“I think so, Steve. You’ve cut it by about half. It shouldn’t be too strong for him now. He’ll feel it, though. You’re still sure you’d better not just leave the wound alone?”

“I can’t, Pitch,” Steve returned solemnly. “Infection could so easily set in now.”

Pitch didn’t reply, and they sat watching the stallion in silence.

The gray light of early morning had given way to the brightness of day when Steve rose to his feet. He went to the first-aid kit, and taking up the package of gauze, tore a long piece from the roll, which he folded carefully; then he went over to the stove and picked up the pot containing the iodine solution.

It had been difficult enough cleaning the thigh wound only with water, for he had had to stand quietly beside the stallion for many hours, stroking him until he could draw the cloth across the cut. It would be much more difficult now, because although the iodine had been diluted it would still smart and burn when applied to Flame’s open wound. And Steve knew that as a result his horse might forever be afraid of him.

Pitch asked, “Are you going now?”

Steve didn’t answer, but the steps he took away from the stove were all the reply Pitch needed. He watched Steve walk down to the floor of the valley. He heard him call to the stallion who was grazing fifty or more yards away from him. Flame raised his head and, although he returned to his grazing, seemingly ignoring the boy, his searching muzzle and chopping teeth brought him closer and closer to Steve.

Steve made no attempt to hide the cloth or pot. As he approached the stallion Flame looked up at him and at the pot the boy was holding. Blowing out his nostrils, Flame turned away from Steve. But he didn’t run, and Steve followed, talking all the while.

When Flame reached the stream and stopped to drink, Steve placed the pot down on the ground and dipped the gauze in the antiseptic until it was thoroughly soaked; then, taking the dripping cloth with him, he approached the stallion.

Steve stroked the horse as he drank, then dipped his left hand in the stream and wet Flame’s matted mane. His hand didn’t stop when it came to the end of the mane, but traveled across the muscled withers until it rested upon Flame’s chest. Just below Steve’s hand was the open wound.