Together they watched the colt, who had stopped encircling the mare and now was stretching his head toward the grass. His legs were too long and his neck too short for him to reach it, so cautiously he bent his forelegs until he was kneeling. He pulled at the grass, not liking it at all; then he struggled to his long legs again and once more began encircling the mare.

Pitch and Steve were on their way again, and after several minutes Steve said thoughtfully, “That colt was him, Pitch. That’s exactly what I meant.”

“I don’t get you.”

“I mean that’s the sort of foal Flame sires. They’re beautiful—everything that he is.”

“Sure.”

“It would be very different if the Piebald had sired those foals.”

“Sure,” Pitch repeated.

“I mean it, Pitch.”

“I know you mean it.”

“Every bad trait in the Piebald would show up in his foals,” Steve went on earnestly. “They’d be monstrosities—all of them.”

Pitch was silent awhile and then he said, “And if Flame does come back to his band, someday he’ll be dethroned and possibly killed by one of his own sons. Have you thought of that?”

“Yes,” Steve said slowly. “I’ve thought of that. There can only be one stallion in the band who’ll be the leader.”

“Some of those colts must be almost a year old now,” Pitch went on. “It won’t be long before things come to a head—less than a couple of years, perhaps.” Pitch paused, then added, “That ought to make you realize how little difference it actually makes who’s king of this band—Flame or the Piebald. Either one of them will eventually be killed by a younger and stronger stallion.”

There was a weary note in Steve’s voice as he said, “But it may be a very long time before one of these colts is able to defeat Flame or the Piebald. In that time the Piebald, if he remains the band’s leader, can sire many foals, and this breed will never be the same as it is now. Yes, Pitch, it does make a difference—a great deal of difference.”

They went on to the marsh in silence, and it was only when Steve set out over the green paths that Pitch spoke again. “You’re certain this ground will hold us?” he asked.

Steve pointed to Flame’s hoofprints in the soft earth, as though they were all the explanation necessary, and kept going. He was anxious to get back to the cavern, for it was hours since he had left Flame and he was very conscious of the struggle his horse must be having. He had decided, too, how he and Pitch would attempt to swing Flame clear of the pit.