Pitch said almost reverently, “It’s nearly three hundred years old, Steve. Think of it! And there’s a heavy wooden table in the cave. There are a couple of chairs, too,” he went on quickly. “I’m sure we’ll find other caves like this one and probably many other historical relics!”

“But Pitch—” Steve’s voice was a little annoyed as he turned to his friend. “Why be bothered by relics when—” He stopped as he saw the eagerness leave Pitch’s eyes. “I mean,” he went on, his voice gentler, “those horses down there—they’re alive, Pitch!” His eyes pleaded with his friend. “And they, or rather their ancestors, were left behind by the Spaniards too. Think of it, Pitch! Look at them!” Steve’s voice was raised as he gestured in the drection of the horses. “They’re nothing like the horses on the plain.”

Pitch was now close beside him. “No,” he admitted, “they’re not. But don’t you think it’s because conditions are so much better here, Steve? There’s plenty of good grass, water, and the walls protect them from the wind.”

Steve shook his head. “No, Pitch. It isn’t that at all. These horses have the breeding. I’m convinced that the Conquistadores brought only their finest horses to this valley, and that those on the outside were pack horses or of a crossbreed which didn’t work out for them.”

“You might be right,” Pitch said. “I’ve never seen such beautiful animals and, certainly, never any like that red stallion.” He stopped abruptly, turning to Steve, his eyes searching. “Red stallion …” he repeated slowly. Then, although he said nothing more, Steve knew Pitch was thinking of Flame and the story he had told him the night before.

Their eyes went back to the red leader as he continued moving uneasily away from his band.

It was Steve who directed Pitch’s attention to the band once more. “They all have Arabian blood in them, Pitch. Notice their wedge-shaped heads.” And then Steve went on to point out every physical characteristic of the Arabian that he had observed in the horses. He concluded by saying, “They’re the same horses the Conquistadores rode centuries ago, Pitch. Maybe even better with their inbreeding and the fact that only the finest and strongest stallion could survive as their leader in this small valley. It’s his blood that makes them what they are! Look for yourself, Pitch. The red stallion is king of this band and sire of all those long-legged foals running around. They have his blood, and the finest and strongest of the colts will one day take his place.” Steve’s voice was so low that it almost seemed as though he were talking for his own benefit.