“I’ll cable my father when we go back to Antago for the barge,” Steve said, but his voice was hesitant, unsure.

“How do you think he and your mother are going to take it—your asking for money to bring home a horse?”

“It’ll be all right. I’m sure it will. Dad will understand,” Steve replied quickly.

But would it be all right, Steve wondered. Would they send him the money? Would they understand?

“I have to take him home,” Steve told Pitch. “I couldn’t leave him on Antago—with Tom.”

“No,” Pitch agreed. “You couldn’t do that and still keep your horse.” Rising to his feet, he added, “Then maybe you’d better not think too much about taking Flame off this island before you learn what your folks have to say. Maybe we’d better let it go at that for the time being.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand. I have some money saved. It shouldn’t cost too much.” Steve paused, then asked, “Can we look for the way back to the dory tonight, Pitch?”

Nodding, Pitch turned to him. “Yes, we can do that, Steve. I can show you a tunnel that might be it—at least, it seems to be going in the right direction.”

“And we’ll keep looking every evening until we find it, won’t we, Pitch? I’ll leave Flame a few hours early each day, so I’ll have more time to look for it with you. Is that all right, Pitch?” Steve asked anxiously.

“Yes, Steve,” Pitch replied. “That’s all right.”

Three nights went by, with Steve following Pitch through the tunnels for many hours, marveling at his friend’s newly acquired knowledge of this underground world. Pitch walked quickly in the light from his burning torch, stopping only to point out chambers he had found in previous days. Always upon the walls Steve would see his friend’s chalked lines, and when they came to intersections there would be figures and letters of which only Pitch knew the meaning. But when Pitch came upon tunnels he had not been through before, his pace would slacken, and after a few minutes it would be he who decided whether or not they should continue onward.

Confidently Steve placed himself in Pitch’s hands, knowing there were few tunnels left through which Pitch had not already walked and that one night soon they would find their way back. Each night, too, even as he followed doggedly at Pitch’s heels, he would think of what it would be like to have Flame at home where he could be with him always. And in his mind he framed the cable he planned to send to his father, for his father would understand while his mother might not. He would wire, “PLEASE CABLE ME …”