For several minutes the red stallion stood still, facing the valley to the north and ignoring whatever it had been from upwind that had caused him to look in that direction. Now his eyes, alert and blazing, were fixed upon one spot down the valley. His nostrils dilated, and his pricked ears suddenly were pulled back flat against his head. He snorted and then gave a loud, sharp blast.

There was a sudden movement in the band as they stopped grazing. Short, incessant neighs broke the stillness of the valley. Foals, some graceful, others clumsy, ran to their mothers. The band moved away from the long grass and closer to the center of the valley. Nipping and kicking, the mares directed their foals into the middle of a small tight ring which they formed, their heads toward the center and hindquarters tense and ready to fling strong hoofs at any attacker.

The red stallion stood alone, ready to defend his band. Never once did his head turn in the direction of the ring; he seemed to have eyes only for the danger that threatened from down the valley.

Suddenly Pitch said, “There he is!” A stallion was coming up the valley, followed by five or six mares.

“There’s going to be a fight, sure as anything,” Pitch said quickly. “There’s room for only one leader in this place.”

Steve said nothing, but his eyes never left the red stallion. He saw him turn his gaze away from the approaching band and come to rest upon his own. The stallion moved his head slowly, as though there was no hurry now that he had seen his foe. Only once did he move about uneasily and that was when he turned again to the south, sniffing. Steve was convinced then that the stallion was aware of danger from upwind too and that it worried him more than the approaching stallion.

Pitch gripped Steve’s arm and instinctively the boy looked at the valley below. The rival stallion had left his mares behind and was loping easily toward the red stallion. Suddenly the valley echoed to his clarion call of challenge. As he drew closer, Steve saw that he was a dark bay horse. He noticed too that he was as tall and long-limbed as the red stallion and that he had the same perfectly molded form. He moved gracefully, his long, easy gait never changing, his head still and his ears pricked forward almost to a point.

“He’s a beauty,” Pitch gasped. “Equally as good as the red stallion. This will be a fight to the death, Steve! Survival of the fittest! We’re going to see it, Steve!”