Pitch stayed behind, watching as Steve flung his arm about the ravaged neck. Then he saw the boy’s gaze move critically over the torn flesh until once more he pressed his head close to Flame’s soft muzzle.

They stayed that way for several minutes before Steve stepped back and the red stallion whirled and ran back to his band.

When Steve returned to Pitch, he said only, “He’ll be all right, I guess.”

They walked up the rocky trail until they had reached the tunnel, then they both turned back to look at the band. Flame was trotting about, his long mane and tail flowing. Once he came to a stop, and gazed upward at the ledge upon which Steve stood. His whistle filled the valley before he turned away, his eyes once more on his band.

Steve realized then that his horse belonged there; that never, never could he take him away now.

Without a word or another backward glance, he followed Pitch into the tunnel.

THEIR LOST WORLD

20

They left the quiet of the doctor’s office for the noise and busy traffic of Chestertown, Antago. As they stood upon the stone steps, Pitch said softly, “It’s like being awakened from a long dream, Steve.” His gaze left the crowded street, where automobiles and people were mixed in a crazy tangle, and fixed itself on the cast around the boy’s arm.

Pitch’s gaze was so intent that Steve asked, “What’s the matter, Pitch?”

The man’s eyes never left the cast as he said, “If it wasn’t for your arm, I’d probably think it had all been a dream.”

Their eyes met and Steve couldn’t help thinking how strange Pitch had been acting since their arrival on Antago a few hours ago. “But you know it wasn’t a dream, Pitch,” he said. “We know everything is back there, just the way it was. We can go there again whenever we like, just as you said. No one will ever know what we’ve found. No one.”

Pitch looked down at his feet for a while, then glanced at the busy street again. “It’s so different now,” he said. “I’d forgotten how … I mean, it’s just …” He paused, groping for words.

“I know, Pitch,” Steve said helpfully. “But it makes what we found all the more precious. We have a world of our own, Pitch! Just think of it. A world of our own!” He stopped then, his eyes afire with the full realization that he and Pitch actually possessed a lost world which now, in the clamor of Antago’s busy traffic, seemed beyond belief.

But Pitch never turned to him, nor did he say a word. He just stood there, his eyes darting uneasily about the street.

Steve watched him in growing bewilderment. “Pitch,” he finally said with effort, “what’s the matter with you? You’re not the same guy—”