Then Pitch became aware of soft murmurings within the chamber. Startled, he whirled around, his eyes seeking the chamber’s dark corners. Above the heavy sounds coming from the outer cavern, he still could hear the other, softer sounds. He moved closer to Steve, and as he did, the murmurings became more distinct, finally resolving into Steve’s voice! But there was a soft, melodious quality to it that Pitch had never heard in Steve’s voice before. And for some unexplainable reason, Pitch found himself thinking of the look that had come into Steve’s eyes that day. They went together, somehow—the eyes and the voice.

Pitch remained still, listening to Steve; not so much to what the boy said as to the sound of his voice.

“It’s done now, Flame,” Steve was saying. “It’s over. You don’t have to fight any more. We’re going to get you out now. You’ll be free again.”

When Steve had first arrived in the chamber, the stallion had raised his head at the sight of him and for a short time fire had gleamed in his large eyes. Then he had lowered his head again, and Steve had walked up to him, placing a hand upon his horse for the first time.

Now, as he talked to Flame, he continued stroking the lowered head. The stallion attempted to raise his head once, but let it fall again. Steve noticed that his teeth were no longer bared, nor was there any spirit in his eyes; nothing but tired, hopeless defeat was in them.

Suddenly Steve turned and ran up the side of the pit, crying, “Pitch! Pitch!”

In his desperation he ran solidly into Pitch, who was standing at the top. “The crane,” Steve shouted. “Come on!”

Pitch followed Steve and eagerly they both grasped the crane’s winch handle. The wheel turned beneath their combined strength, the teeth clicking rapidly as the chain wound about the wheel. Slowly, inch by inch, to the clicking of the wheel and the clattering of the moving chain, Flame’s hindquarters emerged from the clutching sand and water.

“A little more, Pitch!” Steve half shouted. “Just another foot and we’ll have him clear!”

Furiously they pulled at the handle until Flame was completely free of the quicksand. There he hung, the noose about his hindquarters, both of his forefeet resting upon the rim of the pit. He began struggling again, driving his forefeet into the ground, but finally stopped as though he had used up every bit of energy.

“Now what, Steve?” Pitch asked with concern.

“The rope,” Steve returned quickly, his words clipped. He knew what he was going to do. “I’ve got to get this rope too about his hindquarters.” Hastily he began uncoiling the rope he had carried with him.

“Then?”