Furiously the Piebald charged. Flame moved away a fraction of a second too late, and he felt the weight of the Piebald upon his shoulders. He swerved, trying to get clear, then stumbled and fell to the ground. Frantically he regained his feet, turning to face the Piebald, who reared high to crush him. Flame rose to meet him. As their bodies met, the Piebald tried to lock the red stallion close to him. But this time Flame did not attempt to leap clear again; instead, he drove his battering forefeet hard into the Piebald, staying close and forcing the fight.

The Piebald tried to recover his balance, but the red stallion continued pounding and his teeth sank into the thick neck, secured their hold and held! Screaming in pain, the black-and-white stallion went down, and only when he was flat on the ground did Flame release his death grip; then he rose above his opponent and came down, driving his pounding forefeet into the still form that lay beneath him.

When it was over, he raised his wet, blood-soaked head, and the valley was filled with his shattering call of triumph; then he turned to his band.

Their faces white, Steve and Pitch rose uncertainly to their feet. And it was only Pitch who found words to describe his emotions. “Horrible … horrible,” he said shakingly.

Steve stood there, his glazed eyes unseeing. Then, slowly, life came back to his numbed body and he thought, It’s over … over, over. And never do I want to see another fight like it.

For several minutes they stood in silence, their eyes following the red stallion as he circled his band.

He’s alive, Steve thought. He’s killed the Piebald.

And then Pitch’s hand was upon his arm, pulling aside the torn shirt, probing, but Steve felt nothing.

Pitch said quickly, “It’s broken. I’ve got to get you out of here.” His arm went around the boy’s waist. “You’re up to it, aren’t you, Steve? It’ll be hard, but we’ve got to get you to a doctor.”

Listlessly, Steve nodded and walked beside Pitch to the trail. They had gone only a short way when Steve stopped and said, “But Flame’s hurt. He needs care.”

“You do, too,” Pitch said patiently. “He can take care of himself. He always has.”

“Yes,” Steve repeated slowly, “he always has.”

The mares had broken their ring and foals ran excitedly about, neighing to their mothers. Arrogantly Flame watched them as he trotted about with them. It was only when Steve and Pitch neared the trail that he turned to them. His small head was craned high as he whistled to Steve; then he came toward him in his long, loping canter. He stopped a few yards away and Steve went to him.