Pitch’s running steps faltered and his breath came heavily. Steve ran beside him, his head half-turned to the onrushing stallion. He saw the bared teeth, the beady eyes, and knew the savage brute meant to run them down.

Ten yards more to the pool, only a second more, but it was too late, for the Piebald was upon them! Steve shoved Pitch toward the pool and flung himself to the side. The stallion turned with him, his shoulder striking the boy’s arm and twirling him around. As Steve hit the ground, he saw Pitch dive headlong into the pool. The Piebald slid on his haunches as he tried to stop. Frantically, Steve climbed to his feet, but even before he was fully up he was taking the fast, pounding steps of a sprinter just off his mark. He was five yards from the pool when the Piebald turned upon him again. But Steve flew over the ground and plunged into the water.

When he came to the surface, he heard Flame’s wild clarion call. High-pitched, shrill and piercing, it claimed the valley as its own. And when it died away, the valley echoed to the repeated neighs of the mares as they rapidly formed their tight circle, with hindquarters facing outward and foals secure in the center of the ring.

Through the cane rushed the giant red stallion, the tall stalks bending and breaking beneath his weight. Without stopping, he entered the arena, running up the valley floor until he was within a few hundred yards of the Piebald, who had turned to meet him. Flame stopped only long enough to cry his shattering challenge again, then came onward, carrying the fight to the Piebald.

The black-and-white stallion plunged forward, his eyes livid with hate as the tall, long-limbed red stallion galloped to meet him and the valley resounded to their pounding hoofs of death.

Steve and Pitch had pulled themselves up to the bank of the pool. They said nothing, their eyes upon the stallions. Steve’s shirt was torn where the Piebald had struck him, and his arm hung limp at his side, but he felt no pain.

Any second now the bodies of the two horses would clash, for Flame was moving in faster and faster. The thought frightened Steve, for he well remembered the red stallion’s caution in the first fight, when he had let the Piebald carry the fight to him, avoiding the heavily plunging black-and-white stallion with the skill and agility of a trained fighter.

But he’s not afraid, Steve told himself. He’s not afraid! And then he said aloud, “Pitch, he’s got to win. He’s just got to!”

Pitch muttered, “You did it. He wouldn’t have come on if he hadn’t seen you.”