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.

He appeared not to be giving much attention to the scene below him. Really he was surveying the ground he had selected as a hunting spot and was missing no detail. He could creep out on the windward side of the mare where a clump of buckbrush grew. From there he would have two mighty leaps to make. He would wait until the colt had moved away from his mother’s side. Perhaps the youngster would wander close to the buckbrush. His black whiskers jerked and his yellow eyes flamed through slitted lids. Softly, silently he skirted the piled-up rocks and slid into the timber to windward of the feeding horses. Like a tawny shadow he passed from one bit of cover to the next, his lank belly close to the ground. He often halted his unhurried descent to stand staring down on his victim.

On reaching the last of the cover he flattened his belly to the ground and crept forward through the tall grass. He kept moving, slowly, noiselessly, until he lay behind the clump of buckbrush. There he lifted his head and stared out through the green leaves.

Midnight had finished his supper and was nosing about a few yards from his mother. Lady Ebony had dropped her head and was pulling grass. She turned slowly toward the open meadow, her back toward the killer. She had no thought of danger at the moment. The big cat listened intently. He wanted to be sure the yellowbelly whistlers had all gone in for the night. His head rested on his forepaws. There was no sound except that made by the horses, but he waited, rigid.

The dusk deepened and the big cat stirred. He raised his head and peered out across the grass. And now his eyes were wide open, yellow pools of savage eagerness contrasting with his relaxed body. Midnight was strutting about, sniffing and snorting, humping his back and shaking his head. Lady Ebony was moving steadily away from the clump of buckbrush. The cat’s belly dropped to the grass, his hind legs drew up under him, his head flattened between his massive forepaws. His yellow eyes had located the exact spot where his first leap would land him, a bare spot where the grass was dead. From there he would hurtle upon the unwary colt. He meant to strike the little horse down with a broken neck so that no matter how well the mare might give battle the colt would lie waiting for him when she moved away.

For a moment the great body of the king killer was tense and still, then he leaped, his body arching upward, his great claws reaching out before him. He landed noiselessly on the patch of dead grass and poised there a split second while he drew his legs under him; then he leaped again, rising high, hurling his body toward the colt.

An odd quirk of energy made Midnight jerk up his head. He began bucking and bouncing. That sudden impulse saved him from the smashing blow the cougar intended to land. The yellow killer landed where Midnight had been standing. His scream of blood lust rang out, but his long fangs and ripping claws missed their target. Midnight squealed in terror as he saw the yellow killer clawing and lashing beside him. He plunged toward his mother, and Lady Ebony leaped to his rescue.

She sprang at the enraged lion with uplifted hoofs lashing and flailing. Mother instinct had completely banished her fear of the yellow killer. The cougar reared back and lashed at her but he did not stand his ground. Before her hoofs could smash down on him he leaped back, spitting and snarling. Lady Ebony did not stop her charge. Her slender legs pumped madly. The cougar was knocked off his feet and sent sprawling in the grass. He rolled over, righted himself, then fled before the pounding hoofs of the infuriated mare. Reaching the cottonwood timber he bounded up a tree and lay licking his bruises and spitting angrily.

Lady Ebony charged back to Midnight and shoved him up across the meadow. The cougar leaped down from the tree. Circling, he followed the pair, limping. Blood stained the weeds and tall grass along his trail.

Lady Ebony headed out of the meadow and up a deer trail. She kept moving, forcing Midnight to stay close to her side. The white starlight dimly outlined rocks and trees. They came to an open meadow but she did not halt. Midnight forgot the fear that had very nearly paralyzed him. He wanted to stop and rest. In the center of the meadow his mother halted and let him drink. As he eagerly fed she kept testing the night air, stamping her feet nervously and looking back down the trail. When Midnight had finished his lunch she moved on toward the high, dim hills looming above the canyon.

The cougar followed the trail of the horses for a while, but his smashed shoulder was giving him much pain, and he finally climbed on a ledge where he stretched his tawny length on a rocky bed and fell to licking the gash. Had he escaped unhurt he would have circled above the mare and her colt until he found a ledge from which he could attack again.

Lady Ebony kept moving throughout the night. The gray dawn found her going steadily upward. Just before noon they entered the oak belt at the base of the Crazy Kill Range. There she found a stream and an open meadow. Midnight insisted upon lying down to rest. No amount of coaxing would rouse him. He lay stretched out in the sun and closed his eyes. Lady Ebony was hungry. She began feeding close to where he slept. By the time he had finished his sleep she was grazing peacefully.

Mother and son spent long, sunny days in the meadow surrounded by oak brush. Lady Ebony seldom thought of the high mountain meadows. She had no desire to go anywhere at all. Midnight was beginning to feel that he was a grown horse. He danced and kicked and raced around. He even tried to make his mother do what he thought she should do. When she calmly ignored him and went on feeding he would lay back his ears and bare his teeth, nipping at her until she humped her back and threatened to lash out at him.

Many enemies passed the meadow and several paused to look at the fat colt and his mother. Two old lobos halted and calmly watched the colt at play. Coyotes trotted through the meadow in pairs or singly. An old bear shambled out of the oak brush and charged after a ground squirrel. He passed close to the frightened mother and her son but paid no attention to them. The killers were finding life easy. The hills abounded with grouse and rabbits as well as every species of squirrel. There were many mule deer, too. Old does watched over playful fawns growing strong and independent. The killers need not face the lashing feet of an infuriated mother horse to kill all they could eat. So they looked and went their way.

Midnight tried to make friends with the does. They were not afraid of him but they were not friendly. They stared at him out of calm eyes when he came near them, and they snorted and trotted at him when he tried to run with their fawns.

One evening Midnight saw a deer feeding at the edge of a clearing. He trotted over to the big-eared one in a friendly manner. But this one was different from the does. He had long, branching antlers and snorted aggressively when he halted and whinnied eagerly. Midnight stood staring at the strange deer with branches on his head. The buck snorted again. His horns were beginning to harden and the velvet was dropping away from their sharp spikes. With the hardening process his shoulders had begun to swell and his temper was becoming uncertain.

Midnight moved a little closer. He humped his back and kicked up his heels. The buck grunted angrily, then snorted. With a shake of his head he lowered his sweeping antlers and trotted toward the colt. Midnight circled and the buck circled. Midnight whirled and raced away. This fellow wanted to play. He’d give him a run around the meadow.

The buck jerked up his head and shook it. He had routed the enemy and was satisfied. He began feeding again, cropping the weeds and shoots, champing steadily. Midnight circled and galloped back to the old buck. This time the big fellow charged. The colt realized that the antlered deer wanted to fight and not play. Kicking his heels high he fled to his mother’s side.

Lady Ebony ran toward the buck and the big fellow bounded into the timber. Midnight felt he had won a great victory. He celebrated by charging around the meadow at a terrific pace. Lady Ebony watched him as he ran.

But a day came when the mare felt an urge to move on. Summer had slipped away and fall had brought frost and sharp winds from the peaks above. The high, barren reaches above timber line were white with new snow. Lady Ebony remembered the roundup when riders came to the high mesa and drove the horses down to the feed grounds in the valley. She moved about restlessly and finally struck off up the slope. Winter was coming and she was ready to go down the long trail to the home ranch. Her brief training with the wild band was forgotten, she was again a willing captive of man’s way.

With the passing of summer Sam grew more listless and weary. He hated to take his daily walk in the padded yard behind the high walls which shut out the sight of his mountains. He preferred to sit in his cell and stare at the changing cottonwood branch. He had chalked another fall on his cell wall, but he thought about it for a week before he put the mark down. He was tired but he’d get over that once he was back on his mountain mesa where he could sit in the sun and watch his neighbors.