Ahead, high on the cliff, Pitch would be waiting, and very early tomorrow morning they’d start for Antago. Every moment, every day counted now, if he was to save his horse from what he felt would be certain death beneath the hoofs of the Piebald.

The following morning it was still dark when they finished their breakfast. Steve packed hurriedly, then turned to find Pitch looking out upon the valley, his pack untouched. The gray of dawn began to appear in the sky to the east. Below, the band was already grazing.

“Let’s hurry, Pitch,” Steve said impatiently.

But it was another moment before Pitch gave his attention to his pack. “Have you ever seen anything like it, Steve?” he asked. “Where else on earth could anyone find the magnificent beauty, the solitude and peace we have here?”

Steve didn’t reply, for he was watching the Piebald move from his band to the pool directly below. And when he again turned to Pitch, he found that his friend still hadn’t packed; he was gazing at the pistol, the sextant, the spurs and the few other things he had found, which were all neatly placed in a small pile beside his pack.

“I’d better put them in first, hadn’t I?” Pitch asked. “I want to pack them in the bottom, so no one will see them. I may have to leave some of my equipment behind, unless you have room for it in your pack.”

“I can take a little,” Steve replied quickly. “I’ve some room.”

Pitch looked out at the valley again.

Steve said once more, “Let’s go, Pitch. It’ll be light in a few minutes.” He bent down to pick up Pitch’s equipment, but momentarily his gaze too swept down the valley. Yes, he thought, soon it will be light, and it will be the first morning I haven’t been with Flame since I found him. I wonder if he’ll miss me. I wonder what he’ll do. But the sooner I get Pitch out of here, the sooner I’ll be back.

Pitch bent down beside him, but he only handled one of the spurs, without placing it in his pack. “Steve,” he said slowly, “do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

Steve looked at him questioningly.