The Island Stallion Races (2 page)

A half hour later he slid down from the sweaty back, as hot and wet as his horse. They were near the pool, and from all about them came the neighs of the mares. Flame had scattered them to the far corners of the valley by his playful but rough antics. Steve went to the pool and ducked his head in the cool waters. Flame joined him, snorting and lowering his small head to drink. As always, Steve marveled when after a few swallows Flame left the pool to rejoin his band. Hot as he was, thirsty as he was, this wild stallion would drink very little when overheated. Steve wondered how many domestic horses would have left the cool water as Flame had done.

Now too happy and tired to move, Steve stretched out on the soft carpet of grass. It had been a long hard day but just being back made everything all right again. What could be more wonderful than this? He had found that even the confusion of a small island like Antago bothered him now. He was well spoiled. But who wouldn’t be, having found a lost world inhabited only
by Flame and his band? It was a world free of every care except the care of horses.

Steve lay back, resting his head on his clasped hands, a long blade of succulent grass between his lips. He looked at the late afternoon sky with its light wisps of rippling clouds. The sun was well down behind the barrier walls, and Blue Valley was as blue as blue could be and very, very pleasant.

He supposed that if the day ever came when an airplane flew close to the dome of this island its pilot would know there was a valley down here. But the pilot would really have to be looking to find it. And where would such a plane be heading anyway? There was no land to the east as far as Africa, and the transatlantic airlines came nowhere near Azul Island. To the west there was only Antago, and no airline served that remote island outpost in the Caribbean Sea. Nor was there any nearby airport to service private planes.

Steve had no fear of discovery of his lost world from the sea. A few tramp steamers put in each year at Antago, but the more traveled sea lanes between North and South America were much farther to the east and west. Besides, no captain in his right mind would approach very close to Azul Island; it looked like a massive, egg-shaped boulder and was ringed by dangerous reefs. Small launches could get only to the island’s small southern sandspit, and from there it was impossible to reach Blue Valley or even to learn of its existence. Natives of Antago said of Azul Island,
“Except for the sandspit it’s nothing but solid rock.”
Well, let them go on believing so.

Steve closed his eyes but quickly opened them
again. He didn’t want to fall asleep. He had some work to do before it got dark. Pitch wouldn’t be around tonight to help get camp in order and do the cooking. He wouldn’t be around for many nights to come, for that matter. But it was as Steve had wanted it. He hadn’t liked the idea of staying at Pitch’s home in Antago while his elderly friend was doing his historical research in the New York libraries and museums.

Pitch had finally consented to Steve’s remaining alone in Blue Valley, knowing full well that he could take care of himself. But he wasn’t really alone, Steve reminded himself. He had Flame and the band. It was exciting being the only one on the island with them. Somehow it changed things a lot not to have Pitch around. Not that he’d ever seen much of Pitch during the daytime. Pitch had always been too busy exploring the maze of tunnels that ran through the coral rock of Azul Island. And when Pitch hadn’t been on a tunnel exploration he’d been working on his manuscript, writing in detail all they’d found here and giving his reasons for believing that Azul Island was the last great stronghold of the Conquistadores, almost three hundred years ago! The Spaniards had left this natural fortress hurriedly, for all the relics Pitch had found indicated this … and as further evidence there were the horses which had been left behind. Where else could this pure-blooded band have originated?

At this point in his thoughts, Steve sat up to look at Flame. Flame’s forebears were Arabians of the finest strain. All one had to do to be convinced of this was to look at him and the mares. Their pure blood and the
ideal conditions in Blue Valley had kept the strain free of flaw through generations of inbreeding. Now they were as perfect a group of horses as their ancestors had been … perhaps even finer.

Again Steve lay back on the grass, looking at the sky that was spotted with small, fleecy clouds. He was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open and began to realize that he must be more tired than he had thought. But he told himself that he mustn’t go to sleep. He had time to rest after his long sea trip … plenty of time … just so he didn’t fall asleep.

He listened to the splash of the waterfall and the occasional nicker of a mare to her suckling foal. Nothing else disrupted the peace and quiet of Blue Valley. Steve closed his eyes. Flame had come down the valley and was standing close by. Steve didn’t have to open his eyes to know the stallion was there. Nor did he need to hear him. It seemed that the very air vibrated with the red stallion’s greatness whenever he was around. If one looked, Flame’s greatness could be seen in his eyes. But it wasn’t necessary to look. One could
feel
it.

Steve suddenly felt a tightening in his throat, and he swallowed hard. Ordinarily he would have wanted Flame to be seen and appreciated by people other than himself, by horsemen who had never looked upon such a perfect stallion. But that kind of thinking wasn’t for him, Steve knew. It wasn’t possible for anyone but Pitch and himself to look upon Flame. To bring others here would mean the destruction of Blue Valley, the end of everything they held so dear. What they had here would last a long time. No one would know of Blue
Valley until Pitch had his historical manuscript ready for publication, and it would take him many years to complete that work.

Steve opened his eyes. Flame had taken another drink from the pool and was returning to his band.

Steve’s thoughts turned to all the swift rides he’d had on Flame. Had there ever been a faster horse than his stallion? He sat up and watched Flame move from one patch of grass to another. His red body was scarred heavily from all his battles to maintain leadership of the band, but his legs were straight and clean of any serious injuries. He’d give any horse in the world the race of his life!

“Stop daydreaming,” Steve told himself. “You have Flame and that’s all that matters. Ride him as fast as you like here in the valley and let it go at that.”

He looked up at the sky and decided to rest just a short while more before going to camp. He lay back again, closing his eyes and listening to the steady drone of the waterfall; the long moments passed pleasantly, easily, sleepily.…

Sure, he wouldn’t change things from the way they were. But it didn’t do any harm to imagine how things would have been under different circumstances. It didn’t hurt to dream, to pretend that he was riding Flame in a great race back home. He could just see.…

The great light came suddenly, so suddenly that it made Steve’s eyelids smart before he had a chance to open them. And when he did, it was simultaneously with the screams of the mares and Flame. In that flashing second it was Flame’s high whistle that made Steve’s heart skip a beat, for never before had he heard anything like it! It was shrill but without defiance or challenge or welcome. Instead it held the worst kind of fear and terror, that of unknown peril.

Blue Valley was alive with a kind of golden light that had never before been seen there even under the brightest sun. Not even the deepest crag or fissure escaped. The light found everything and bathed it all in an awesome glow.

Steve looked up and saw the hurtling sun coming directly at him! He screamed, his terror matching that of Flame and the mares. Then he flung himself flat, his face buried in the grass, his hands pressed hard against the sides of his head.

A sun where there had been no sun. The end of the world had come!

His face unnaturally pale, Steve lay motionless, waiting for the end to come. In quick successive mental pictures he saw his mother and father, his home and Pitch and Flame. Then a heavy black curtain fell and he saw nothing at all. Seconds more he waited, perhaps minutes. From the smell of the earth he knew that he was conscious. He forced himself to use his ears, to listen. He heard the distant rush of the mares’ and Flame’s hoofs. Then he opened his eyes.

Blue Valley was as it had been … how long ago? Minutes? A lifetime? Had he imagined all this? No, of that much he was certain. He had only to look at the band and Flame to know. The mares had directed their suckling foals into the middle of a small tight ring they had formed; their heads were toward the center, their hindquarters ready to fling strong hoofs at any attacker. Outside the ring stood yearling colts willing to do battle but trembling with fear. Flame encircled the whole group, his eyes constantly shifting in every direction, his every sense alerted to the responsibility of defending his band. But he too was afraid because he could not
see
what threatened them.

The only brightness to the valley now came from the last reflections of the setting sun on the high eastern wall. There was nothing to fear or fight. Blue Valley was as quiet and peaceful as it had been before.
Before what?

Steve sat up but did not attempt to get to his feet. He wasn’t at all certain that he’d be able to stand yet. What had bathed the valley in that awesome glow? A meteor from outer space? He had seen shooting stars
with long flaming tails in many a night sky. But never in the daytime or so close as this had been. He had read that most meteors were no larger than a grain of sand, becoming extinguished long before they reached the earth. But there’d been cases too of meteors so large that they resisted all the burning friction of the earth’s atmosphere and fell intact, digging great holes in the ground.

Steve got to his feet and walked slowly to the pool, where he bathed his throbbing head. A meteor, then, was what it had been. It had almost landed on Azul Island. Where had it struck? Somewhere close, very close to the west. Now it must be at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea.

He turned to the band. The mares had broken their circle. But they were not yet grazing, nor did they allow the foals to leave their sides. With short, incessant neighs and nips they kept the long-legged colts and fillies from straying away.

Steve left the pool and climbed the narrow trail up along the end wall. Reaching a broad ledge that overlooked Blue Valley, he went into the cave behind it. Just within the entrance but far enough back to be protected against any driving rains were the stove, table, chairs and canned provisions. But Steve wasn’t thinking of food. Whatever appetite he’d had was gone. He got one of the large lanterns, a flashlight and Pitch’s binoculars. Then, leaving the cave, he continued up the trail until he reached the great opening where the underground stream rushed out from blackness to daylight, plummeting downward in a silken sheet to the pool far below.

For a second Steve stopped. He turned to look at
Flame and the band, then lit the lantern and went into the great opening. He walked to the right of the underground stream. Only when he rounded a long bend in the tunnel did he leave completely the light of day. He walked a little slower then, his hand occasionally touching the jagged rock on either side of him. Finally he came to a fork leading to many tunnels. Steve raised the lantern and saw the chalked figures and letters Pitch had marked on every wall of the explored passageways. Steve knew where he was going and how to get there, but he had learned to take nothing for granted in this underground maze. He made certain he had the right passageway before going on.

He continued for fifteen minutes or more, stopping only at intersections of other tunnels to cast the light upon the walls. His lantern bobbed from the short, mincing strides he had to take in the low-ceilinged passageways. If he hurried, he thought, he might be in time to look upon a sea still angry with the searing it had received.

Just ahead, a small square of daylight lay on the floor of the tunnel. Reaching it, he stopped and looked up the high ventilation shaft that pierced the stone. Pitch’s rope hung down the shaft, but Steve had no intention of climbing to the outer ledge that was directly above him. He’d be able to look out upon the western sea without doing that. He began walking forward again, his head tucked between his shoulders, his back bent more and more as the tunnel became smaller. He went only a short distance before reaching the outer wall. There he extinguished his lantern, for three narrow slits of daylight came through the rock.

He looked through the middle slit first and saw nothing but the open sea. When he moved to the slit on the far right he could see the red sun resting on the water and just beginning its descent into the sea. For a moment he forgot everything in the beauty of the western sky. Seldom had he left Blue Valley to watch a sunset over the Caribbean Sea.

He blinked his eyes often in the brightness of the setting sun and suddenly realized that the glow from it was unusually strong. His gaze left the sun to search the waters around him for any vapors, any steaming bubbles to indicate that a flaming mass of molten metal had fallen. But he saw nothing of the sort so his eyes returned to the setting sun.