Part 11

He set to feeding and the pinto joined him. They stayed in the shade of the aspen grove which afforded them complete protection from anyone who might halt on the rim above and look down. All such a pair of eyes would see was the pale-green canopy of the aspen grove. They grazed peacefully until they had eaten their fill, then Midnight led the pinto to the bed of needles under the Engelmann’s spruce over near the wall. There they lay down in the cool shade.

13. Tex Takes the Trail

Tex followed the trail of the mares until almost dark. He came up with them several times and sent them galloping into the lower valleys. He did not shoot any of them because he wished to leave them as an attraction for the black stallion. With less than half an hour of daylight left he headed over a ridge to one of the high-country cabins where food and horse feed were always kept ready for wandering cowpunchers and for the boys who rode the high range during the summer.

As he slid from his saddle he saw that someone else was using the cabin for the night. Yellow light streamed out of its one dusty window and the smell of frying bacon and boiling coffee floated down to the corral. Tex unsaddled the bay, watered and grained him, then rubbed him down. He always cared for his horse before thinking of his own comfort.

As he shoved open the cabin door he saw Major Howard and Shorty sitting at the plank table nailed to the wall under the window. They were just finishing a meal of hot biscuit, sugar syrup, bacon, and coffee which Shorty had fixed.

“Hello,” Tex greeted them. “Any grub left?”

Shorty grinned widely and the major nodded. Shorty shoved aside the packing box he had been sitting on.

“I’ll scorch some bacon and warm up the coffee,” he said. “I overestimated the boss’s appetite for biscuits, so there’s plenty.”

“Shorty made enough biscuits for six men,” the major said.

Tex eased his lank frame down on the packing box. He was ravenously hungry. Reaching for a biscuit he broke it, exposing its snowy center. The major watched him as he crammed half the biscuit into his mouth.

“I have been down to the meadow where you trapped those wild horses. You did a nice job, Tex.”

Tex grunted as he shoved the other half of the biscuit into his mouth.

The major added by way of defending himself against killing the mares:

“Not a single head worth rounding up.”

“I reckon not,” Tex agreed. Then he leaned forward and spoke with considered slowness: “The stud got away and he’s a winner. He outran my bay on level ground in a straightaway run.”

The major showed his interest at once. He had always wanted to capture a real wild stallion that had quality. He had an idea he could do some crossbreeding that might have interesting results.

“Stallion?” he asked.

“A black stud, long two-year-old. Fine racin’ legs, big chest, and the heart of a winner. He turned on me and come near knockin’ me out of my saddle.” Tex grinned as he remembered that charge.

The major smiled too, an eager smile. “He must have spirit. Racing legs and body--h-mmm.” He picked up a biscuit absently and crumbled the corner of it. Then he shot a penetrating glance at Tex and asked, “And you think you know his sire and dam?”

“That colt is out of Lady Ebony by the chestnut stud that led the wild band. The chestnut is the thief that stole your mare, major. The chestnut is gone, can’t figure exactly how he got killed, but I’m sure he’s dead. The black colt couldn’t handle him, not yet. But the black was running the band and he got the job too young.” Tex reached for another biscuit. “I reckon he’s learning fast, though.”

Major Howard got out his pipe. He loaded it carefully, then lighted it. He was watching Tex narrowly. For a full minute he puffed deeply, the blue-white smoke curling up around his graying hair. When he spoke his voice lacked the assurance it usually carried.

“You never give up once you get an idea, do you, Tex?”

“It’s as clear as day to me,” Tex said simply.

“This long two-year-old can outrun anything on my ranch.” The major spoke almost to himself.

“And rest while he’s doing it,” Tex said.

“You better bring him in. He may not be so good as he looked today, but if he has the markings of that black mare I’ll know it. I’d like to experiment with a stallion like that.”

“I figure on bringing him in if it takes all summer.” Tex leaned forward. The bacon Shorty had set before him went unnoticed. “If you figure I’m right you could do something for Sam?” Tex knew he was treading on dangerous ground. Mention of Sam always irritated the major.

“When I’m convinced, I’ll do what I can,” he said gruffly.

Tex knew there was no use talking any more about it. He would round up the black and bring him in. Once the major set eyes on the stallion he would know the black was Lady Ebony’s son. Then the major would get Sam out of his cell. Tex had the major figured that way.

With supper over the men rolled up in their blankets. The major slept in the wall bunk while Tex and Shorty bedded down on the floor. They did not stay up longer than the time it took to wash the dishes and split some wood for the breakfast fire. They would all be up and in the saddle by daylight the next morning. Tex meant to ride the upper range and to map out his campaign. He had a feeling there was need for haste. The black stallion would have to be brought in that summer. Sam had to be got back to his high mesa if he was to come at all.

The next morning Tex was up before the other two men had wakened. He made coffee in the blackened pot and finished up what had been left of Shorty’s biscuits. With a can of tomatoes, a tin of fish and some coffee from the cupboard he left the cabin.

The rising sun found him on a high ridge overlooking the sweep of the lower slopes of the Crazy Kills. He studied the meadows below, watching the timbered edges of the clearings, but he saw no sign of the black stallion. After that he set about checking the meadows, following the trails from valley to valley. About noon he came on two of the wild mares. He did not alarm them and they did not know he had seen them. Later he came on three more in a meadow far from where he had located the first two. At four that afternoon he found two others feeding beside a stream miles from the others. And he had come across no sign of the black stallion, not even his tracks. He began to wonder what had happened to the colt. And he was beginning to wonder if the band had not separated for good. The mares he had come on had been feeding or lying down. They had not seemed to be looking for the others. Tex refused to be worried, but he rode until darkness forced a halt. He built a little fire to heat water for coffee. He had eaten the tinned fish and tomatoes at noon. But he was determined to camp where he was and go on with the search in the morning.

The next day Tex rode until evening without coming on the black or crossing his trail. He was convinced now that the stallion was making no effort to round up the mares, that he was too young and inexperienced to have developed band leadership. He knew he faced a tough job but he had no idea of quitting. He would need a pack horse and supplies to stay in the hills more than two days. That meant he would have to return to the home ranch.

He rode back to the high-line cabin and cooked a meal. There was no one at the cabin and he rolled up on the bunk as soon as he had eaten. The next day he headed for the home ranch.

The major did not object when Tex told him his plans. But Tex knew that a week would probably be all he would be allowed for the hunt. The major would be calling him in to take charge of other work. He was convinced his boss was giving him this time so that he would have a chance to settle the matter that had been between them since Sam was taken away.

Tex rode into the high country. He laid his plans carefully. He meant to cover the range from timber line down in a careful check of all meadows and feed grounds. He was sure he would miss no spot where a wild horse would stay because he had ridden the Crazy Kill slopes for fifteen years and knew every foot of the ground.

Methodically he worked, from the north limits toward the south. He accounted for all the wild horses except Midnight and the pinto filly. At the end of the week he was worried. The black stallion must have gone down into the desert or over the divide into the wild country beyond Major Howard’s range. He had to admit he had failed in a job that seemed to him important. He knew there was no use trying to make a ride into the desert. That vast expanse of sand and canyons stretched clear to the Mexican border, while the wild country beyond the Crazy Kills was worse than the desert. It was canyon-slotted and grown dense with timber. No ranchers used it as a range. It was virgin wilderness and it was a hundred miles deep.

When Major Howard ordered Tex to take charge of the drive that would bring the new herds of cattle to the high country from the railroad yards he did not object. He had had his chance and had failed.

* * * * *

At the foot of the high walls overlooking Shadow Canyon, Midnight and the pinto stayed hidden in the aspen grove by day. At night they either fed in the little meadow or climbed up to the high mesa. When they were on the high mesa they raced and played. They never stayed after dawn broke. Twice they scented man smell on the wind and dashed to cover along the ledge trail.

The day Tex checked the high mesa for tracks or signs they were feeding below and had not been on top for several days. Rain had come and their tracks had been washed out. He had passed on after looking inside Sam’s cabin and noting how it was falling apart from disuse.

The pinto pony trusted Midnight and he had his past experience to make him feel secure in his hideout. But he did not forget the lessons he had learned, and no buck deer was more alert and watchful than he.

Many times Midnight led the pinto around the track he had laid out. They often ran by daylight, around and around, leaping over logs and rocks and pounding in a reckless chase over the rough trail. Midnight could easily outdistance the filly, but he never ran away from her when she dropped behind.

As the days passed, both horses became sleek and fat, but Midnight did not lose his speed or power. He never became lazy, because of the nervous, high spirits which filled him. He was fast coming to the place where he would not be satisfied with the company of one filly, but another season would pass before he was ready to go forth.

* * * * *

In a town below the ridges and wild barrens, behind drab, gray walls old Sam had at last given up the fight. One morning he did not answer early call and they found him lying on his cot peacefully sleeping. He would not stir and seemed not to have the wiry strength that had carried him along. The warden and the doctor came. Sam was taken to the hospital and placed on a white bed. Outside the door of his room the doctor faced the warden.

“The state will not be burdened over a couple of months longer by that old codger,” he said.

“What ails him?” the warden asked.

“What would ail any wild thing that was cooped up in one of your cells?” the doctor asked, then turned abruptly away.

The warden went back to his office and looked into Sam’s file. No one had taken any interest in the case except Tex and he had written only one letter because writing was something he seldom did. The warden put the file away and made a note of what the doctor had said.

14. Beside the Castle Rocks

With an uneasy jerk Tex tore open the envelope the major handed him. He was not used to getting letters and this one was postmarked at the state prison. He fished out a single sheet of paper and stared at it. The major had read the postmark and stood waiting for Tex to speak.

There was a brief line at the beginning of the letter. The message was from Sam and the warden had written the letter for him. Tex turned away from the major and walked down to the horse corral before he read any further. He wanted to be alone. Leaning over the pole gate he finished the letter. The message was brief, very much like Sam. Tex’s lips moved as he repeated the words to himself.

“I put off writin’ figurin’ to see you. Reckon I won’t, so the warden is writin’ this to you. They got a buryin’ spot down here they call Woodpecker Hill. It’s good enough fer an old gopher miner but I still got a hankerin’ to get back to the top of the world. If it won’t put you out too much, Tex, I’d like to be planted near the ledge trail at the foot of the castle rocks. Jest lift the rock under the right front leg of the stove and you’ll find a poke of dust I cached. There’ll be enough in it to do the job. I want you should keep what’s left over. Figure I’ll hang on till I get a letter back from you. The doc says no, but I’ve fooled ’em before. Sam.”

Tex folded the sheet into a wad and shoved it into the pocket of his chaps. He stared for a long time through the white sunlight. His bay gelding came over to the fence and nudged his arm. Tex turned around.

“We shore let old Sam down,” he said grimly. “But this time we’ll not flop on him.”

He reached over and caught the horn of his saddle which was tossed across the top pole of the corral. As he was jerking the cinch tight around the belly of the bay a few minutes later, the major’s shadow appeared near the gate. Tex did not turn around. He did not feel like telling the major anything. The last time he had tried to talk to him about getting Sam freed his boss had been irritated and short in his refusal. Tex had a feeling the major even believed he had invented the story about the black stud, with the help of Shorty, in order to get his sympathy. The major watched in silence until Tex faced the gate, then he spoke.

“I want to have a look at the new stock. You can ride into the aspen range with me and show me around.”

Tex nodded. There was no use in writing to Sam now. The mail would not be picked up until the next day. He could take a couple of days off and ride in, but he didn’t feel equal to facing the old man after the way he had let him down.

By midafternoon the pair were high in the aspen country and close to the spruce belt. Tex had taken the major to the meadows where the new stock grazed. They had halted on a ridge as the major had a way of doing and were gazing over the vast country below. The major always got a thrill out of looking over his vast domain. He never tired of the rolling foothills and the wide, grassy valleys, all his.

Tex could see the high mesa on the rim of Shadow Canyon. He could see the castle rocks where Sam wanted to be planted. A desire to ride down to the spot laid hold of him. He could get the poke of gold while he was there. When the major was ready to move on, Tex headed down the slope. Within an hour they broke out on the high meadow. The major looked across at Tex questioningly but said nothing. He knew none of the new stock were run that far south. But he was more interested in the letter Tex had got than he cared to show and was sure this visit had something to do with it. He feared the old man had died in prison, and the thought stirred the old train of doubts as to the course he had followed.

They rode down to the castle rocks before going to the cabin. Tex dismounted and stood at the base of the rocks where Sam had said he wanted to lie. When he looked over the expanse of country below he knew why Sam had picked this spot. From the ledge he could see far across the hazy lower valley to the distant peaks of the Sleepy Range, while on the right he could look out over the purple expanse of the desert with its spires and red rims gleaming in the late sunlight. At his feet yawned Shadow Canyon. From its twilight depths came the rumble of a rushing stream. The music rose and fell in steady cadence. Tex drew in his breath sharply and turned toward the major.

As he turned a flash of movement below caught his eye. He stepped closer to the canyon rim and looked down on a little meadow. At first he saw nothing but a little beaver lake, a grove of aspens, and a stand of spruce. Then a black horse flashed out of the timber running madly. Close on his heels came a pinto filly. They were heading straight at a barrier of logs. They reached the barrier and lifted like birds, sailing over it easily. Their manes and tails flowed out as they pounded along.

“Look!” Tex called hoarsely as he pointed downward.

The major slid from his horse and stood beside Tex. The flying horses had vanished into the aspen grove and Tex grunted disgustedly. In a moment they appeared again and took the log barrier in a mad leap. Both men stood in silence watching the big black stallion as he cleared the barrier and raced away. The horses vanished but appeared again as they charged around the little circle below. Then they vanished and did not appear again.

For a long minute the two men faced each other. It was the major who spoke.

“Tex,” he said gruffly, “I’m a stubborn fool.” He held out his hand. “Let me see that letter you got from the state prison.”

Tex dug out the letter and handed it to him. The major read it quickly. When he had finished he folded it carefully and handed it back to Tex. Relief and eagerness showed on his face, as he turned toward his horse.

“We’ll ride for the ranch. If I hit the trail hard enough I can catch the midnight train at Painted Rocks.”

Tex grinned. He said nothing, but he was in his saddle before the major reached his horse.

15. Home to Stay

The old yellowbelly whistler was uneasy. He scented the coming of a cold snap, a heavy snow perhaps. The aspens were flaming yellow, the oak brush purple and red, its rounded clumps looking like fine upholstery laid on an immense piece of furniture. The calico chips darted around in frantic haste as they gathered seeds to add to their bulging granaries. Even the rockchips were more active than usual. They did not spend so much time hugging their fat bellies and mooning into the distance. The dog colony was as noisy and busy as usual but there was a difference in their chatter. This was a time of uncertainty. Indian summer had to end. It had held the high country in its drowsy spell for many days. Now the air had a different feel.

Down by the castle rocks there was a newly made pile of rocks. This disturbance of the scenery had upset the small folk of the meadow for a while but now they were used to it. The calico chips used it as a hiding place and even the whistlers had explored it carefully.

Suddenly the meadow rang with an eager whinny, followed by a loud snort and the pounding of hoofs against the dry, hard ground. A black stallion and a pinto filly broke from the head of the Shadow Canyon trail. They raced wildly around the mesa, kicking and dodging. They swung down past the castle rocks and the black stallion made a magnificent show of shying and plunging as they passed the pile of rocks. Saluting the mound with a flash of his heels he raced back toward the old cabin.

Midnight slid to a halt before the cabin and called loudly. He advanced toward the door shaking his head and snorting, his eyes rolling wildly.

The door of the cabin hung open. A blue-white wreath of smoke curled out and up into the air, then old Sam stepped through the doorway. He stood for a moment steadying himself, one hand against the casing, then he shuffled outside and sank down on the ancient willow chair. As he seated himself he dug into a pocket of his worn jacket and brought out a handful of dingy lump sugar.

“No human critter could of got me outside today the way my rheumatiz joints is shoutin’ fer a storm,” he said.

He held out one hand with two lumps of sugar in it. The black stallion edged closer, his legs trembling, his nostrils flaring eagerly. The pinto filly crowded ahead of him and her pink nose deftly whisked the sugar out of Sam’s palm. Old Sam chuckled as he placed two more lumps in his palm.

“Lady, you act plumb scandalous fer a wild hoss,” he said.

Midnight had edged close now. He gathered up the two lumps and crunched them eagerly. Even after weeks of coaxing and tempting Sam had not quieted all the fears in the heart of the stallion. Sam doled out the sweets slowly, making them last as long as possible. When they were gone he got to his feet, and picked up a tin pail beside the door. Walking to a bare spot of ground near the corner of the cabin he poured out a liberal measure of oats.

Midnight stood watching, ready to charge away. The pinto shouldered up close to Sam, letting him run his hand along her neck. Watching her gather up the oats was too much for the black; he crowded in to get his share, but not until Sam had backed away.

Midnight and the pinto gathered up every grain of oats, then they trotted out into the meadow and began feeding. Sam filled his pipe and settled back to let the sun warm his joints. He was glad his visitors had routed him out. The sun was really fine. After a few minutes of its warmth he began thinking about walking down to the new prospect hole he had dug at the base of the castle rocks. He chuckled to himself as he thought about it but he did not move. He was remembering how he had written to Tex asking him to dig a hole on that very spot. He wondered what Tex would have done if he had dug that hole and then discovered he had uncovered a vein of gold-bearing quartz. Sam had a feeling Tex would have dug a buryin’ hole and let it go at that. That was what he thought of Tex.

Out on the meadow a chipmunk had mounted a stone. His voice rang out. “Chock! Chock! Chock!” like the rattle of an old alarm clock. Instantly every chipmunk in the meadow raced to his sing perch and the meadow rang with their song. The fat yellowbelly on guard stretched his neck and blasted a short whistle, then pulled in his neck with a deep chuckle. He always disapproved such a chatter.

Sam’s pipe rolled to the corner of his mouth and turned upside down. One fumbling hand found the gold chain of his big watch. He pulled it out and bent above the dial. His lips moved as he counted. When the chorus died away he was grinning happily.

“One hunnert eighty a minnit,” he mumbled. “That there’s a youngster jest comin’ into his growth. Come spring he’ll do two hunnert.”

As he tucked the ancient watch back into his pocket he sniffed the air. Twisting his neck he looked up at the spruce ridge. Gray clouds raced above the tops of the trees, and he could hear the moaning of a cold wind rushing through the needles. Below the clouds moved a curtain of white, swirling flakes. Sam got to his feet. His watery eyes rested for a moment on a pile of baled hay stacked against the end of the cabin and flanked by a great stack of split firewood. Tex had fixed everything. Let the snows come, he’d be snug as any one of the yellowbellies. And the two horses would not have to worry either.

“I reckon I’ll jest hole up fer a spell,” he said.

Down on the meadow Midnight had jerked up his head and was watching the storm sweep across the mesa. Sam stood at the door looking out on the scene until the form of the big stallion was swallowed by the wall of snow.

As handsome as he is wild--that’s

MIDNIGHT

Son of a beautiful purebred mare and a wild stallion, the gangling colt grows up under the stern law of the wild ... until his flying hooves and bitterly learned store of experience make him leader of his own untamed band.

The thrilling tale of a freedom-loving horse in the Western mountains.

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Transcriber’s Note:

Spelling and hyphenation have been retained as they appear in the original publication except as follows:

Page 20 and cerainly limited _changed to_ and certainly limited