Spring came with a chinook and a sudden thaw which broke a week of bitter weather. The transformation was in the nature of a miracle. Soft breezes blew up from the valleys, warm winds which settled the snow and filled it with water. Midnight smelled the earthiness of the wind from the lowlands and pranced eagerly. A change as sudden as the change in the weather had come over him. For months he had given all his attention to the gnawing hunger which was always demanding more dry grass; now he was stirred by another urge. He wanted to be free to run, to seek something he did not understand.

Shaking his head he galloped through the slush and mud to the ledge trail. The dirty ice filling the crevice had not settled. The force of the slide had packed it so hard that it melted only a little on the surface. Midnight walked across the fissure and up the ledge trail. He stood on the edge of the meadow and looked across its gleaming surface. With an eager nicker he plowed through the wet snow. The old timber-line buck was not there to greet him and the only answer to his call was the harsh and irritated chatter of a crested jay in the timber.

Midnight moved out on the mesa and began pawing for grass. He was hungry and now that he was in the open he did not know what he desired or where he wanted to go, so he set to feeding. After a time he moved down beside the castle rocks and stood staring into the smoky haze of the valley country.

Toward evening he went to the castle rocks and climbed up to the shelter he had shared with Lady Ebony. He sniffed about, pawing and snorting as he smelled cougar scent. The cat smell mingled with the pungent odor coming from the pack rat’s nest in the corner. The cat smell was cold but it stirred him to uneasy anger. He tore to bits the bed of sticks where the king cat had slept, scattering them about on the rocky floor.

That night the cold came again and the slushy snow froze into a coating of ice. In the morning the meadow was locked under a thick rust of icy armor and Midnight was forced to work hard to get a meal. For several weeks he battled to keep his stomach filled. But with the passing of each day the air grew warmer and softer, the snow settled, and bare spots began to appear. Midnight was able again to eat his fill. He raced around the meadow giving play to his powerful muscles. He was big and strong; another season would see him a magnificent black stallion.

As the snow line crept back into the timber to make its last stand in the shadows under the spruce, the buds on the trees burst and the first flowers shoved their heads out of the ground. Green shoots pushed up through the dead grass. Their lush juices tantalized the black horse. He could not get enough of them, yet he could not let them alone. His efforts always ended by his eating a great deal of the cured grass in order to fill his belly.

The bears came ambling across the meadow in pairs and singly to slide down the leaning spruce for their spring meeting before the flowering of their love moon. The wolves ran under the spring stars or howled on barren ridges. Midnight did not pay much attention to the gray killers. He had come to know by their howls when they were hunting and when they were serenading. The old tom cougars stalked through the timber while the she-cats sought them out, which is the way of the big cats. And the little folk left their winter dens to race about in the warm sunshine. The yellowbelly whistlers blasted their shrill warning from the sentinel stone while the calico chips and the rockchips stayed within the protected area where they could pay attention to the warnings given by the whistlers. The hawks circled in the blue above, billowing with the gusts of spring wind, while the eagles circled high above them in the still upper air. One day the chipmunks came out and the meadow rang with their chock-chock song as they celebrated their awakening.

In all this celebrating and excitement the cabin at the edge of the meadow stood silent and disconsolate, dead and lifeless. It seemed older and more weathered than before. The weeds on its dirt roof did not break into green foliage as soon as those in the meadow. One of the eaves boards had given way, letting the dirt covering slip from a corner of the roof and exposing the split slabs beneath. The spring showers made little gullies and seams which looked like wrinkles. At the door the willow chair lay on its side, tipped over by the snow or some inquisitive visitor who recognized that the man smell was long cold and dead.

Midnight visited the cabin often, smelling about. He used its rough log corners as a scratching post against which he leaned and rubbed while he grunted with pleasure. The rubbing loosened mats of hair from his sides and soon his coat was sleek and shining, new as the blue flowers crowding the shady spots at the edge of the timber. As spring advanced Midnight became more nervous. He ran more often and for longer at a time, sometimes circling the meadow several times before halting to paw restlessly. He did not leave the meadow but he was always listening and often paused to call shrilly.

Down on the desert the chestnut stallion and his band had met with an ordeal unusual for them. There had been only light snows all winter and the spring rains had been so light they did not settle the dust or harden the sand. The grass was short and poor in quality. The big stallion had trouble forcing the mares to do as he wished. The wise old ones knew that there was grass and water in the mountains and were determined to head that way. Finally the chestnut gave in and led them toward the Crazy Kill Range. They worked their way quickly through the foothills where cowboys were shoving white-faced cattle out on the spring range. The mares would gladly have stayed to feed and put some fat on their lank frames in the low country where the grass was growing lustily, but the chestnut drove them higher, toward the bleak meadows under timber line where the riders would not come.

One morning the band arrived at the high mesa overlooking Shadow Canyon. The mares and colts came up the narrow trail first, with the chestnut bringing up the rear. When they broke from the canyon they spread out and began feeding. The pinto filly was the second one to reach the mesa. She was stronger and tougher than any of the other mares and had stood the winter better.

Midnight was resting in the timber close above the clearing by the cabin when the pinto and her mother walked out into the tall grass. He plunged to his feet and whinnied loudly. The mare halted and looked at him without answering his call, but the pinto tossed her head and nickered eagerly. With a flash of her heels she trotted to meet him. Midnight charged across the grass and slid to a halt beside her. The pinto pivoted and lashed out at him with her trim heels. Midnight dodged and the filly headed across the meadow with the black swinging along at her side. They raced the full length of the mesa and back again, to halt at the base of the castle rocks where they stood, snorting and prancing.

Their second run took them charging through the band of mares spread out on the meadow. The scrawny colts in the band bounced after the fleeting racers until they were outdistanced while the mares watched without interest. Just at that moment they were far too busy pulling grass to care about this black stallion.

The chestnut trotted out on the meadow and stood looking about for danger signs. He sighted the black and the pinto racing across the grass and his eyes rolled, his ears flattened, and he blasted a savage challenge.

Midnight and the pinto whirled and were standing on high ground at the upper end of the mesa. The pinto tossed her head and leaped away toward the mares as she saw the lord of the herd charging toward her. Midnight sent his own challenge ringing across the meadow as he leaped to meet the big stallion. His feelings were much different than they had been at their first meeting. Now he was eager to accept the challenge to battle, and savage rage, as great as the rage of the chestnut, filled him. He had his father’s fighting blood in his veins.

The two stallions crashed together and the greater weight and power of the chestnut sent Midnight staggering back. He was not yet so rugged and heavy as his father. He recovered his balance and reared with teeth bared and hoofs pounding. The master of the band raised his massive hoofs and struck back as he reached for Midnight’s neck with his teeth. The two stood like boxers, hammering away at each other. Again Midnight was pounded back.

The chestnut had only one idea in his head and that was to smash this black stallion who had dared challenge his mastery. It would not have mattered had he known that Midnight was his son. He was sure he would soon end the career of the black; he knew his advantage and rushed upon the colt with savage eagerness.

Midnight met the next charge and was hammered back once more, giving ground slowly as the heavy hoofs pounded him and the bared teeth ripped tufts of hair from his shoulders and neck. Slowly the chestnut pushed him toward the rim of the canyon. But Midnight refused to turn tail and run. This time he had a different urge to keep him fighting. He was not a lonesome colt seeking companionship, he was a stallion desiring the rightful place of a leader. He could easily have outdistanced the chestnut had he chosen to flee, but he was filled with hot rage. He had a wild desire to kill the big stallion who was battering him. Slowly he gave ground, moving down the gentle slope of the mesa toward the rocky edge of the canyon. Behind him the walls of Shadow Canyon dropped away in a sheer face a hundred feet in height. There was no brush-padded ledge close under the rim at that point, but the black paid no attention to the danger.

Foot by foot the two moved down the slope. Blood spurted from wounds on shoulders and necks. The smell of it increased the fury of the battling stallions. Their savage screams rang through the spruce timber and echoed back from the walls of the castle rocks.

The chestnut reared and plunged, eager to smash his antagonist to the ground. Midnight met the smashing charge with counterblows, but he was driven backward though he remained on his feet. A red wound gaped on his chest and blood trickled down across the white splash on his forehead but his fury was so great that he did not feel the pain. His hind feet struck solid rock and stones flew into the canyon behind him. He was poised on the very edge of the chasm. Then he saw his danger, as he shifted sidewise to dodge the blows of the big stallion. His hind feet were planted inches from the rim as he reared to meet another attack. The chestnut was blind with fury, he did not see the sheer drop ahead. With a terrible scream he lunged.

Midnight had met every charge squarely, desiring only to match blows with his foe, but the dizzy space under his feet made him suddenly change his tactics. He leaped aside to avoid being shoved over the edge. The chestnut’s lunge carried him forward like an avalanche. Too late he saw the rim and the empty space ahead. Plunging and sliding he shot toward the abyss. Midnight’s rump was toward him and close. With a shrill cry the black lashed out with his hind feet. His hoofs landed against the side of the struggling stallion poised on the dizzy height. The chestnut might have saved himself but for that hail of blows. With a defiant, savage squeal he plunged into space.

Midnight whirled about and stood with lowered head, hot breath whistling through his flaring nostrils, his eyes rolling so that their white rims gleamed in the morning sunlight. He watched the body of the chestnut turn over and over in the air as it shot down to land in a mangled heap on a pile of rocks. Stamping and snorting he waited for the chestnut to get to his feet and start back to finish the battle. The chestnut did not move, but lay, a mangled heap of broken bones and twisted muscles at the foot of the cliff. Midnight challenged his adversary many times as he stood there on the high rim. When he got no reply he turned toward the mares who had not stopped their eager feeding. The pinto nickered eagerly and left her grass pulling to trot toward him. The mares lifted their heads for a moment as he came closer. Midnight trotted to them, dancing as he approached.

With the pinto beside him he raced once around the meadow, then the two joined the mares. Midnight was too excited to start feeding. He walked around sniffing at the colts, edging up to the mares. The old ones laid back their ears and warned him to keep his distance. When he tried to nose one of their colts they humped their backs warningly. But they accepted him as the master of the band and waited for him to assert himself in the savage and harsh manner to which they were accustomed. But Midnight lacked much in leadership. He really wanted to be a member of the band and not a leader. He wanted to play with the pinto filly. His rage had cooled and with it had gone much of the strange power he had felt while battling the chestnut stallion. The pinto did not understand why she was interested in Midnight but she stayed close to his side and divided her attention between him and the lush grass.

Toward evening the mares became restless. They were used to seeking cover before night fell. One old mare moved away from the band. She had decided that this new leader was not going to seek a safe retreat. She shook her head, then moved into the timber. The others followed her with Midnight and the pinto coming along behind, nipping at each other and making a great show of kicking their heels and lashing at each other. And the old mare changed the course the chestnut had so insistently followed. She headed across the ridge and down into a deep valley.

The mares followed their new leader. They expected the chestnut stallion to come charging through the woods after them to drive them back toward the high ridges, but they did not want to go higher and did not intend to head that way until he came.

The moon swung up over a spruce ridge and flooded the valley with white light. The wise old mare selected a sheltered little meadow for a stopping place. It was small and the band of thirty horses had to crowd close together, but it smallness offered protection against cougars and wolves. The cunning and harsh leadership of the chestnut stallion had taken much of the natural wariness away from the mares. They had always depended on him to guide them.

Late that night Midnight had his first chance to take his place as protector and lord of the band. The mares and the colts had bedded down. Midnight and the pinto had raced around the clearing and come to a halt on a wooded knoll overlooking the meadow. They stood close together, snorting and pawing and playing. They pretended to see forms in the black shadows under the spruce. While they were standing there a lank cougar passed below the high point. His nose wrinkled and his long, black-tipped tail lashed as he scented the mares and colts sleeping in the open.

Circling to windward the yellow killer crept to the edge of the meadow. He was looking for the sentinel he expected to find on guard over the band. When he saw no guard he snarled softly and his yellow eyes flamed. He peered intently at the bedded horses and his eyes fastened on a colt standing close to his mother who was lying in a deep hollow. The colt’s head was down and his furry rump was toward the king cat.

Silently, like a tawny shadow, the cat slid through the grass toward the unsuspecting colt. When he was within striking distance he drew his powerful legs under him and flattened his head between his massive forepaws. His long claws moved slowly in and out, sheathing and unsheathing their sharp points; his lips pulled away from his fangs.

Up on the knoll Midnight was dancing on his hind legs, his ears back, his bared teeth reaching to nip at the neck of the pinto. She whirled and lashed out at him with her slender feet. Midnight dodged the blows and crowded against her, shoving her roughly to one side. She laid back her ears and sunk her teeth into the loose skin of his shoulder.

The pain angered Midnight and he whirled to teach her a lesson. His lunge was halted as the savage scream of the cougar cracked the stillness. His forefeet struck the ground with a thud and he stood beside the pinto, staring toward the mares. The frightened whinny of a colt mingled with the cry of the big cat. That cry from the stricken colt sent a surging rush of rage through Midnight. He plunged straight down the slope toward the spot where the cat had made his attack. In the meadow the mares had lurched to their feet and were snorting and milling about. With a ringing call the black stallion charged to the rescue.

The cougar had landed on the colt’s back, striking him down instantly. The little fellow was dead in a moment. Standing on the limp body of his victim, the yellow killer faced the angry mares who plunged around him. Midnight charged through the circle and leaped at the killer, his ears laid back, his battle cry ringing. This was something the cougar had not expected. He had decided there was no stallion with the band. Now he arched his back and reared to meet Midnight. He lashed out at the black as he came in.

The cougar stayed a minute too long in facing the enraged Midnight. He expected the stallion to swerve and rush past, but Midnight did not swerve. He lifted his forefeet and struck straight into the face of the killer. His smashing hoofs descended on the head and shoulders of the king cat. The blows sent the cat rolling and tumbling over and over on the grass. Instantly the mares joined the attack. Once a leader had braved the terrible fangs and claws of the cat they were ready to finish the job.

Screaming and rolling, the cougar tried to escape, to get to his feet and leap clear of the smashing hoofs, but the hoofs beat him down and trampled him. Teeth tore at him as he twisted and lashed. His claws and teeth were poor protection against the sharp hoofs of the horses. He was battered back on the grass each time he tried to get his feet under him. In a minute’s time he was a bloody pulp and the mares had backed away. They stood in a circle around him, their nostrils flaring, their eyes rolling.

Midnight danced about snorting and blowing excitedly. He was aware again of his power and was beginning to understand the job he had taken over from the chestnut. The mares stood waiting for him to decide what should be done. When he did not offer to lead them away from the scene of the kill an old mare struck out and the others followed except the mother whose colt was dead. She stood over him nickering and calling, trying to get him to his feet.

The pinto went with the mares. She had been badly frightened by the attack and wanted to stay close beside her mother. Midnight trotted after the band and stood by while they bedded down in another meadow near the scene of the attack. He walked around sniffing and snorting, expecting another cougar to come out of the night. When nothing happened, he lay down for a few hours’ rest just before dawn. One of the old mares at once got up and set to feeding apart from the herd. She seemed to sense that Midnight had much to learn about leadership.

The next day the band fed in the meadow until the old mare decided they should move on. Midnight did not offer to lead them, so she struck out. They headed deeper into the lush grass country. They passed many white-faced cows and yearling steers. Occasionally a lordly bull would saunter out of the shade to watch them. The band had invaded Major Howard’s finest grass belt. They did not know the danger this would bring, all they thought of was the fine grass and the plentiful supply of water in the clear, rushing streams. There was aspen shade for the middle of the day and there was spruce timber for shelter from the sudden and violent thunderstorms with their cold rain.

The band soon forgot the chestnut stallion. Midnight was an easy master. He let them wander where they wished. But he was a fierce and terrible fighter when roused. They accepted him without much concern, giving way to his few demands.

The thunderstorms seldom lasted over half an hour and the spruce needles shed the rain. Midnight was happy in the easy life. The pinto played with him, racing over the grass in the mornings or at dusk. She did what he demanded without making any demands of her own. And now Midnight had begun to watch for enemies while the herd fed. He was slowly learning what was expected of him.