Even though the herd moved efficiently down the game trail that morning, it would still take the horses over an hour to reach the canyon floor. They could have fanned out once at the bottom but they seemed content to stay in single file. The bay mare with the star on her forehead out in front, the other mares, babies and youngsters in an orderly row behind her, and the stallion, still extremely cautious and weary, bringing up the rear. The sun was up now and the air was starting to warm. From time to time the colt could even feel cool air from the canyon floor briefly floating up past him before it dissipated completely somewhere over his head.

The colt was starting to get thirsty and hungry—a sign that his body was already trying to heal itself and was going to need nourishment to do it. He tried to get up twice more, but instinctively understood it would be a little longer before he would be able to complete that task. So he laid quiet, legs tucked underneath and his head resting on the ground out in front of him.

As he lay there, he thought he could hear a noise in the distance. It was an unusual sound, and one he had never heard before. Thump, thump, thump, thump…. Faint at first, then louder as if it were getting closer. Thump, thump, thump, thump…. It was enough to get the colt to raise his head and look up in time to see a large machine—a helicopter—flying up the canyon toward the herd, now two miles farther up the canyon floor. The machine was about eye level to where the colt was lying, and the noise and strange sight was enough to send a shot of adrenaline through the colt’s body, and frightened, he finally scrambled to his feet. His movement caught the eye of the helicopter pilot, who radioed back to crews on the ground.

“We’ve got one on a ledge up here,” he said into the microphone on his headset. “On the north rim of Castle Mesa, about three hundred feet from the top. Looks like he went over the edge. He’s in pretty bad shape. Might want to send someone up to shoot the poor bastard—Over.”

“Nah,” a voice came back. “We got bigger fish to fry today. If he’s stuck up there, he’ll be dead soon enough.”

“Roger that.”

The helicopter made the turn up the canyon and quickly came up on the gray stallion’s band. Frightened, the horses began galloping up the canyon. They ran for all they were worth for three miles. Hooves were pounding the ground, air was being forced in and out of burning lungs, babies were calling for mothers, and mothers were calling for babies as a mass of tails, manes and legs mingled together in the red and brown dust the herd kicked up. The stallion wanted to defend the herd, but there was no defending them from this. The helicopter, flying low to the ground now, pushed the herd and kept them moving until the canyon narrowed and the helicopter was no longer able to follow. It slowly lifted, banked to the right and flew off.