Part 4
In the canyon the big stallion had settled down to the grim job of lashing his mares into movement. They were not able to go fast but he kept them pounding along, just ahead of the yelling hunters. Their gaunt bellies were drawn and their dry nostrils flared red inside their dust-caked rims. The Navajos were shouting to one another, their spirits high. They were sure of their catch now and eager to close in as soon as the mares quit.
Then the dusk of evening came and with it the downpour of rain. Nowhere in the world outside the tropics can so much water fall in so short a time as in the desert. The storm was bad luck for the hunters, but it spelled escape for the wild horses. It blotted out everything, bringing sudden, inky night. Its rushing, swirling waters wiped out the tracks of the horses. The chestnut stallion played wise. He took a side canyon, forcing his charges out on a rocky ridge. From that canyon they crossed another ridge and turned north. The big stallion was headed out of the desert.
The hunters spread out and worked up and down the canyon but the darkness and rain defeated them. They finally gave up and turned their ponies toward their camp.
All that night Lady Ebony kept moving. The storm passed and the moon came out with stars beyond it, stars that hung low over the barren country, brilliant with red and blue lights winking outside white centers.
A pair of gray wolves flashed past like shadows. They leaped along, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. One was a big, broad-chested fellow with a wide muzzle and frost-cropped ears. The other was a slim gray one with slender legs and body. They paid no attention to Lady Ebony. They were not hunting, they were running, answering the call of spring, heading for a trysting place on a barren ridge.
Lady Ebony heard them holding their spring concert on a high knoll. They howled and snarled and yelped. There was much yearning, much that sounded like deep laughter in their song, and there was tenderness in the notes of the slim gray one. In their mating time they had lost the savagery of winter. There was no specter of famine in the springtime, no blasting blizzards, no deep snow. There was food and there was an urge to find a snug den.
Something of the feelings expressed by the gray wolves filled Lady Ebony. Just before dawn she halted and began feeding. She fed on through the morning. She saw no other horses and heard no savage yells. At midday she lay down and rested until late afternoon.
When she moved on she headed north, toward the snowy ramparts of the Crazy Kill Range, and she went at a long, ground-devouring lope. That night she halted at a spring in the lower foothills. Berrybushes and willow grew around the spring and there was tall grass. Lady Ebony pulled the juicy grass contentedly. She was glad to be away from the teeth and smashing hoofs of the chestnut stallion. She did not miss the herd at all.
The spring was so much of a change after the parched desert that she bedded down close beside it and rested until morning. With the gray dawn she was up and feeding on the lush grass. For several hours she fed, then she drank deeply and faced northward. Again she set her pace at a fast lope.
6. Midnight
Lady Ebony held her course until late afternoon. She was high in the red foothills when she halted. A little stream bubbled over red rocks, willow grew along the banks, and the grass was green. On each side of the water red rocks rose high against the sky. Along the base of the cliffs lay great slabs and piles of stone, broken loose from the walls by wind and rain, piled in confusion over the floor of the wild gorge. Lady Ebony moved among the tumbled rocks. A bobcat bounded from a thicket of rose brier where he had been hunting cottontails. Lady Ebony snorted and shook her head.
She kept moving slowly along the stream until she came to a grove of cottonwoods. Close beside the grove grew a dense thicket of tangled brush. Lady Ebony dropped her head and began pulling the tender gamma grass. She did not look up at the Crazy Kill Range again. After she had eaten her fill she drank at the stream and lay down.
Sunset flamed across the sky and died into cool shadows. The red bluffs changed from deep purple to slate gray. By almost unnoticeable degrees the moon brightened and flooded the valley and the cliffs changed color to match the white light. Now they were silvery with bands and squares of black shadows across them. And the stars hung, big and white, close to the ragged tops of the rims.
In this garden of red rocks close beside the little stream a colt was born. The morning sun beating down on the floor of the gorge shone on a wobbly little horse crowding close to Lady Ebony’s side.
The black colt jerked his curly tail and butted his head against his mother’s side as he got his first breakfast. His legs were long and heavy-boned. They were wobbly legs but they showed promise of great strength. His head was finely molded like his mother’s, and his sleek coat was all black, except for a white star in his forehead. That white star and the heavy-boned frame were his inheritance from his father, the chestnut stallion.
Lady Ebony was proud and excited over her handsome jet-black colt--so black that he could well be called Midnight. She kept turning her head, nosing his silky rump, and nickering softly. She was suddenly aware of many things she had scarcely noticed before. She heard a rustling in the thicket and sniffed the warm air nervously. A faint odor of cat came to her and she snorted angrily. A few minutes later a big bobcat stepped out of the thicket and stood looking at her. Lady Ebony shook her head and stamped her feet. The bobcat opened his mouth wide, exposing rows of white teeth and a red tongue. He closed his mouth and his yellow eyes stared at the mare and her colt. Then he humped his sleek back and trotted through the sunshine across the meadow to where his mate was waiting for him.
In one of the big cottonwoods a flicker hammered away at the trunk of the tree. Even this steady rat-a-tat bothered Lady Ebony. And when the flicker’s mate sailed down from the sky and alighted on an anthill she snorted again. The flicker up in the tree deserted his morning task and came down to join his wife in an ant hunt. They danced and cavorted on the anthill, picking up the busy little workers as they swarmed out to repel the invasion.
A yellowbelly whistler came down out of the rocks and set to feeding, sliding along the ground, sitting up to stare intently across the meadow, chuckling to himself as he munched the roots he dug up. He was joined by a pair of cottontail rabbits who stayed close to cover as they fed.
Midnight finished his breakfast and began walking around on his wobbly legs, investigating everything he came to with an inquisitive, pink nose. Lady Ebony followed him nickering nervously. The little fellow halted beside a clump of rattleweed. His ears pricked forward and he listened. From the deep shade under the green leaves came a warning rattle. The buzzing sound was repeated as Midnight’s nose drew closer. Lady Ebony sprang forward and stamped upon the patch of weeds as she shouldered her son away from the danger spot. The colt had met his first enemy, a big rattler.
Lady Ebony showed by her actions that she considered Midnight an important little horse. She followed his wobbling course down the stream, then back again. After that he tried to run but his legs doubled under him and his body failed to do what he wanted of it. Finally he trotted out into the warm sun and lay down. In a few minutes he was sound asleep.
Lady Ebony stood over him for a long time with her head down. Finally she set to cropping grass near where he slept. She knew that she must be constantly alert, ready to repel attack from killers that had never bothered her before. The morning serenade of a pair of coyotes above the rock garden made her nervous. Their mad chorus of yelping laughter and high, mournful notes caused her to move close to Midnight and stand there with head erect. The song dogs of the dawn finished their chorus and raced away across the meadow above.
A great bald eagle wheeled above the tops of the red cliffs, his round, glassy eyes staring down on the meadow, his wings beating the air with powerful strokes. He saw the mare and her colt and his powerful beak clicked several times. His pinions stiffened and were held as rigid as the wings of a pursuit plane as he banked sharply and spiraled downward. He saw the black colt get to his feet and wander away from his mother. With a piercing scream he shortened his circles. His cry was answered from the deep blue above and a second eagle came plummeting down on folded wings, her body roaring through the thin air as she dived. She flattened her terrific plunge just above the red rock garden and circled with her mate.
Lady Ebony jerked up her head and trotted to her son. She tried to stand over him but he did not wish to be bothered at the moment. He had discovered his own shadow and was making a great show of challenging the flat, black thing following him on the ground. He tossed his head and laid back his ears, his furry rump bumping up and down a little as he threatened to kick at his mother.
The eagles soared and dived over the mare and her colt. The kings of the air were savage killers without fear of any ground dweller. They had struck down fawns and lambs and they knew they could smash the wobbly colt if his mother left an opening. Midnight became more irritated at his mother’s close guard. He tried to lash out at her with his hind feet. Lady Ebony let him trot away from her. He halted and snorted at his shadow.
The king of the air saw his opening and dived. His wings were folded tight against his sides and he dropped like a bolt of lightning. Close behind him came his mate. The attack was so swift that Lady Ebony could not reach the side of her son in time to shield him. The diving eagle spread his wings a few feet above the back of the colt. His heavy breastbone struck Midnight a smashing blow while his long talons raked deep into the tender back of the little horse. Midnight went down so quickly the she-eagle missed him entirely. The blow which had felled him was the same smashing stroke with which the eagle broke limbs from trees when building a nest. It was his stroke of death, but he had not gauged it as well as he had intended. The breastbone struck Midnight across the hips and not in the middle of the back where it would have broken him down.
With frantic snorts and eager whinnying Lady Ebony nosed her son as he staggered to his feet. He crowded close against her, willing now to be guarded. The eagles rose straight up into the blue for five hundred feet before they leveled off. They circled and looked down, their screams ringing along the cliffs. Midnight stayed close to his mother. His rump was smarting and he felt the need of her strength. After a time the eagles widened their circles and flew away.
Midnight had learned another lesson. When Lady Ebony sounded a warning call he rushed to her side instead of humping his back and dancing up and down. He wanted no more raking talons in his skin. He was beginning to know the price of life in the wild. He was coming to know that the strong live while the weak and the foolish die soon.
But the little horse’s fright passed quickly. He was a true child of the wilderness and fear was a passing shadow. With the circling killers gone from the sky he forgot them and sought dinner. He was much stronger now, his legs had stiffened and he was able to bounce up and down. The blood of his father gave him something Lady Ebony did not have, a vitality and a savageness all babies of the wild must have to survive. Had he been born with the band he would have been able to follow them. He made a short circle among the rocks, then came back to his mother’s side where he thrust his head under her flank and began drinking lustily. Lady Ebony was proud of him, but she was worried too, because there were so many enemies in this wild country. She was a horse trained to depend upon man, his fences and his protecting rifle. Vaguely she knew she should be in a shed during this important time. Midnight shared none of her worries; he was typically a wild horse.
That evening the big bobcat serenaded them from the blue-black depths of the cottonwood grove. No man or beast who has ever heard the terrifying yowling of the cat-of-the-mountain when he is struck by a lonely mood has remained calm and unfrightened. Even the cougar and the wolf move off when he starts serenading. The big cat began his plaint with long “me-ows” till after a few minutes his cry was a series of “row-row-rows,” ending in terrific screeches. The weird screaming echoed along the rock walls of the gorge. It finally tapered off into long-drawn wails filled with hopeless despair as though the big fellow was condemned to a terrible fate and knew his time was near.
Lady Ebony rushed to the side of Midnight and began frantically herding him up the canyon. She did not have to urge the little horse. He struck out wildly, running as fast as he could, looking back in terror, expecting to see a monster leap on him from the woods.
A pair of coyotes trotting up the canyon halted and stood for a moment staring through the moonlight. They whirled and raced back, casting glances over their shoulders as they ran.
After a time the big pussy with the bobtail walked out of the grove and seated himself on a rock. Whatever had been troubling him seemed to have been chased away by his vocal efforts. He yawned and stretched his lithe body leisurely, then looked around with a satisfied smirk. He had the canyon to himself and seemed highly pleased.
He was a male weighing perhaps twenty-five pounds. His ears had black tufts at the ends, his lips were white with whiskers springing from black spots. In this he favored the lynx cat. But his eye rings were white and his reddish-brown body was marked with cloudings suggesting spots while his feet were small like those of a house cat. His tail was not more than seven inches long, a stubby bobbed-off tail, but it jerked nervously as he sat smiling over his kingdom of rock piles and tall grass. He was not hungry and the hunting mood did not fill him. He had feasted well on wood rat and rabbit earlier that evening. He had simply wished to clear all neighbors from his presence. Now that he had done it he sat and smirked on the top of his big rock.
But the big cat did not reckon with one hunter who was not impressed by his terrible song. A big, snowy owl came beating along the canyon wall. His dim shadow floated across the grass toward the rock where the cat was sitting. The owl had not feasted that evening. Fate had been unkind. Every rabbit pasture he had swept over had already been raided by coyotes or cats. The old owl was never choice about his prey. His way was to strike at any living thing that came under his powerful beak and talons. He saw the shadow on the rock move. The animal sitting there was not bigger than many he had killed before. With a scream he dived.
His smashing body struck the surprised cat on the neck and back. Long talons sank deep into the stringy muscles while powerful wings battered the sleek sides, knocking him off his perch and rolling him over. Instantly the sleepy fellow was changed to a hissing, spitting demon. He twisted his body and with claws and teeth lashed back at the ripping beak and beating wings of the owl. The owl drove his fangs deeper and tore at his snarling victim with his hooked beak.
The bobcat’s fangs found the neck of the owl and sank into it with crunching swiftness. Blood spattered and fur and feathers filled the air. The battlers clung to their death holds and exerted all their strength. The bobcat’s raking hind feet ripped feathers out of his assailant and found the stringy flesh beneath them; his fangs sank deeper. Over and over they rolled, the owl flapping and clicking his beak savagely, the cat hissing and snarling and yowling.
Both fighters weakened quickly because their wounds were deep and driven into vital parts. They tumbled into a hollow between two big rocks. There they struggled feebly for a time. Finally they lay still, the crumpled and tangled body of the owl under that of the cat, his big, round eyes staring savagely up at the stars. The bobcat lay with fangs driven into the neck of his antagonist, his yellow eyes closed to slits, his sleek coat marred by tufts of torn hair.
A little wind stirred down the canyon. It passed over the hollow where the dead animals lay, it seemed to spread the news that two deadly hunters had passed out of the red rock garden. The bunnies crept out to the edge of their thicket homes and the wood mice and rats ventured into the tall grass. After the way of the wild they started feeding peacefully.
Lady Ebony and Midnight halted in the middle of a meadow a mile above the spot where the battle had taken place. Midnight, true to his wild instinct, had already forgotten the fear that had sent him charging out of the garden below. He saw a doe and a fawn feeding at the edge of the meadow and started over to make friends with them. Lady Ebony did not forget so quickly. She was nervous and excited all that night and tried to keep her son from walking up to the doe.
Midnight approached the mule deer and her fawn. He nickered softly and humped his back, doing a little dance to show off before them. The doe snorted and shook her head. She was not afraid of a colt but she would take no chances with her baby. She turned about and led the little one back into the brush.
Lady Ebony stayed in the upper meadow. She wanted to give her son time to get his legs under him before moving on. By the third day the colt was able to race around the meadow. He noticed the brightly colored flowers, and made a great show of fear when a rabbit hopped away before one of his charges. He was inquisitive and shoved his pink muzzle close to everything that interested him. That day he met one of the wilderness dwellers who lived in a burrow under a dead stump. Midnight was dancing about pretending to be frightened by a pair of rockchips who sat on a stone scolding and chattering because he had disturbed them. The stranger walked out of a brier thicket and marched down a deer trail.
He was sleek and black except for broad stripes of white running down his back. His tail was a handsome plume of drooping hair, his snout was pointed, and his little eyes stared out on the world like black buttons sewed on his face. This stranger showed little interest in his surroundings. His dull mind held but one thought. Hunting for mice and bugs had been poor in the thicket near his burrow; he was crossing the meadow to another thicket. He had no fear of other animals. He claimed the right of way on every trail and not even a grizzly bear would have contested that right.
Midnight stared at the striped brother, then shook his head and stamped his feet. He expected the big skunk to scamper for cover, then he would chase him. When the striped one paid no attention to him Midnight advanced a little closer. Perhaps this dull-sighted fellow was a little deaf. He danced and stamped his feet some more as he extended his nose toward the skunk. The skunk marched on, ignoring the little horse. Midnight stamped close to the striped fellow; the skunk’s plume lifted with a jerk as dirt and rocks showered over him from the colt’s hoofs. Any other wild creature would have fled from that danger signal. To Midnight this seemed a friendly gesture. He whinnied eagerly and thrust his nose closer to the striped one. The plume jerked twice as the skunk halted in the trail.
Lady Ebony saw the skunk. She whinnied a loud warning. Midnight jerked up his head and looked around. He expected to see an enemy descending from the air or rushing out of the woods. His action saved him considerable pain and surprise. A greenish flare of musk shot by, close under his nose. Reeking fumes rolled around him. Midnight whirled and galloped hastily toward his mother. He dashed past her and thrust his muzzle into the cool water of the stream. Then he ran back to her side and stood staring at the striped brother, who was marching at an unhurried pace down the deer trail. The skunk’s aim had been low but he had taught Midnight another lesson. The striped one was master of all trails and not to be annoyed or disturbed.
The musky smell hung so rank and strong over the meadow that Lady Ebony led her son to the lower end of the field where the breeze carried the smell away from them.
Lady Ebony did not move on up the canyon to the long slopes dropping away from the higher benches of the Crazy Kill Range. There would still be chill nights and deep snowdrifts in the spruce near the peaks. She wandered slowly up the little stream, halting for days at a time in lush meadows where the grass was green and tender. Midnight grew rapidly; his legs became strong and steady. Lady Ebony watched over him constantly, never letting him stray far from her side. When he raced around a meadow she followed him, running at his side, urging him to greater speed.
She remembered the things she had learned on the high mesa. When she made long stops she chose rock-bordered meadows where the yellowbelly whistlers lived. The yellowbellies always had sentries posted in the daytime. At night when the whistlers were deep in their burrows she lay down close beside her son.
An afternoon came when she had need for her vigilance. From a high perch on a red rim a lank cougar sighted the mare and her colt. He was lying on a narrow shelf where the warm sun beat down on his sleek hide as he drowsed. Through slitted eyes he watched Lady Ebony and Midnight feeding below his lofty perch. There was no flesh he prized more highly than young colt. He twitched the black tip of his tail and unsheathed his sharp claws, but he did not move. Slow, sure, and patient methods were those of the yellow killer. Once he had waited on a ledge for four days in order to make a kill, a scrawny colt from a wild band. The colt in the meadow below would be easier prey because there was cover close to the tall grass.
The king cat lay watching until late afternoon. He yawned many times and his red tongue arched between his long fangs as he opened his mouth. As long shadows began to creep out from the canyon walls he yawned again, a stretching yawn, then got slowly to his feet. He tested the wind and looked up and down the wall. Lank, sag-backed, with high shoulders and high, projecting hipbones, he was a killer to be feared even by a grown horse.
The cougar slid down among the big rocks piled at the base of the walls. He moved on great padded feet without sound. Halting beside a rock almost the same color as his tawny robe he stood for a long time staring through the evening light on the pair below. Midnight was having his supper. He was feeding hungrily, butting his mother’s side, twitching his tail. The cougar stood, silent and unmoving, except for the tip of his tail which snapped back and forth nervously. His nine feet of stringy muscle and furry tail blended with the great rock beside him.