The Black Stallion Revolts (12 page)

Now he stopped grazing to sniff the wind. Then he whistled, and started his band traveling again. The mares moved at his command … the sorrels, bays, piebalds, buckskins and palominos. Some of them were wild mustangs who had never known the touch of man, others wore the brands of ranches in Wyoming, Utah and Arizona. They were less than a hundred miles from where Gordon and the boy called McGregor stopped to rest before entering the mountain pass that would take them to Leesburg.

Gordon spoke no more about horses. He had dropped the subject, and did not mean to bring it up again. Nor was the boy anxious to pursue it. The long hike had brought back his headache, and he wanted only to rest, hoping to get rid of his pain again.

For half an hour they sat before the Cut, and then McGregor got to his feet. “I’m ready if you are,” he said.

“Headache gone?”

McGregor nodded, Gordon rose, taking hold of his burro. He didn’t need to tell the kid that the roughest part of the trip was still ahead of them. McGregor could see that for himself. For five more hours the trail would be backbreaking but safe. They would climb two thousand feet, and then drop four thousand. There would probably be a bear or two to contend with somewhere on the trail, for the Cut was the easiest pass across this range, and bears were the most skilled of all animals in finding the least difficult route. Gordon held his rifle ready.

They went slowly up the steep ascent, stopping every half-hour to rest a few minutes before going on again. They were hemmed in by cliffs thousands of feet high. The air became thinner, and their breathing more labored. They saw a bear feeding, and Gordon used his rifle at a distance of three hundred yards and missed. From then on they were constantly on the lookout for the bear, but he never reappeared. As they continued climbing, the very tops of the cliffs came down to meet them, and soon they seemed close beneath the sky.

They rested again at the summit of the Cut. They sat on rocks with tumultuous boulders and slabs of sheer stone all around them. But above and beyond rose the giant peaks, calm and stately in the peaceful stillness of the upper air.

They didn’t speak. Gordon only nodded toward the drop in the trail ahead of them, and the boy understood. From now on they’d be going down. The worst was behind them. They sat for a long while in the mountain silence. There was a wind but it passed over bare rock and made no noise. It could move nothing up here.

Finally they began their descent. The trail was steep, and all their efforts now were bent in holding themselves back from going too fast and slipping on the loose shale beneath their feet. Once more the walls of the high crevice closed in about them, shutting out the sky except for a narrow strip of light at the very top. For three more hours the trail continued to be steep, hard, and long, and then with startling abruptness the crevice came to an end. They emerged upon a bright sunlit plateau. Far in the distance, and across this broad
strip of flat, open land, were other ranges. Mountains edged the plateau on all sides except to the south, where only in the great distances could lofty peaks be seen again.

The air was warm, having none of the coolness and sweetness of the high pines. But it was not the heat of the low country and desert. Mountain quail rose from the brown grasses and gray brush, startled by their approach. Here was waterless country, and Gordon, loving the green meadows of his pines with their swift-rushing mountain brooks, told McGregor, “This tableland has never been for me. One look at it and I’m always anxious to pick up my supplies at the store and get back home.”

For two more hours they traveled across the plateau, their feet and Goldie’s hoofs sending up dust that clung to the warm air for some time before settling over their tracks. Finally they reached a dirt road which came from the mountain foothills to the north and continued across the plateau to Leesburg. They had walked it for an hour when the boy said, “My headache’s back. Could we rest a couple of minutes?”

They sat down by the side of the road. A few miles ahead was Leesburg. “Don’t go expecting much,” Gordon warned. “There’s a general store, a few houses, and a hotel. Leesburg sets in the middle of nowhere, and as far as I can see has no reason for being except for the likes of myself … and the Allen ranch,” he added as an afterthought.

From the direction of the northern foothills came a small, open truck. Gordon said, “It’s Cruikshank.
Maybe he’ll give you a ride into town. It’ll save you walking a few miles.”

The truck was still more than a mile from them, but Gordon got to his feet. “Don’t figure on the ride until you get it,” he said. “Cruikshank is a peculiar guy. He might not even slow down for us. He’s a horse trader, but with nothing ever good to trade. He’s been in these parts, living up in the foothills there, for twenty or more years, I hear. He’s always been after the ranch property Allen has now, but never had enough money to swing the deal. Consequently, he’s been bitter toward anyone who has ever owned the ranch. Now it’s Allen’s turn. I heard he’s uglier toward Allen than he’s been with any of the other ranch owners. I suppose that’s because Allen is an Easterner. Or maybe it’s because Cruikshank is getting older, and still isn’t any closer to buying good pastureland for his horses than he was twenty years ago. He knows everyone in town dislikes him for his bitterness, and now he’s blaming Allen for it. But Allen hardly knows the guy is alive. Allen’s too busy minding his own business to pay any attention to what people, even Cruikshank, think of him.”

The boy suddenly got to his feet. “Cruikshank is pulling something behind the truck. Doesn’t it look like a horse to you?”

“I thought it was just the dust from his wheels, but now that you mention it …”

The truck had reached a turn in the road. Behind and just a little to the left of the truck they were now able to see a tied horse. He was galloping hard to keep up with the speeding truck. He slipped coming off the
turn, and the dust behind him billowed greater than ever as his haunches scraped the road. Somehow he managed to get his hind legs beneath him again. The truck increased its speed, and the horse was unable to keep up with it. He fell again.

“He’s being dragged to his death!” Gordon exclaimed. But he found he was speaking to himself. The boy had left his side, and was running down the road toward the truck. He shouted to him, but McGregor kept running.

The boy found himself nearing the truck without knowing exactly what he intended to do. He had acted strictly on impulse. He waited until the truck was only a few feet from him, until he heard the sudden drag of wheels as the brakes were jammed on, and then he flung himself to the side of the road to avoid being hit. He landed on his hands and knees. He saw the angry face within the cab, and heard the oaths that were shouted at him. As the truck started up again, he sprang from a crouched position and his hands hit the side rails.

He thought the pull of the truck had wrenched his arms from their sockets. Yet he held on, his feet dragging while the truck picked up speed again. His eyes located the horse behind the vehicle. The animal had his legs under him, but it would be only a few minutes before he’d go down again … for good this time. McGregor knew it. So must the man behind the wheel. There was no doubt now that Cruikshank meant to
murder
this horse! The truck swept past Gordon without slowing down.

Seeing the animal’s straining, wet body and the
blinded, lusterless eyes gave McGregor the strength and will to pull his feet onto the lower rail. He moved back until he was able to reach the rope. He was familiar with the knot. He knew that one good pull on the hanging end would untie it. He yanked the end hard, and the rope was whipped from the truck. He saw the horse go down, and then the dust swirled and blanketed the road behind.

He knew he couldn’t jump off with the truck going so fast. There was no window in the back of the cab, so Cruikshank didn’t know he had lost his victim … not yet. But soon. The truck went faster. Cruikshank had meant this to be the end.

Behind them and coming from the south, McGregor saw three men on horseback, riding at full gallop. They were headed for the fallen horse, and the boy was glad that others besides Gordon and himself had seen what Cruikshank had intended to do.

The outlying houses of Leesburg were less than a mile away when the truck came to a sudden stop. McGregor knew why. Cruikshank did not intend to drag a dead horse into town.

The boy jumped off the back of the truck, but did not run. He saw the door open and the man coming toward him. He saw Cruikshank’s gaze shift to the back of the truck, and then quickly return to him again. He saw wild, sunken eyes, a lean and gaunt body covered with tattered clothes. He saw the haggard face and the big, worn hands, the blackened skin that must have been very wet a short while ago, for now it was caked with dust. He felt sudden pity for this ragged, unkempt
form in front of him … this worn man with the big eyes of terrible gloom.

But then the hot flame of anger burned within him again at the thought of this man’s viciousness, at the agony he had caused a horse, at the murder he had intended to commit! McGregor had time to see the warning look in the man’s eyes. He dodged the hands, but Cruikshank threw himself at him, catching hold of his leg. For a moment the man just held him on the ground, breathing heavily over him, and then pulled him roughly to his feet.

He never knew what Cruikshank intended to do, for suddenly the man stood still as a small sedan came down the road from town, slowing as it neared the truck and then coming to a stop before it. The boy saw a heavyset man get out. He saw a gray suit, a gray sombrero, and then
the bright silver star of the sheriff’s office on the man’s lapel
.

Sudden panic seized McGregor. He ripped Cruikshank’s hands from his shirt, and began to run. He tripped over some brush, and went down hard. He was getting up on his feet when he was shoved back down on the ground again. This time it was the sheriff who held him there. He heard him ask, “What are you up to now, Cruikshank? What have you got on this boy?”

“I was bringin’ a horse into town to sell. This kid set him loose a piece back.”

“Set him loose?”

“The colt warn’t clean broke yet. I had some trouble loadin’ him so I jus’ tied him up to the back, an’ wuz leadin’ him in.”

“And this boy untied him deliberately? Where’s your horse now?”

“No tellin’ where he be now. Lost for good, I reckon, unless I kin track him down, an’ there ain’t much chance o’ that if he gits to the stones.”

“Is that right, boy? You turned his horse free?”

The boy didn’t answer, and the sheriff finally turned away to look back up the road. McGregor was conscious of Cruikshank’s large eyes studying him as he lay there; they looked into him, seeing the fear of the sheriff that gripped him and closed his mind to everything but a way to get free, to run again.

The sheriff turned to Cruikshank. “It don’t make sense. Why would this kid want to set your horse loose?”

“I dunno anything about that. He did, an’ ain’t that enough?” Cruikshank’s eyes were shifty. He’d had dealings with the sheriff often. The sheriff was against him. Everybody was against him. He’d get even. Someday he’d get even with them all … with the whole town.

The sheriff got to his feet, and his hands left the boy.

I can roll now
, McGregor thought frantically.
I can get away, if I move fast enough. I’ll get to the mountains. They’ll never catch me there. It’s my only chance
.

“Better watch’m,” Cruikshank warned. “He’ll get away on ya.”

“I’m not worried,” the sheriff said. “Besides, here comes your horse.”

Slowly, the moving figures of horses and men came up the road.

McGregor turned quickly toward them. He knew that he didn’t have to run now. Gordon and Goldie were there. Gordon would help him.

“Stay where you are, Cruikshank,” the sheriff said suddenly. “You wouldn’t want to leave without your horse, would you?”

The boy turned to the gaunt figure that had moved toward the truck. He felt a sense of pity for Cruikshank steal over him again. Anger had left the man’s large eyes, and only gloom was there once more. Cruikshank must have lost his head while trying to load his unbroken horse. His fury had mounted until his crazed mind had told him that his only recourse was to kill the animal who had defied him. Now Cruikshank was caught and cornered, and looking for escape … or pity.

McGregor turned to the small group that had reached them. He saw the beaten horse again. The animal was as lean and gaunt as Cruikshank and, in addition, bleeding and torn, and almost dead. McGregor’s anger at this man flared again. He had no chance to speak out in his condemnation of Cruikshank’s viciousness, for one of the riders dismounted just then, his face red with fury as he eyed Cruikshank and spoke to the sheriff. “Tom,” he said, “I want you to arrest Cruikshank. I charge him with one of the cruelest attempts to murder a horse I’ve ever seen. He was dragging this colt to his death. I’ll press charges all the way. I have witnesses … Mike, Joe and Slim. Cruikshank would have gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for this kid here. He set the colt loose. We saw him do it.”

Cruikshank’s big eyes held terrible hate and
bitterness for the man who had spoken out against him. His great hands reached for his informer.

They all closed in upon Cruikshank then, pinning his long arms to his sides and handcuffing his wrists behind him. The sheriff took him away, as with oaths and screams he threatened vengeance on the man half his size and weight who had succeeded in sending him to jail for his crime.

Now this thin, small-boned man helped McGregor to his feet and said, “It took a lot of nerve to do what you did, kid.”

McGregor looked gratefully at the man, who wore rimless eyeglasses. Then Gordon was beside him, and he knew there was nothing more to fear. He looked past them to the short-coupled, dark bay horse with the white feet which the man had ridden. He watched the animal toss his head, trying to break away from the cowboy who held him.