The Island Stallion Races (6 page)

It was becoming quite dark, so he could barely see the two men. They were directly across the valley from Flame, and yet the stallion never stopped his grazing. Like everything else that had happened, Flame’s lack of vigilance was unbelievable. Even though Flame might not be able to see the two strangers in the darkness, he should have been able to sense their presence.

Steve felt the cool night air on his face. Moments passed, and then the two men were gone. Steve stayed where he was, his gaze shifting to the sky above the dome of Azul Island, watching for a thin streak of silver. He waited a long while without seeing anything.

Finally he looked down at the plate that held Jay’s half-eaten biscuit. If it were not for this bit of evidence, he would have found it hard to believe the two men had actually been there.

Suddenly he heard a noisy outburst from the birds.
They were above him as they had been early that morning, perched on the rock beside the waterfall. The large blue bird was closer, and as usual was more bold and boisterous. Apparently he had seen the biscuit and wanted it, for he flew down and came to rest a short distance away.

Steve tossed the biscuit outside on the ledge. The bird dove quickly, snapping it up with one hard thrust of his bill.

As Steve watched him fly off with the biscuit, he regretted having given away his only tangible evidence of the last weird hour. It was all too fantastic to believe! He looked up at the night sky and saw nothing but the two birds in flight. A chill swept over him. It was all a dream, wasn’t it? Nothing had actually happened. There were no such persons as Jay and Flick.

Steve cooked a large meal. He opened tins of beef and peas and carrots and onions. He used garlic and herbs, trying to remember all that Pitch had told him about preparing a savory stew. Actually he was not hungry, although he knew that once the food was before him he would eat. To keep busy was his main objective. He did not want to think about his strange visitors any longer.

When he finally sat down to eat, he found the stew not at all to his liking and not at all like Pitch’s. Too much garlic. Too much thyme. But he scarcely paused between mouthfuls. It was as though he were willing to do anything, anything at all, to keep from thinking. The next stew would be better, he told himself. He’d been experimenting. He’d learned a lot. The next stew would be better. He’d go easy on the garlic, easy on the thyme.

Later he heated water and washed the dishes and pots. He dried them slowly, not certain what he could find to do next. He looked outside the cave. The evening sky was clear. There would be no cold rain
tonight to chill him, no shivering. He heard the soft neighs of the mares calling their colts. Flame was quiet. There was not a sound from him, not even a hoofbeat.

When Steve had finished doing the dishes, he walked onto the ledge, where he could see the dark silhouettes of the band. His eyes followed their movements but his thoughts wavered and then rushed headlong past every mental barrier he had erected to keep himself from thinking of Jay and Flick. Surely their being here meant the destruction of all he held so priceless!

Why was it that he was so alarmed now, when he had willingly accepted them without fear only a short while ago? Was this the aftermath of all he had seen and experienced? Was
this
reality and the other a ghastly hoax, a scheme by which Jay and Flick had somehow warped his mind, making him see good where there was only evil?

He thought of the airship that had swept through the heavens like a second sun and had come to rest, invisible, on the water. Surely this craft with its slender cruisers was the most advanced, most secret weapon in the world! Jay had said he didn’t believe it had been seen before.

If the United States had developed it, he’d surely be taken to Washington. And if it belonged to another country, a potential foreign enemy, he might be … Steve walked restlessly about the ledge, the skin drawn taut and white about his high cheekbones.

Was it any wonder that he was fearful, when all his life he had heard and read of the hatred among so many countries of the world? Was it not the reason for great
standing armed forces and the fantastic advancement of secret weapons? Had he not seen with his own eyes the most powerful weapon of them all?

He stopped walking and told himself to forget all he had read about prejudices and misunderstandings between governments. If he thought only of Jay and Flick as they were everything would be all right again. He could trust them completely without preconceived suspicion and hatred, without alarm or dread, regardless of what country they were from.

For many minutes he stood still, trying to visualize their faces. How hard it was to form a mental picture of them! How long had they been gone? An hour, two hours at most.

He could remember details, their suits and shirts and ties, Jay’s heavy hair that was more blue than black and Flick’s short cropped head and small black mustache. But he couldn’t put everything together and say to himself, “This is Jay … and that’s Flick.” No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t form a mental image of their features, and he wanted so much to look into their eyes again. He knew that if he were able to do this, the inner warmth and trust would come once more.

He began walking again, making every effort to bring their faces to mind. But only an indistinct blur of faces resulted, not old, not young … real and yet not real. Finally, frustrated and angry with himself, he lay down upon his cot.

Looking up at the night sky, he thought, “At least I can remember that there was nothing sinister or evil about them. I know they were good faces, kind faces. Besides, how could anyone have listened to Jay and
Flick argue like a couple of small kids and still be afraid of them? Jay was so irresponsible while Flick acted like the worst kind of a worrier, constantly reminding his friend that they were being neglectful of their shipboard duties. And Flick had gotten so angry when Jay said,
‘No wonder you’re gray long before your time. And wearing that ridiculous crew-cut doesn’t fool anyone either!’
”

Steve laughed and closed his eyes. He had a teacher back home who wasn’t unlike Flick in that the older he got the shorter he had his hair cut and the louder became his clothes.

It was good to be able to laugh, to have confidence that he would get everything straightened out the next day and that there was nothing at all to fear. He settled down in the brisk coolness of the night, as did the mares and Flame in the valley below.

Early the next morning the red stallion stretched out his long legs to the greatest of strides. His hoofs hardly touched the cropped grass before he lifted them again, taking Steve down the valley with a speed that made the walled amphitheater much too small and confining.

As always when his horse was in full run, Steve had no alternative but to move forward over Flame’s withers, his knees pulled high to keep from falling off, his hands and head on the stallion’s neck. A silhouette would have revealed only the outlines of the horse, for Steve’s position never changed, even when Flame swept into sharp turns that took him across the valley and into the borders of the cane before he straightened out again.

After a long while Flame’s strides shortened. He
slowed to a gallop and then finally to a walk, his body white with lather. When Steve slipped from the stallion’s back he was as sweaty as his horse. He pulled Flame’s head down toward him, breathing heavily. Suddenly a voice from behind said, “You should keep a hot horse moving, Steve!”

Steve whirled around to face Jay, then looked beyond.

Jay smiled and said, “I got away
alone
this time.”

Steve shifted his gaze back to this man, who came and went without his seeing him. Eagerly he scrutinized Jay’s face. Why hadn’t he been able to remember it last night or this morning? It seemed so easy now. Soft and kind, a most common face. But somehow Steve knew he’d never remember it once Jay had left him again. For it was real and yet not real. The eyes had color and yet were crystal clear without color. The skin was white and yet not white, without blemish—not even a stubble of beard—and ageless.

Finally Jay broke the long silence. “Nothing accounts for more hind end lameness than
standing
a hot horse. You’d better walk him, Steve.”

It was strange that only then did Steve think of Jay’s nearness to Flame. Quickly he turned to his horse. No fire burned in Flame’s eyes. The tall stallion looked past Jay, seemingly unconcerned over the stranger’s presence.

Steve didn’t move. He couldn’t take his eyes off Flame, so astonished was he at the stallion’s easy acceptance of Jay. He heard the man say, “Really, Steve, I’ve seen more good horses ruined by trainers doing just what you’re doing now! Flame should be sponged off
with warm water, swiped, blanketed and walked for at least an hour.”

Steve answered, “Flame’s used to this. He’ll cool himself out. He won’t stand still.”

“Really, that’s too much to expect of any horse, Steve,” Jay said with concern. “Please walk him.”

Steve touched Flame, and the stallion moved toward the pool.

Jay began to follow Flame, but then returned to Steve. “I dislike interfering like this, Steve. I really do. I know you’re well able to take care of your horse. But believe me, Flame shouldn’t be allowed to drink any water now. Why, that’s even worse than his standing still! He’ll founder himself. He’ll get cramp colic. He’ll die!”

Steve laughed at Jay’s outburst and said, “Watch him.”

Flame wet his long nose and left the pool, walking down the valley.

Steve added, “He knows how to take care of himself. They all do. That’s all they’ve ever known … they and their forebears.”

Jay said nothing, but he didn’t take his eyes off the constantly moving stallion. Finally he sat down on the grass, pulling up his pantlegs to keep the fine crease in his blue suit. “I suppose you’re right, Steve, but I wouldn’t take any chances.” He looked up at the boy, and then back at Flame. “Especially after such a hard ride as you gave him,” he added gravely.

“You watched us?”

“Of course, Steve. There’s nothing I enjoy more than getting up early, before dawn sometimes, and
getting to a convenient track to watch horses in training. It really does something for me!”

Steve looked down at this well-dressed man who might have been at a popular metropolitan club, telling friends of his visits to Belmont Park or Churchill Downs. Yet here he was, where so few had ever been, very much at ease and urging him to sponge Flame, to blanket him, to walk him.… Flame, a wild stallion!

“I just wouldn’t want anything to happen to him,” Jay said. “He’s too fine a horse. I’ve never seen a better one. You must do everything possible to keep him sound.”

In the distance Flame lowered himself carefully to the grass and began rolling, his long limbs cutting the air.

“You sit him beautifully, Steve,” Jay said without taking his eyes off the rolling horse. “No one could have a better seat. It wouldn’t get by in a show ring, of course, but on the race track it’s the only way to ride.”

“I’ve never raced,” Steve said.

“I know,” Jay replied quietly.

Steve continued standing. He couldn’t sit down beside Jay and chew thoughtfully on a succulent blade of grass as the man was doing. He was not sufficiently at ease for that. He wondered how it was that Jay knew he had done no racing. Perhaps he would be able to find out. He was aware from having listened to him yesterday that Jay loved to talk and that it wouldn’t be long before he knew a lot more about this man and where he was from.

“Do you know why you have the ideal racing seat?” Jay asked.

“No. I just try to keep from falling off.”

Jay laughed loudly, and his hair fell low on his forehead when he shook his head. He turned quickly to the boy, only his eyes smiling now. “I wasn’t laughing at you,” he said when he saw Steve’s flushed face. “Your saying that reminded me of what happened a short while ago. I was down South on a visit when …”

“South America?” Steve asked quickly.

“No. Southern United States,” Jay replied. “Kentucky, I think it was, but it’s not important. Anyway, I was watching the horse races at a small country fair and most of them were being won by kids riding bareback. There were a couple of big Eastern trainers there, and I got talking to them. It seems they went to the small fairs looking for horses they might be able to use on the big city tracks. They were disturbed because while they’d been buying a lot of the winning horses at the fairs it turned out that they didn’t run very well when they reached the Eastern tracks. The trainers couldn’t understand what happened to the horses’ speed.”

Jay stopped, and his eyes glowed with an unusual brightness.

“Maybe it was the faster competition,” Steve suggested.

“No, it wasn’t that at all,” Jay answered. “The reason was that the trainers took the horses but left the kids who had ridden them behind.”

“Were they such good riders?”

“In a way,” Jay replied thoughtfully. “You see, those kids at the fairs didn’t have enough money to buy saddles, so in riding bareback their first objective was to keep from falling off.” He smiled and then went on, “A
simple matter of self preservation, Steve, as you pointed out a moment ago. They hung on to whatever was best to keep their balance. They moved forward over their mounts’ withers. They pulled up their knees and leaned close to their horses’ necks, holding mane as well as rein. In doing all these things their weight was forward, where it should be for extreme speed, and in addition they cut down wind resistance to a minimum; their bodies didn’t act as a brake.”

Jay paused to glance at Flame, who was walking slowly around the band.

It gave Steve a chance to say, “But certainly that’s the way jockeys ride even with saddles.”

Jay turned quickly to the boy. “Oh, no, Steve. You’re mistaken. I’ve watched them. They ride with very long stirrups and sit straight up in the saddle with their weight in the
middle
of a horse’s back. Really I can’t understand why they do it! They just don’t seem to use their heads at all. It makes me a little angry, especially when I think of what happened in England not long after my visit to that country fair.”