Trembling, Steve awaited his shrill clarion call of challenge but none came, and silence prevailed throughout the valley. Steve turned quickly to the Piebald, who still grazed, unmindful of the red stallion’s presence, for he was upwind.

Steve’s gaze swept back to Flame. More minutes passed, yet Flame made no move toward the Piebald. But Steve could see his head begin to turn back and forth as though he were looking for something.

Pitch said, “He’s after you, Steve. He’s not after the Piebald.”

Yes! Steve thought. Yes, that’s it! He’s looking for me!

The boy’s heart beat faster, and the blood surged through him, flooding his pale face. Quickly he turned, making his way back down the trail, and it wasn’t until he had reached their old campsite that he felt Pitch’s hand upon his arm. Angrily he pulled away; Pitch’s grip loosened, then tightened again and held. Furiously Steve turned upon him, the white heat of anger making his words indistinct.

“You young stupid fool, Steve!” Pitch shouted. “Where do you think you’re going? You’ll be killed if you go down there! The Piebald—there’ll be a fight!”

Steve twisted his arm free of Pitch’s grip and ran headlong down the trail. Halfway to the valley floor, he flung his pack off his back without stopping. Behind him, Pitch followed crying, “Steve! You fool! You fool!”

Blindly, the boy turned from the trail as he reached the floor of the canyon, and ran across the grass. He didn’t head for the cane, but ran swiftly across the floor in a straight line, heading directly for his horse.

A short distance away from him, mares squealed in fright as they saw him running past; foals kept close to their mothers; and a few hundred yards away from them, the Piebald jerked his head up, snorted and plunged forward, his ears pinned back, his eyes wild and frightening.

Unmindful of his danger, Steve still ran forward. He saw nothing but the route ahead that would take him to Flame, heard nothing but the sound of his own running feet.

Then Pitch’s scream shattered the boy’s frenzied mind and stilled his heart. Turning, he saw Pitch close behind him, but Pitch was standing still, frozen in his tracks, his face turned away. And it was then that Steve heard for the first time the thunderous hoofs that shook the very ground beneath him. Steve’s face paled as he saw the Piebald coming at them. Wildly, Steve ran to Pitch. “The pool!” he shouted. “It’s our only chance!” And before the words had left his mouth, he had Pitch by the arm and was pulling him toward the water.

They took one step for every stride of the Piebald’s. The pool was twenty-five yards away, and twice that distance behind them was the plunging black-and-white stallion, snorting now as he neared them.