Midnight was never quite satisfied within the confining walls of his prison. There was plenty of fine grass, shade, and water, but the constant feeling that he was being held a prisoner irked him. He worked out a route around the outer limits of the meadow which gave him a chance to run. There was an open stretch along the high walls. From there he made a trail above the beaver lake through a pile of slide rock that had fallen from the cliff above. The trail swung to the lip of the canyon, following a crooked course until it curved back and around the lake again. Big rocks and fallen trees offered barriers. The little stallion soon learned to take these barriers in clean jumps which sent the blood pounding through him.
The racing gave him an outlet for his energy, a chance to give play to his growing muscles. Snorting, shying, and whinnying shrilly he would race around and around, his mane and tail flying, his nostrils flaring. The exercise kept his body tough and hard. The blood of the chestnut stallion which flowed in his veins would not let him surrender to the peaceful existence offered by the sheltered meadow.
Midsummer found the little horse rapidly growing into a big and powerful brute with a body which combined95 the slender legs, the intelligent head, and the great heart of Lady Ebony with the rugged strength of his father. His eyes betrayed the wild horse in him. They flashed white rims when he was excited or angry and he bared his teeth savagely when roused.
One day Midnight heard sounds which excited him greatly. They came from the mesa above. He heard the pounding of many hoofs and above the nickering and snorting of mares rose the squeal of a stallion challenging the world defiantly. Midnight was resting in the shade of the aspen grove after a wild run around the meadow. He dashed out into the open and stood staring at the top of the canyon wall.
As he stood there a horse appeared. A pinto filly stood with lowered head looking down into the canyon. She was a trim little mare with a lithe, slender body and a yellow mane and tail which flowed in the breeze. Midnight called to her eagerly and she turned her head to locate him. Her ears pricked forward as she answered his call with a quick eager whinny. Instantly wild excitement surged through the black. He raced back and forth, keeping in the open, looking up at the pinto as he danced and kicked.
The little mare seemed to appreciate his efforts. She edged closer to the rim and nickered softly. The sound of her call sent Midnight leaping through the timber, pounding around the trail he had made. As he flashed into the sunlighted spaces below the rim he looked up to see her standing still, cut sharply against the sky, looking down at him. Again Midnight raced around his beaten pathway. As he flashed past the crevice which barred him from escape he halted and stared at the wide crack in the rock shelf. The trail beyond that fissure led to the little mare!
Midnight backed away a few yards, lowered his head,96 and sniffed. He suddenly lost his fear of the deep gash in the earth. With a defiant squeal he charged straight at the gaping crack. His flying hoofs sent rocks sailing into the canyon below. As he charged down on the barrier he gathered his hard muscles under him for the long leap. Like a black meteor he shot through the air. Leaping over barriers along this race course had given Midnight needed training. His body arched as he hurtled into space above the crevice. His forefeet reached for the far ledge, landed and clung while he lashed with his hind feet in an attempt to pull himself to safety. For a moment he hung there, poised above the chasm, plunging and struggling, then he stumbled forward, safe on the ledge trail.
Snorting and kicking, he pounded up the ledge until he came to the main trail leading out of Shadow Canyon. Doubling back along that trail he charged upward. With a clattering of loose stones he burst out on the edge of the meadow and halted to look for the pinto. The little mare had turned away from the rim. She stood looking at him, her neck arched, her mane blowing around her shoulders. She nickered and pawed at the grass tufts under her feet.
Midnight plunged toward her, eager to make friends. When he was within a few yards of her she whirled and fled. Midnight raced after her, calling wildly. The pinto ran toward the band of mares feeding in the center of the mesa. Above them the chestnut stallion stood guard, his sleek coat gleaming in the sun, his massive head erect. His protruding eyes watched the pinto as she raced toward the mares with the black colt close behind her. Midnight’s speed was greater than that of the little mare and he was soon racing shoulder to shoulder with her.
A scream of rage broke from the chestnut stallion. With ears laid back, nostrils flaring, he charged to meet Midnight. His teeth were bared and his eyes flamed. He meant to finish this young upstart at once. Midnight saw97 him coming and shoved over against the little mare, heading her away from the band. The boss of the herd came on at top speed. He was running at an angle to the course the two colts had taken.
Midnight had no fear of the big stallion. He was so wildly glad to see a band of horses that he had no thought of battling any of them. The chestnut came on with terrific force. He struck Midnight a smashing blow which turned the colt halfway around and sent him staggering. Midnight twisted and fought to keep from going down. The chestnut reared and lashed out with his forefeet. His teeth reached for the colt’s shoulder and his scream rang across the meadow.
As Midnight righted himself a terrible rage took him. He wanted to fight the big stallion, to smash him, to tear him. Swerving, he let the little mare dart into the band, then he whirled to meet the chestnut. The big stallion was eager for the kill. He had smashed young stallions before, driving them out of the band, and he expected to make short work of this fellow. Midnight answered the challenge by lunging to meet the leader’s second charge. The big stallion raised his heavy hoofs and met Midnight’s attack with smashing blows which battered the colt back. Pain brought a realization that the big stallion wanted to kill him just as the wolf pack had often tried. He dodged the next attack, but lunged in as the chestnut missed his target.
His feint only half saved him. The chestnut’s teeth ripped his shoulder and a crushing blow staggered him. Midnight leaped away from the next charge, which came as soon as the big fellow could wheel about. The little black was outweighed and his strength was nothing compared with that of the chestnut. The band of mares watched without showing much excitement. The pinto98 stood in their midst, her ears well forward, her eyes rolling.
When the chestnut charged again Midnight whirled and fled. He raced away down the meadow with the big stallion thundering after him. The chestnut was filled with savage eagerness. The victory was his and he meant to overtake this black stallion and kill him. But Midnight was the son of Lady Ebony, and had her fleetness. For a short distance he sprinted as fast as he could run and in that time discovered that he could easily outrun the big leader of the band. When he had satisfied himself of this he circled around the meadow whinnying defiantly and kicking up his heels.
The chestnut was wild with savage rage. He thundered after the flying colt, but though he strained every muscle he could not overtake Midnight. Nor could he seem to outwind or tire him. The colt raced and dodged without seeming to feel the terrific pace. Around the mesa they raced, then around again. The chestnut began to tire. His breath was whistling from his nostrils and his flanks were streaked with lather. Suddenly he swerved and came to a halt beside the band of mares. Blowing and snorting he pawed defiantly, challenging Midnight to come and fight. Midnight halted and nickered eagerly to the pinto filly.
The pinto answered his call. This angered the chestnut and he whirled to lunge at her. Before the little mare could leap aside, his big body smashed against her and his teeth sank deep into the fleshy part of her back. Squealing and kicking, the pinto sprawled on her side in the grass. The chestnut reared threateningly as she scrambled to her feet. With a squeal of fright the pinto darted out of the band and ran away across the mesa. The chestnut did not follow far. He was watching Midnight, fearing the black would try to steal some of his harem.
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Midnight leaped after the pinto. He soon overtook her and raced along beside her. The chestnut stallion was furious. He forgot the other mares and plunged after the colts. His speed was great enough to overtake the pinto, and he forced her back into the band. Midnight charged the big fellow and the chestnut whirled to give battle. The filly raced in among the mares and stood watching.
The chestnut was eager to close with Midnight again. He lunged in and his weight sent Midnight staggering back. Then he lunged once more, before the black could get his balance. He landed squarely against Midnight’s shoulder and the colt went down. He rolled and lunged while massive hoofs pounded him and the chestnut’s teeth ripped gashes along his side. Finally Midnight staggered to his feet. He ducked drunkenly and saved himself from another smashing blow from the shoulder of the chestnut. Pain stabbed through his shoulder joint and hampered his speed as he tried to run away. The chestnut sensed that his victory was about to be complete. With squeals of triumph he charged on the colt. Midnight thought of the ledge trail where he had always found haven when wolves and cougars came. If he could reach that ledge he would make a stand.
Desperately the little stallion plunged toward the castle rocks. The chestnut overtook him and smashed him aside, but Midnight dodged and raced on, not stopping to fight. Again the chestnut smashed him, his teeth ripping gashes across Midnight’s rump. The black staggered and weaved under the terrible battering but he kept going. He reached the ledge and plunged upward with the chestnut slashing at his back, trying to smash him to the ground where he could finish the fight.
Midnight tried to whirl about on the ledge. He suddenly realized that if the big fellow got him trapped in the shelter at the end of the trail the chestnut would kill100 him. He managed to turn around and face the charging leader of the band. They smashed together and Midnight went down, sprawling and kicking on the narrow ledge. He rolled over and his hoofs slid over the rim. In a moment he was sliding down over the edge.
Screaming and pawing, the chestnut glared over the rim. He saw his adversary land on a shelf below and stagger slowly to his feet. The big stallion raced up and down the trail but saw no way to reach the colt below.
The spot where Midnight landed was only a few yards below the place where he had landed when the silvertip shoved him over the edge. He got to his feet panting and blowing. For a long time he stood trembling, favoring his pain-raked shoulder. Then with a squeal of defiance he hobbled along the ledge and down to the little meadow where he had lived before the band came to the mesa. He was eager to cross the crevice again and join the horses above, but when he reached the aspen grove he halted to ease the pains shooting through his shoulder. After a bit he moved on. He halted at the edge of the crevice and stood listening. He did not try to leap across the narrow chasm, he would have to wait until the pain left his shoulder. Above he could hear the triumphant snorting and calling of the chestnut stallion. Slowly he turned and walked back to the aspen grove. After a time he lay down on a bed of dead leaves and grass.
He lay still and listened. From the mesa came the sounds of the feeding herd. For a time the chestnut pranced about nickering and snorting. The mares fed eagerly, not paying any attention to him, except when he came close to one of them. The ears of the little horse in the aspen grove followed every sound intently. He snorted and struggled painfully to his feet when the chestnut blasted a warning to the mares. T............