were eager to get a bad job done. It would be no sport for them, shooting down a band of mares and colts. The horses were trapped and would be helpless before the repeating rifles. Tex watched them go. He noted grimly that even the wind was against the wild horses. They had no sentinel posted and Tex could spot no stallion among them. The execution should be quick and complete.

Midnight fed beside the pinto filly. They had just finished a race around the meadow and were standing in a clump of young spruce and balsam looking down over the lower valleys. The rim at their feet broke off steeply. It was matted with brush; ragged rocks jutted up through the green leaves. The black stallion was nervous and uneasy, though he did not know why. He had a feeling of confinement, similar to that he had felt while he was a prisoner on the meadow below the high mesa. He tossed his head and pawed, snorting impatiently. He was making ready to drive the band out of the closed meadow.

With a sharp nicker he whirled and laid his ears back. The pinto edged away from him. With mane flaring and tail flowing around her heels she kicked high into the air and dashed away toward the mares. Midnight charged after her, sending his warning call ringing across the meadow. The mares jerked up their heads and stared at him, then looked around uneasily to see what had startled him. When they saw nothing they fell to feeding again. They had no intention of leaving this horse heaven until they were driven out, and their experience with Midnight did not make them leap into action the way a command from the chestnut would have acted on them. This meadow was a safe retreat from cougars and wolves. No killer could slip up on them with the steep rim on one side and the high walls on the other.

Reaching the first mare, Midnight rushed at her, and when she did not leap away he fastened his bare teeth on her rump. The mare squealed in pain and surprise. Humping her back and bucking up and down she fled before his lashing attack. Midnight rushed at another and sent her staggering as his powerful chest smashed into her. It had taken him days to get worked up to this nervous and panicky pitch, but he was roused now and meant to drive the band out of the meadow.

He was swinging around the band, slashing at the mares with his teeth or crashing into them to get them to hurry when the silence of the valley was shattered by two crashing reports from near the base of the cliff. An old mare near Midnight staggered, turned halfway around, then sank to the grass without making a sound. Another mare plunged into the air and slid on her side until she came to rest in a grassy hollow, her legs beating the air in jerky spasms. The two shots did more to snap life and action into the band than Midnight had been able to accomplish. The mares charged wildly toward the aspen grove which marked the outlet to the trap. Mothers crowded colts along as fast as the little ones could run. The spitting and crashing of rifles echoed along the canyon wall and mares plunged into the grass mortally wounded at every leap the band took. A cloud of dust rolled up behind the charging band and in that cloud of dust Midnight ripped and lashed as he drove the wild ones on.

The pinto filly had rushed to her mother when the first two shots rang out. Together they were leading the flight. Suddenly the mother swerved and staggered, plunged down into the grass. The pinto planted her feet and halted. Her sudden checking of speed saved her from a bullet which had been aimed to break her neck. The lead burned across her forehead raising a red welt. The little mare whirled and plunged back into the mass of plunging horses. She found Midnight savagely working to force the pace, and crowded close to him.

The charging rush of the mares was checked and they swerved in bewildered fashion as a new burst of flame and death leaped at them from a scrub-oak clump on the edge of the rim well down toward the aspen grove. Mares collapsed and colts leaped and ran about wildly. Midnight had only one thought, to drive the mares out through the aspen grove and into the open country. This was his first meeting with the deadly guns of man and, like all wild things, the death which struck from far off filled him with terror. But he did not desert the mares. A great rage possessed him and almost crowded out the terror. Screaming and biting he worried the flanks of the rapidly thinning band.

Death held the little meadow in its bloody grip. The grass was marked by twisted bodies. But Midnight knew there was one avenue of escape. When the mares hesitated before the guns of Shorty and Cal he attacked their flanks with fury and drove them on. This was not just the way Tex had planned it. He had figured that the fire from the oaks would make the band circle back around the meadow, giving his men at the lower end a second chance to kill. He had been sure the band would mill around and around the mesa until all were shot down. Now he sat in his saddle waiting grimly. It looked as though he would have to turn them.

Midnight had driven the mares into full gallop again. Many went down as they swept close to the oak clump where the two men were hidden, but they charged straight past. Suddenly the vicious crack of a rifle broke from the edge of the aspens. Tex had opened fire, his carbine working with speed and murderous accuracy. In the hail of lead mares went down, bucking and twisting. The attack was too much for the remnant of the band. They dodged and tried to double back. Midnight reared and plunged at them, screaming madly. The bewildered and panic-stricken animals turned toward the rim and the black stallion sent them plunging toward it. When they would have halted at the dizzy drop, with its matted and ragged rocks, he lashed them on over the edge. They tumbled downward, plunging, rolling, sliding, and twisting. One mare went down with a broken leg, another struck a jagged pinnacle of rock and rolled over. Behind them Midnight and the pinto took the leap as they came to it.

Tex lowered his rifle. His eyes were on the black stallion and there was an excited gleam in them. He had never seen such a magnificent beast or such a feat of reckless daring. But all these feelings were over-shadowed by something else. He was looking at the long legs, the powerful chest, and the slender body of the stallion. He was sure he knew the sire and the dam who had brought him into the world. Here was the son of the chestnut stallion and Lady Ebony! He wet his lips and then grinned eagerly. He did not give the escape of a small part of the herd any thought. His mind was making plans, leaping ahead to what he would tell Major Howard. He was remembering the voice of Sam saying that Lady Ebony would come back to the high country. He was roused by Shorty’s amused voice.

“What’s eatin’ you? You look like you was seein’ angels or somethin’. Me, I’m plumb sick to my stummick.” Shorty moved over to where he could see the trail the band had made in escaping. He bent forward and stared at it. “You don’t mean to say some of ’em went over the side here?”

Tex nodded, reloaded his carbine, and made ready to end the misery of the mare who had broken her leg.

“How many got away?” Shorty asked. He had a sudden suspicion that Tex had not taken full advantage of his chance to clean out the band. Certainly the slope where the wild ones had plunged down to safety was open and within easy range of the spot where Tex was planted.

“Ten head and a stud,” Tex said and spoke as though to himself.

“Must have been a fire-eater of a stud to force them mares down over a cliff like that,” Shorty said with a quick grin.

“He’s a fire-eater,” Tex agreed softly.

The other boys had ridden up and were looking at the trail. Cal spoke in his slow drawl.

“I passed up one shot an’ you can report it to the major if you want. I had a broadside at a black stud but jest couldn’t find my sights for watchin’ him tear into those mares.”

“That stud learned something here today that he won’t forget,” Tex said grimly.

“I’ll bet a month’s pay we don’t ever catch that bunch in a place like this again,” Shorty said.

The others grinned. They knew the stallion would be wiser and more wary now that he had met the guns of men. They were not sorry he had got away. Any horse that would lead a crazy charge down the face of a brush-matted cliff deserved a break and was no scrub. One of the others said:

“I caught a glimpse of him through the dust. He’d make any of the major’s blooded stuff look like a broom tail if they were stood up side by side. Can’t figure where such a hoss could have come from, must be a freak.”

Tex grinned but said nothing. He knew where the big black came from. As he moved away he remarked:

“I reckon he might have some good blood in him.”

A plan was forming in the mind of the range boss and he was eager to work it out. He wanted to be alone so that he could get it all ready. He turned to his men.

“You boys ride on down to the ranch and report to the boss. Tell him I’m staying on the trail of the ones that got away. I’ll be in late tonight.”

Shorty grinned. “Figure you might be lucky enough to dab a rope on that black?” he asked.

“I’d trade every horse in my string but the bay for him,” Tex admitted.

Shorty laughed. He had missed the real significance of the remark. He thought Tex wanted the black as a saddler. Tex was a nut when it came to saddle stock. He remarked in an amused voice:

“It’ll be a case of sneaking and trailing from now on, and when you do dab a rope on him you’d best have some help handy. That baby bites and kicks like a cougar.”

Tex nodded full agreement as he rode away from the men. He took the regular trail off the mesa and rode around to the foot of the cliff. He had no desire to send the bay down over the trail the black had made for the mares. At the bottom of the cliff he picked up the trail and followed it. He did not have to dismount to tell the tracks of the stallion and those of the mares. The tracks of the leader were clean and deep, with perfect alignment. The trail led up the mountain in an almost straight line and the horses did not halt until they reached the barrens high under the rims of the Crazy Kill peaks.

As he rode along Tex planned his course of action. He would ambush the black and drop a rope on him. Taking him now would be possible, Tex figured, because the black was still a colt and could be handled if properly worked. If he stayed in the wild another year he might develop into a horse that could never be broken. He was just learning the tricks of leadership; that was shown by the trap the mares had walked into. Tex grinned eagerly as he planned. He was sure he could convince the major, once he looked at the midnight black, that his theory about Lady Ebony was correct.

He was also sure that, once convinced that Sam had not stolen the mare, the major would get the old man out of the pen quickly. Major Howard was an influential man and a determined one when he set out to do anything. He was a shrewd judge of blooded horses, and that would help.

Tex was eager to capture the black at once. He had a feeling that if Sam was ever to come back to his high mesa he would have to be set free that summer. He had talked to the warden and to the doctor at the prison and both agreed with him. It was Tex’s way never to consider failure. The bay he rode was the fastest horse on the range and Tex had accumulated some money and a great many possessions betting on his speed. He was at his best in rough country where sure-footed accuracy counted for more than speed, and he was powerful enough to handle the black once Tex roped him. The bay could lay a five-year-old maverick on his side without budging when the bulk of the critter hit the rope.

Tex halted behind a clump of bushes on a ridge and sat looking up a long, narrow valley. His keen eyes lighted up with excitement as they rested on a small band of horses feeding close to the timbered edge of the valley. He spotted the black stallion with a pinto filly feeding beside him. Deliberately Tex studied the ground and laid plans. It would take most of an hour to circle the band so as to have the timber as a screen for his approach and the wind right. And his plan called for sending them back into the lower country instead of higher into the barrens where trailing would be tough. He was sure the band would feed for at least an hour. The mares were fagged and hungry, he could see that, even at a great distance. Heading the bay up a narrow ledge, he climbed to the top of the rim overlooking the valley and dropped down on the far slope.

The pace Midnight had set in driving the mares into the high barrens had taxed their strength. They had finally refused to go any further and he had let them pause to feed and rest. But he was nervous and kept moving about, jerking his head high, sniffing and snorting. The excitement of the battle on the mesa below was still in him. He lacked the experience of the chestnut stallion and he did not know the country into which he was headed. Instinct had made him strike for the barrens, but he did not know where to go now that he had reached the rough country. So he let the mares feed while he moved about pulling a mouthful of grass here and there. The pinto stayed close by him as though sure he would protect her from all danger.

Midnight fed above the mares and close to the narrow trail leading up to a saddle on the ridge above. The meadow was really a bench with a rock wall on one side and a slope on the other. It lay along the edge of a deep canyon but it was not a trap as the little meadow had been; it was wide open at both ends and timber grew close, affording shelter which could be reached in a few seconds. Midnight watched the trail above and the meadow below, he tested the air, and he listened.

Suddenly he stiffened, his nostrils flaring as he listened intently. The sound of a loosened stone had come to him. The pinto sensed something and edged close to his side. Midnight snorted warningly and the mares instantly lifted their heads, ready to leap to cover.

Then Midnight saw a rider come charging out of the timber above him. The man was mounted on a bay gelding and he was standing up in his stirrups whirling a rope around his head. The bay was reaching out with powerful strides which carried him over the rough ground at terrific speed. Midnight shrilled a warning to the mares. The pinto froze into terrified stillness. She did not run but stood rooted beside Midnight, staring at the oncoming rider. Midnight expected the roar of guns but no explosions came. He was sure other men were hidden below to cut off any retreat. But he was on the wrong side of the band of mares to drive them upward. He did what the charging cowboy least expected, something the chestnut stallion never would have done. He laid back his ears, bared his teeth and charged straight at the bay, screaming his challenge as he leaped forward.

Tex was startled by the action. He gave the bay his head so the big horse could save himself. The bay swerved, dodging aside as he would have dodged the charge of an infuriated bull. The loop Tex was swinging sagged and jerked into a useless snarl as the bay lunged aside. Midnight plunged in and reared, lashing out with his hoofs, reached for the bay with his teeth. His pounding hoofs missed the saddler but his teeth nipped a gash in the horse’s flank. The bay was a high-spirited, nervous beast. He plunged and ducked his head. Grunting and snorting he started to pitch. Tex had to ride as he had never ridden before to control his mount. He saw Midnight whirl past, then wheel to charge again--the black stallion had gone stark mad. His hand dropped to the butt of his forty-five. He might have to shoot the big fellow to save himself. He jerked out his gun and fired twice into the air over Midnight’s head.

The crashing reports jarred some of the rage out of the black stallion. He pivoted rapidly. In that moment Tex got the bay under control and jerked in his rope. The shot had helped quiet the saddler. With the pinto at his side Midnight broke for the trail leading upward.

Tex set his spurs and sent the bay thundering after the black stallion. This was just what he wanted. He worked desperately to swing out a loop. The black had a hundred yards of go in the open the way he was headed. With the big colt running away Tex could drop a rope on him and pull him down. He raised himself in the stirrups and swung out his loop. Then Tex’s eager grin vanished. The black stallion was running away from his bay! He was leaving the fast saddler behind in a way that made the saddler seem slow. Tex overhauled the pinto and passed her. She was running her best, with neck stretched out and mane flowing, heading upward in an attempt to follow the black.

Tex held on until the black stallion thundered out into the saddle above and vanished down the far slope. He had not used his spurs on the bay. He knew his horse had given everything he had. On the ridge Tex pulled up while the bay blew and pawed. Suddenly Tex laughed. He had never seen such speed. Now he was certain he had to capture the big fellow. He just couldn’t have a horse on the range that was faster than the one he owned. Then his laugh died away. He had a more important reason for catching the black; in the excitement he had forgotten it.

Midnight charged through the timber and kept going until he reached the bottom of a canyon. He halted in a dense growth of river alder and called long and loud to the pinto. From far up the mountainside she answered him. Her call was frantic and excited. Midnight listened and heard a shout from the man who had chased him. He kept still for a long time. Finally he called to the pinto again and she answered him from lower down the slope. She was hurrying to him as fast as she could make her way down the rough slope. Midnight waited and listened. After a time he decided the bay and his rider were not coming down into the canyon. He could hear the pinto rattling stones and nickering eagerly but there was no other sound.

The pinto broke into the alder stand in answer to Midnight’s call as she reached the bottom of the canyon. They stood close together, watching and listening.

Up on the ridge Tex turned the bay and headed him back down to the long meadow. Night would soon settle and he would have no chance to trail the black after dark. His best course was to follow the mares and drive them into the lower country so that the black stallion would have to come down to round them up. He sent the bay galloping along the trail the fleeing mares had made as they raced off the bench.

Deep in the canyon Midnight was undecided what he should do. He was certain he could not stay where he was. The man would be sure to follow them. He finally followed his instinct, which was to put many miles between himself and the country which had proved so dangerous. He did not have a strong urge to follow the mares and round them up. His instincts for leadership were not strong enough to make him look for them. He knew of only one place where he had always found safety and where he had never been attacked. That place was the little meadow under the rim below the high mesa. With a snort he headed up the sloping side of the canyon.

The high mesa was far across the mountain on the southern edge of Major Howard’s range lands. The old mares had led the band along the backbone of the continental divide and down into the lower valleys. Midnight’s wild instinct led him unerringly toward the place of his birth and early colthood. All that first night the two horses moved steadily south and east, climbing upward, following the twisting course of the divide. At dawn Midnight and the pinto fed close to a stand of balsam and spruce. Five mule deer and a band of elk fed on the same meadow. Midnight had a feeling that the deer and the elk would take alarm if anyone approached, or it might have been his early friendship with the old timber-line buck that made him select the spot as a feed ground.

The deer and the elk paid little attention to the two horses. They recognized them as friends and harmless. Neither of them was tainted by man smell or the reek of a saddle blanket pungent with leather oil.

Midnight had learned another of the lessons of the wild, a lesson that had long since been mastered by the elk and the deer. He would feed at dawn and at dusk, when the dim light made rifle sights blur and when the eyes of the upright walking killer play tricks on him. All other wild things had learned that this was the law. The sunlighted meadows were death traps by day, but in the soft dusk of early morning or evening there was safety. The big killers obeyed the rule but they did it as much because their prey came out of hiding at that time as for protection.

The band of elk was headed by a lordly bull who was master of the ten cows by virtue of his power and savage willingness to battle any other bull who challenged him. As soon as his own sons grew to the age where their antlers began to spread into sweeping weapons and their desires led them to notice the cows he drove them out of the band. They were then lone bulls for a time until they were able to win a harem of their own. Nor was he satisfied with defense of his cows. He challenged the world to come and try to wrest supremacy from him. His battle moods came in midsummer and fall when his shoulder veins were swelling with hot blood, and his antlers had hardened to polished lances of bone.

The old wapiti bull was beginning to feel this pugnacious mood. For weeks he had been rubbing and polishing his antlers. They gleamed like the varnished surface of a piece of fine furniture. During the gray of dawn he had fed near the cows. Now that the white light from the sun-bathed peaks above was making the meadow bright he began to show signs of restlessness. The cows fed on, eager to fill their paunches before they sought deep cover to lie down. The old wapiti shook his horns and lifted his muzzle. He trotted to a little knoll well above his band. He was filled with courage and desire, proud of his fine antlers, conscious of the power within his twelve hundred pounds of weight. He halted and filled his lungs with air, raised his muzzle, and poured forth a guttural roar that increased in pitch to bugle tones, higher and higher until it was a blasting whistle which screamed through the still air of the mountainside. The high notes quavered and faded, ending in a half dozen savage grunts. The old bull seemed to know that he had just executed one of the most inspiring pieces of music in all nature’s mountain songs. He shook his head and listened intently.

From a ridge above the challenge of the lord of the band was answered. The challenger’s bugle was not so high and shrill nor so powerful, but it was eager and defiant. The bull on the knoll shook his head and grunted angrily, then he lifted his muzzle and sent his call ringing out through the high, thin air. Again the challenge was answered. A young bull was coming down the slope.

In a few minutes the challenger appeared, breaking out of the spruce at a trot, his head swinging back and forth. He was lighter than the old bull by a few pounds and his antlers were not so well filled, but he was big boned and young, a lone knight seeking the end of the lonesome trail, desiring to take his place at the head of a band of cows.

The old bull squealed a few short, sharp blasts, his horns swept low, he charged to meet the invader. The young bull came on, his pace increasing to a fast lope. The two great brutes crashed together, their horns locking as they grunted and twisted. For several minutes they tussled in this manner, each trying to sweep the other off his feet. The young bull was forced to his knees but came up with a lunge which set the old one back. Then they parted and backed away, heads still lowered, spreading horns protecting vital parts of their bodies. For a moment they halted with eyes glaring and breath whistling into the grass, then they charged again and the force of the impact sent them both to their knees. The old bull was well aware of the advantage his few extra pounds gave him and he kept hammering away, thrusting the youngster to his knees, eager to weaken him so that he would expose himself to the ripping thrust of horns.

The combatants had moved down the slope and the young bull was now on the downhill side, moving slowly toward the spot where Midnight and the pinto stood watching the battle. A yellow band of sunlight had slipped out across the grass. The mule deer, led by an old doe, had slipped into the timber to seek a hiding place for the day. The cow elk ceased feeding and stood watching the combat out of calm eyes which betrayed no hint of favor for either warrior. They would accept the lordship of the winner without question. After all, their real leader was a wise old cow who knew the ways of the trail and the best hiding places. The lord of the herd was master only for the time of the love moon.

The smaller bull began to retreat a little before the onslaught of the old bull. They had been fighting a quarter of an hour and the youngster’s wind was beginning to give out. They had backed away, the challenger still savagely willing to charge but very short of breath. As they lunged together, the young bull went down; this time one foot slipped and he fell sidewise. Instantly the monarch shook his horns free, backed away a step and lunged, his lances lowered. The sharp daggers of bone ripped into the side and flank of the young bull. He floundered and struggled as the death wound racked him, then he got to his feet with an effort. Staggering but with his defenses again down and ready he lunged at the old bull. The monarch smashed at him. This time he was down with his whole side exposed and the victor was on him.

But the old bull was at the end of his strength, too. He tried to tear his adversary into shreds but did not have the power. After a half dozen weak thrusts he backed away and stood, blowing and grunting savagely, while the youngster got to his feet and staggered toward the woods seeking a secluded spot where he could lie down.

Midnight snorted and pawed. The cows shook their heads and turned toward the woods following the lead of the wise old cow. With a savage grunt the monarch trotted after them.

Midnight turned away. With the pinto filly at his side he trotted into the timber and there they bedded down for the day. That night they moved again, heading along a ridge with the white stars lighting the rocky trail. All night Midnight kept going and dawn found them at the edge of the high mesa. With the gray light about them they fed close to Sam’s deserted cabin. Midnight felt safer in these familiar surroundings. Even the cabin seemed to give a friendly protection to him. He crossed the meadow and halted near the head of the trail leading down into Shadow Canyon. The pinto was afraid of the cabin at first but when Midnight walked up to it in passing across the meadow and sniffed about, she joined him. The man smell was dead and old. It lacked the pungent freshness which roused fear and caused flight.

The old yellowbelly whistler mounted his perch on the high rock and sounded an “all’s-well” whistle. The mesa came to life with the chipmunks singing their chorus, the prairie dogs barking, and the other chips racing about. With the coming of life to the meadow Midnight headed down the trail to cover.

The two horses came to the crevice which lay across the ledge trail. It was no longer a barrier, being filled with rocks and torn tree trunks with gravel piled in the cracks. Midnight moved down into the sunken mass and over it. Together the two plunged up the far side. Now Midnight felt secure. With the high walls towering above him and the sheer drop into Shadow Canyon guarding the lower side, there was only the entrance across the debris-filled crevice and that was hidden from the main trail by bushes screening the rocky ledge.

He set to feeding and the pinto joined him. They stayed in the shade of the aspen grove which afforded them complete protection from anyone who might halt on the rim above and look down. All such a pair of eyes would see was the pale-green canopy of the aspen grove. They grazed peacefully until they had eaten their fill, then Midnight led the pinto to the bed of needles under the Engelmann’s spruce over near the wall. There they lay down in the cool shade.

13. Tex Takes the Trail

Tex followed the trail of the mares until almost dark. He came up with them several times and sent them galloping into the lower valleys. He did not shoot any of them because he wished to leave them as an attraction for the black stallion. With less than half an hour of daylight left he headed over a ridge to one of the high-country cabins where food and horse feed were always kept ready for wandering cowpunchers and for the boys who rode the high range during the summer.

As he slid from his saddle he saw that someone else was using the cabin for the night. Yellow light streamed out of its one dusty window and the smell of frying bacon and boiling coffee floated down to the corral. Tex unsaddled the bay, watered and grained him, then rubbed him down. He always cared for his horse before thinking of his own comfort.

As he shoved open the cabin door he saw Major Howard and Shorty sitting at the plank table nailed to the wall under the window. They were just finishing a meal of hot biscuit, sugar syrup, bacon, and coffee which Shorty had fixed.

“Hello,” Tex greeted them. “Any grub left?”

Shorty grinned widely and the major nodded. Shorty shoved aside the packing box he had been sitting on.

“I’ll scorch some bacon and warm up the coffee,” he said. “I overestimated the boss’s appetite for biscuits, so there’s plenty.”

“Shorty made enough biscuits for six men,” the major said.

Tex eased his lank frame down on the packing box. He was ravenously hungry. Reaching for a biscuit he broke it, exposing its snowy center. The major watched him as he crammed half the biscuit into his mouth.

“I have been down to the meadow where you trapped those wild horses. You did a nice job, Tex.”

Tex grunted as he shoved the other half of the biscuit into his mouth.

The major added by way of defending himself against killing the mares:

“Not a single head worth rounding up.”

“I reckon not,” Tex agreed. Then he leaned forward and spoke with considered slowness: “The stud got away and he’s a winner. He outran my bay on level ground in a straightaway run.”

The major showed his interest at once. He had always wanted to capture a real wild stallion that had quality. He had an idea he could do some crossbreeding that might have interesting results.

“Stallion?” he asked.

“A black stud, long two-year-old. Fine racin’ legs, big chest, and the heart of a winner. He turned on me and come near knockin’ me out of my saddle.” Tex grinned as he remembered that charge.

The major smiled too, an eager smile. “He must have spirit. Racing legs and body--h-mmm.” He picked up a biscuit absently and crumbled the corner of it. Then he shot a penetrating glance at Tex and asked, “And you think you know his sire and dam?”

“That colt is out of Lady Ebony by the chestnut stud that led the wild band. The chestnut is the thief that stole your mare, major. The chestnut is gone, can’t figure exactly how he got killed, but I’m sure he’s dead. The black colt couldn’t handle him, not yet. But the black was running the band and he got the job too young.” Tex reached for another biscuit. “I reckon he’s learning fast, though.”

Major Howard got out his pipe. He loaded it carefully, then lighted it. He was watching Tex narrowly. For a full minute he puffed deeply, the blue-white smoke curling up around his graying hair. When he spoke his voice lacked the assurance it usually carried.

“You never give up once you get an idea, do you, Tex?”

“It’s as clear as day to me,” Tex said simply.

“This long two-year-old can outrun anything on my ranch.” The major spoke almost to himself.

“And rest while he’s doing it,” Tex said.

“You better bring him in. He may not be so good as he looked today, but if he has the markings of that black mare I’ll know it. I’d like to experiment with a stallion like that.”

“I figure on bringing him in if it takes all summer.” Tex leaned forward. The bacon Shorty had set before him went unnoticed. “If you figure I’m right you could do something for Sam?” Tex knew he was treading on dangerous ground. Mention of Sam always irritated the major.

“When I’m convinced, I’ll do what I can,” he said gruffly.

Tex knew there was no use talking any more about it. He would round up the black and bring him in. Once the major set eyes on the stallion he would know the black was Lady Ebony’s son. Then the major would get Sam out of his cell. Tex had the major figured that way.

With supper over the men rolled up in their blankets. The major slept in the wall bunk while Tex and Shorty bedded down on the floor. They did not stay up longer than the time it took to wash the dishes and split some wood for the breakfast fire. They would all be up and in the saddle by daylight the next morning. Tex meant to ride the upper range and to map out his campaign. He had a feeling there was need for haste. The black stallion would have to be brought in that summer. Sam had to be got back to his high mesa if he was to come at all.

The next morning Tex was up before the other two men had wakened. He made coffee in the blackened pot and finished up what had been left of Shorty’s biscuits. With a can of tomatoes, a tin of fish and some coffee from the cupboard he left the cabin.