Midnight fed on the rich, new grass until he was no longer hungry, then he made another trip around the rim and along the cliff wall. He wanted to escape from this tight little pasture. The only avenue of escape lay across the crevice and along the ledge beyond. Midnight stood at the edge of the yawning abyss and shook his head restlessly. The leap was a long one, too long for him to try.

The little stallion turned back to the beaver lake. The pair of beavers were busily lacing willows along the top of their dam. As they wove the willows into place they plastered black mud on them. They were master engineers, and their dam was sturdy and strong. They stopped work and gazed at Midnight but they did not plunge into the water. They accepted him as one of the dwellers of their little world under the rim, a harmless animal who would not attack them.

Midnight trotted into the aspen grove and lay down. Above him green buds were bursting and pale-green leaves had begun to show. The bushes along the wall were leaved out and many flowers bloomed. The little mesa lay facing the sun. Its protected acreage afforded growing things a chance to get started before other mesas came to life. The spot Midnight had picked for his bed was near the cliff face. He could see the rim above. A group of five Englemann’s spruce grew near the wall. Their straight trunks towered well above the rim and looked out across the high mesa where the cabin stood. One of them grew so close to the cliff face that its trunk touched the rim above.

Midnight drowsed, his eyes fixed lazily upon the leaning spruce. Suddenly they popped wide open. He saw a big brown bear slide off the rim above and come down the trunk, sliding and scraping the bark loose in a shower of wood bits. The bear was descending tail first, moving around the tree as he came down.

The black colt scrambled to his feet. The memory of the savage silvertip was fresh in his mind. He tossed his head and snorted loudly. The brown bear halted his descent and peered down at him, then began to slide again. Then Midnight saw another bear, larger than the first, swinging off the mesa above. The big fellow came down amid a shower of bark and twigs. Midnight whirled and fled as far as he could get away from the spruces. He halted and stood watching the two bears, ready to dodge and run if they charged at him.

The two bears paid no attention to Midnight. They grunted and growled as they walked into the aspen grove, where they prowled about rooting into the dead leaves, overturning rotting logs. Then both sat up letting their big paws droop over their shaggy bellies. They sat looking up at the spruce trees. Down the leaning tree came two more bears. Midnight pawed frantically but he was as far away from the bears as he could get. The two newcomers joined the first pair in the aspen grove. There was much growling and grunting, with many deep woofs added. Midnight remained where he was, trembling and pawing the ground. Within an hour seven bears had arrived by way of the leaning spruce, and the grove was noisy with their gruff voices.

One he-bear walked to an aspen tree. Lifting himself to his full height he gashed a mark on the trunk with his teeth. Another male, who had been sitting watching him, got to his feet and walked to the tree. He gashed the tree higher than the other had been able to reach. Then a big fellow with a furry red face strolled to the tree. He grunted several times as he stood up. He marked the tree a full six inches above the highest mark, then dropped to the ground and faced the other bears. The males backed away from him as though recognizing his superior prowess. He strolled to one of the she-bears and nosed against her. She accepted the caress and the big male turned toward the spruce trees. He ambled to the leaning tree and started to climb. The she-bear followed him obediently.

One of the other males edged close to a female, rumbling in his chest as he moved toward her. Another male stepped forward and the two big fellows faced each other. An angry argument followed. The aspen grove rang with the roars of the two males, but they did not fight. One of them backed away and the other led the she-bear to the sloping spruce in triumph. They went up the tree and out on the mesa.

There were two males and one female left. The smaller fellow, a smudged, black-faced bear, had edged close to the last she-bear. He woofed and grunted in an attempt to get her to go with him, but she just sat and looked up into the aspen branches. The larger he-bear walked toward her. The little bear with the black face crowded in front of her, growling warningly.

The big bear shuffled up to him, reared, and cuffed him hard alongside of the head. The little fellow danced up and down and his roars shook the branches of the aspens and echoed along the rock walls, but he backed away from the she-bear.

The big fellow walked around her and grunted deeply. Then he headed toward the leaning tree against the wall. She followed him while the little bear sat with a sad expression on his face watching them. He remained where he was until they had climbed out onto the mesa above. He whined a little, ambled to the tree, and began climbing out of the basin.

The love moon of the bears had risen. This secluded spot was the scene of their first summer romancing. The pairs would wander away into the woods and remain together for a while. Midnight did not understand the nature of the gathering, but he did realize that they had not come to the mesa prison to attack him. He edged out toward the grove which reeked with bear scent. Snorting and jerking his head, he trotted around to the lower end of the mesa where he nibbled a few blades of grass. The wind carried the strong bear smell to him and he moved to the upper end again where he bedded down for the night.

Then next morning while Midnight was feeding close to the beaver lake he met another stranger. The animal was not large and it waddled along at a slow pace. It had long, yellowish hair and it seemed too dull-witted and slow to be dangerous. Midnight advanced. The dull-witted one lifted the hair on his back but otherwise paid no attention to the little horse.

Midnight had never met a porcupine. He thought the spines sticking out of his back were long hairs. The dull gnawer of bark sat down when Midnight got close to him. Only his tail moved, jerking up and down. Midnight extended his soft muzzle and sniffed in a friendly manner. He kept his legs planted wide so that he could leap if the porky came to life suddenly and attacked him. The gnawer did not move, he huddled into a ball of spiny fur, pulling his head back until only the tip of his snout showed. Midnight tossed his head and pawed, his nose extended closer as he sniffed and sniffed. Suddenly he felt a quick stab of pain in his tender muzzle. He leaped back with a snort. An ivory barb that was half black with ebony stuck out of his lower lip.

Midnight galloped away through the aspens, across the little meadow to the far side. The pain in his lip increased as the barb dug deeper. He halted and thrust his muzzle into the fresh, black dirt of a pocket-gopher mound. He raked his nose back and forth in the damp earth. The cool dirt soothed the burning sting but it also drove the barb deeper into the tender flesh. Midnight next tried rubbing the wounded spot against the trunk of a tree. The quill caught in the rough bark and pulled free. It came away red with a little piece of Midnight’s flesh clinging to it.

After that he left the dull gnawer of bark strictly alone. The porky fed on the meadow or in the tops of the low bushes where he hung like a spiny ball. His clicking grumble could be heard at any time during the day.

And each day Midnight circled his prison seeking a way to get off the mesa. He was uneasy and wanted more room. There was plenty of feed and there was water, but there was no room to gallop. The confinement worried him. He was not like the dull porky or the beavers, he was used to wide spaces and an elevation from which he could look down on the world. From the little mesa he could see nothing but trees, the canyon wall, and the lake.

One day late in the spring two men rode down past the cabin at the edge of the mesa. The meadow was green with waving grass, flowers rioted in their hurry to produce seed before the brief high-country summer slipped away. The ridges were blue with lupine or gold with mountain daisies. In the shade clumps of columbine lifted their delicate blue bells, exposing white hearts. Major Howard and his range boss, Tex, were riding together.

Tex halted near the upper end of the meadow. He slid to the ground and bent over a scattered mass of bones. Major Howard lighted his pipe and waited. The eyes of the range boss were intent. He remained bent over the bones so long that the major spoke impatiently.

“What’s so interesting about a pile of bones?”

Tex straightened and his eyes wandered to Sam’s cabin thoughtfully.

“Winter kill by a pack of wolves,” he said briefly.

“A horse the boys missed in the roundup?” the major asked with a show of interest.

Tex nodded. “Some hide and hair left,” he said and his slow smile showed for a moment. “I reckon this hoss was Lady Ebony.”

The major did not dismount. But he turned his horse and stared down at the bones. He knew what Tex was thinking and it irritated him. He shook his head grimly.

“Couldn’t be,” he said shortly.

“I figure it that way,” Tex answered. “It explains a lot of things fer me.”

“You never did think old Sam stole that mare,” Major Howard said.

“No,” Tex replied quietly.

“I did and I still do. You cow-country boys are too soft-livered. The old fellow left his cabin for three weeks or so. He refused to tell where he had been. He had three hundred dollars in cash to pay an attorney. He refused to tell where he got the money.” The major’s lips pulled into a tight line. “You’ll have to dig up more proof than that pile of bones.” He was staring at the desolate cabin, trying hard to urge away the doubt Tex had raised in his mind. Major Howard was at heart fair and honest. He smiled suddenly. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see that mare at one of the races this summer.”

Tex shook his head. “You won’t see her at any track, boss.” He paused and his gaze was somber; he was watching the chipmunks romping in the grass over by the castle rocks. Sam had brought those little fellers in. He’d be right surprised to know there was at least a half dozen more of them now. Tex made a mental note of the increase. He’d tell Sam when he stopped by to see him.

“The old fool is better off where he is. He has decent grub and a warm place to sleep,” the major said gruffly.

“He don’t seem much interested in anything. Did ask if the mare showed up, though, when I stopped by to see him.” Tex swung into his saddle.

“You let your feelings get the best of you,” the major said. It irritated him the way Tex stubbornly clung to his belief that Sam was innocent. “Besides, he came near killing a man,” the major added as though to clinch the argument.

Tex said no more. The major was not his kind. He was really a stranger in the high country, and a good deal of a tenderfoot in many ways. Like Sam, Tex had lived all his life in the rough mountain country. The range boss had long since ceased trying to understand his employer.

“I reckon he did plug that deputy,” he agreed. His manner and tone said plainly that he would have done the same thing.

They rode on in silence. Tex drew himself into his shell and spoke only when he had to answer a question, but he kept thinking about the pile of bones. He thought of Sam too. The last time Tex visited the old fellow Sam had a strange look in his eyes. Tex could not forget that look; it haunted him. It was a homesick, lonesome look.