The Island Stallion Races (3 page)

The huge red ball was now half obliterated by the sea, and the sky was aglow with all the colors in the universe. But the unusual brightness still marked the sun, and Steve blinked his eyes again. Once more he thought of the meteor. Perhaps it had struck directly in the path of his vision. Perhaps its steaming vapors were rising from the water and causing the golden glow that enveloped the brilliant red of the setting sun. He turned away, waiting for the sun to set completely so he’d know.

Minutes later the sun disappeared but the bright light on the water remained,
the same brilliant glow that had come to Blue Valley!
Steve told himself that it was being caused by gases from the meteor, still hot, still smoldering at the bottom of the sea. This was what he had hoped to see! This was why he had come! But although this made sense to him, there was no lessening to the pounding of his heart.

He squinted his eyes, hoping to see better. It was a nebulous, glowing mass of light and transparent, for he could make out the red sky directly behind it. Now he was certain it was produced by vapors rising from the sea. It was less bright than it had been only a moment ago. The meteor was losing its self-contained heat. The sea was crushing it, transforming it into nothing but heavy metal, fathoms upon fathoms deep.

Suddenly Steve thought he saw a movement within the golden mass. He tried to smile at this illusion but found he couldn’t move his lips. Nothing was out there except vapors, he reminded himself. He reached for the binoculars hanging from his neck. Before he could get them to his eyes he saw another slight movement, then it too was gone.

He focused the binoculars many minutes before he became certain of what he had thought he’d seen twice before.

At first the object had no color or shape. Then as it became separated from the mass it appeared silver and needle-like against the background of red sky. It traveled downward, just above the water, and that was the last he saw of it. He didn’t know if it had climbed back into the heavens or had sunk into the depths of the sea
.

He was frightened but it wasn’t the same kind of fear as when he had thought the end of the world had come. Never again would he feel such total, all-engulfing fear as that had been. It was as if he had suffered the very worst that could happen to anyone and, having survived, was stronger for it. Yet he didn’t take his eyes from the glowing mass. He watched its brightness fade
until it was nothing at all … only a small, round patch of grayish-white floating on the sea.

Steve held the binoculars up to his eyes until the world outside was as black as the tunnel … but even then he could tell where
it
was, for the patch was luminous. To anyone else it would have been nothing but the phosphorescence of a tropical sea. Steve knew otherwise. Something was out there! He turned and stumbled down the passageway.

Arriving at Blue Valley, he went to Flame in the darkness. He sought a return to normalcy in the familiar nearness of his horse. But, like himself, Flame was alert and watchful. The stallion’s wild instincts told him that whatever had disrupted the quiet of his kingdom a short while ago hadn’t gone. He wouldn’t stray from his band that night. He wouldn’t sleep or relax his vigil. And Steve knew that it would be no different for himself. But, actually, what had they to watch for? Neither knew, and that’s what made the long hours to come so dangerous.

For the time of year, the weather that night was very unusual. No moon or stars were to be seen through a heavy, rolling overcast, yet only a few hours before the sky had been clear except for the flimsy lacework of rippling white.

Steve felt the chilling dampness, the nearness of the drenching rain to come. He moved closer to his horse, wondering if the heavens, like Flame and himself, were uneasy because of what had come to Blue Valley.

“You’re being silly,” he told himself, aloud and angry. Flame jumped away, startled by his voice. Steve called him back.

Over and over again he decided that what he had seen was only a meteor. He must accept that as a fact and nothing else. The meteor had sunk into the sea, leaving behind a bubbling trail that had created a great disturbance in the water
and in the air above it
. This had caused the golden mass, giving rise to his illusion of the three slender objects he had thought he’d seen but actually
hadn’t
. The round, grayish-white patch that had remained on the water afterward was only something that had been created by the chemical reaction of gases and water. Tomorrow it would be gone.

Just then, and without further warning, the night rain came down heavily. Steve felt its rawness and decided that he and his horse were uneasy only because of the unseasonable cold. Suddenly he welcomed the rain, turning his face to the sky and letting it drench him thoroughly.

After a few minutes he told himself that he was being very foolish standing in the rain when it could lead to a bad cold and perhaps complications that would make it necessary for him to leave Blue Valley. “Pitch would really be angry if he caught me doing this,” he thought.

Leaving Flame, Steve climbed the trail to camp. He went inside the cave and lit the stove for the warmth it would provide. He’d have a lot to tell Pitch. Pitch would never believe that Blue Valley had gotten so cold he had had to get the stove going to keep warm!

Steve removed all his clothes and rubbed himself hard with a large towel, then got dry clothes from the trunk and put them on. The rain was still coming down hard and cold currents of air swept through the cave.
He moved closer to the stove. He thought of having some hot soup, not because he was hungry but for added warmth.

Later he put the bowl of soup, half finished, to one side. He wondered at his lack of appetite. He was still shivering. He had brought no sweaters, no woolen clothes to the tropics. Then he remembered the light blankets and got one to wrap around himself. He didn’t lie down, for he knew he couldn’t sleep. He sat in a deep-seated canvas chair, watching and listening to the torrential downpour outside. It was going to be a long, long night.

Now, if Pitch were here it would be different, he thought. They’d watch the cold rain together and talk about how unusual it was. Pitch would insist upon having a big, hot meal. Afterward Pitch would sit beside him, smoking his pipe and telling about his latest tunnel exploration.

Steve closed his eyes so as not to see the rain any more. He would have liked to close his ears to it too. The rain wasn’t helping matters at all. He wished that Pitch were there with him. He could have discussed with him all he’d seen at sunset, and then he would have been able to forget it and go to sleep.

Perhaps all he had to do was to pretend that Pitch was sitting over there in the other chair, listening. It wasn’t hard to visualize Pitch with his bared, knobby knees covered by a blanket, his round face boyish and jovial despite his fifty-odd years. Pitch would be looking very serious, very intent.

And he, Steve, would be saying, “Pitch, the strangest thing happened today. For a while I was as
scared as I’ll ever be in my life, but now that I know what actually happened it makes a great story. There I was down in the valley with Flame when …”

Steve went to sleep with his lips moving, explaining to Pitch all that had happened at sunset.

Steve awakened to a morning unlike any he had ever known on Azul Island. The air was so crystal clear that only the finest of fall days in the northern hemisphere could have been compared with it. Never had his valley been more beautiful; it was a sky-blue gem set in soft, warm, molten gold.

Steve breathed deeply and felt his whole being expand with the exhilarating air. It was as though he’d never really breathed before! Would Pitch believe this, when he told him? Would Pitch be able to imagine that a hard, cold rain such as they’d had the night before could wash the valley and air as never before, breathing new life into everything? Look at the horses! Look at Flame! They were frolicking, playing like young weanling colts, every one of them!

Listen to the birds! Where were they? Few birds ever came to Blue Valley and then they never stayed very long. They preferred the lush, green, volcanic islands such as Antago to the comparative coral-rock barrenness
of Azul. Steve swept his eyes over the wild cane below, where the birds probably had gone in search of cover. He didn’t see them yet their songs filled the valley, echoing and re-echoing from the walls.

There, up the trail! He saw them then, perched on the jagged rocks beside the waterfall. There were only two, but their incessant calls made it sound as though a whole flock of birds had migrated to Blue Valley.

Steve’s gaze left them for the horses again. Oh, he had so much to tell Pitch! He wished his friend were here to share this morning with him. Never had he felt so well, so happy! There were so many things he
wanted
to do today. For a few minutes more he watched Flame frolicking with his band, the tall stallion stopping occasionally to press hard against the yearling colts. Flame did this not in combat but in play. The colts seemed to understand and they pushed back and rose with him, but never too strenuously, for they did not want to antagonize their leader. The day would come when these colts would fight Flame in earnest, teeth for teeth, hoof for hoof, in their attempt to take the leadership from him. But at their present age they were willing to play.

Steve turned away from them and went into the cave. He cooked a large breakfast of powdered eggs and milk and hot biscuits. While he ate he looked often at the gleaming valley and listened to the birds. He had plenty of company today! Not once did he think fearfully of what had happened the day before at sunset. It was something he was glad to have experienced. How many other people had seen a glowing meteor fall to earth? And wouldn’t it add further interest to the written record he’d kept of his life on Azul Island?

Steve thought of the filled notebooks he had hidden away. They told of his finding Flame and the band and all the exciting times he’d shared with them. They were something he had kept completely to himself. Even Pitch didn’t know of them.

When Steve had washed the breakfast dishes he wanted very much to share this glorious morning in play with Flame. But first he had some work to do. There was the stove to be cleaned, crates of provisions to be opened and stored away, blankets and clothing to be aired. There’d be time later for Flame, plenty of time, all the rest of the day.

For several hours he worked, emerging from the cave every so often to look at the horses. He always drove himself back inside. But the desire to play was very strong on such a day! Finally he was finished except for getting a fresh supply of water. Picking up a bucket, he climbed the trail. The birds, still perched beside the waterfall, flew away at his approach. He was sorry that he had interrupted their song.

One, a bright blue bird with crested head, dove headlong down the wall, not leveling off until just before he reached the pool. The other, a mottled brown-backed bird, was less daring. He glided down, circling several times before coming to rest.

Steve made a mental note to get an accurate description of them for Pitch, who’d probably tell him that the previous night’s wind and rain had swept these birds to Azul Island from Antago.

Steve got his water from the rushing stream and then returned to the ledge. Now for Flame!

The red stallion and the band had stopped their
play and were grazing. The air remained crisp and cool even though it was almost noon. This had never happened before, and Steve marveled at it. Even the marsh at the far end of the valley wasn’t sending up its foul vapors as it usually did at this time of day. He looked for the birds but couldn’t find them. He hoped he hadn’t scared them away. They belonged with this lovely day.

Steve whistled to Flame and the red stallion came loping toward him as he hurried down the trail. Flame stopped a short distance away, neighed and tossed his head, his heavy forelock falling over his eyes.

“Come on,” Steve called.

The stallion shook his head but finally he came forward.

Steve gathered Flame’s forelock. “I keep braiding this so you won’t go blind trying to see through it, and you keep loosening it somehow,” he said, laughing. “Stand still now, and we’ll do it over again.”

Flame tossed his head when Steve had finished, and the braided forelock moved up and down like a thumping whip. Steve slid onto the stallion’s back.

Flame didn’t bolt as he had done the previous afternoon. He stood restless but unmoving, awaiting commands from Steve’s legs. Finally the light touch came and he went off at a slow gallop.

Steve kept Flame at that gait for a long while. They went down the valley, circled the band and came back. It was a day meant for riding and Steve intended to make the most of it. Just to be astride his horse, to be alone with him, was more than he could ever want.

But that wasn’t exactly what he had thought yesterday, he reminded himself. Hadn’t he wanted Flame’s
greatness to be appreciated by others? Hadn’t he once again daydreamed of racing Flame? Yes, he admitted all this and he knew the reason for it.

Steve recalled the colorful poster he had seen in the Cuban air terminal during his long flight from the United States to Port of Spain, Trinidad, on his way to Azul Island well over a month ago. He had read it with great interest, as he did anything that had to do with horses. The poster had announced the running of an International Race to be held in Havana, Cuba, August 3rd. That was now less than a week away, he figured. The race was “OPEN TO THE WORLD”—and beneath this screaming declaration was a huge drawing of the globe.

Steve remembered boarding his plane again, wondering if “Open to the World” included Azul Island. So even then he’d been daydreaming of racing Flame! Such a fantastic prospect must be on his mind to a greater extent than he had realized.

Suddenly he heard the whir of feathered wings, and as a bird flew close overhead he saw the flash of the white under-body, the large blue wings and the crested head. It was the bird that had dived so recklessly down the end wall. The smaller, brown-backed bird was flying near the cane, squeaking loudly as though in warning or reprimand to the other.