The Island Stallion by Walter Farley Page B

they did not hear it; their dazed eyes were focused upon the blue sky ahead. It wasn’t until they stood in the great opening in the yellow rock that they saw the water pouring in a silken sheet of white, crashing far down onto the rocks of a large pool two hundred feet or more below them. And stretched before their eyes, as far ahead as they could see, was a long valley within the yellow walls of Azul Island!
    “A lost valley,” Pitch said unbelievingly. “A lost world!”
    But Pitch’s words went unheard by Steve. His eyes were fixed upon the shadows to the left of the pool below them. He watched for a few minutes, then his hand tightened on Pitch’s arm. For grazing below was a large band of horses, their long tails touching the ground and their small heads stretched forward as they cropped the blue-green grass. Steve’s breath came short at the sight of them, then his breathing seemed to stop altogether. Leaving the herd, moving from shadow to sun, stepped the giant stallion of the cliff! He walked toward the pool, his proud head raised high, his muscles moving easily beneath sleek skin. The sun’s rays turned his chestnut coat into the glowing red of fire.
    Under his breath, Steve murmured, “
Flame!
”

F IGHT OF THE S TALLIONS

8
    They stood there for a while in silent awe and wonder at the scene below them. Steve’s eyes never left the red stallion as he stretched his long neck in a graceful arc to the water. But Pitch’s gaze turned from the horses to the valley carpeted with the short, thick, bluish-green grass. He followed it with his eyes as far ahead as he could see, then looked over the rolling land that led to the yellow walls rising high about the valley. There the grass grew tall and had the appearance of young, green cane. It bent slightly in the breeze that blew down the valley from the south. As he looked, the shadows of the western walls lengthened until they reached the floor of the valley, where suddenly they turned from the dark ominous black of night to an almost brilliant blue. Pitch grabbed Steve’s arm. “Blue as blue can be, Steve,” he said slowly. “Blue Valley.”
    The boy looked over at the shadows that had picked up the blue in the grass. “That’s where the island gets its name then, Pitch.
Azul
means blue in Spanish.Blue Island. Blue Valley, as you say.” But then his eyes went back to the stallion, who had finished drinking and now stood at gaze, his head moving slowly from side to side. “Let’s get closer, Pitch,” Steve said. “I want to get closer to them.”
    Slowly they made their way down the steps cut in the rock until they had almost reached the valley floor; then they came upon a large cave.
    “We can set up camp here, Steve,” Pitch said. “We’re near water. It’s everything we need. Just think, Steve,” he continued more slowly, “the last persons who lived in this cave were the Conquistadores!”
    But Steve had turned away from the cave and was again looking at the horses grazing but a short distance away. He took off his pack, letting it slide to the ground, but he didn’t follow Pitch into the cave.
    His eyes devoured the red stallion, as though to fix him forever in his memory. Yet he had always known this horse in his dreams. He had looked upon him many times as he was doing now. So he wasn’t surprised to see the small, arrogant head with the large eyes set low in the wide and prominent forehead. It was the head of an Arabian, as he knew it would be.
    Still in the sun, the red stallion continued to stand at gaze with only his head moving slowly, watchfully. He was like a giant statue. Steve’s eyes moved over every inch of him. He watched the alert, shifting gaze of the stallion, then studied the wedge-shaped head and the small ears now pricked forward until they almost came to a point at the tips. The stallion’s head was raised high, yet set at an angle, accentuating the high curve at the crest of his long neck. The length of hisback,