Presently a shrill whistling call was heard, and the mares showed signs of animation; ears were pricked up and heads flung round. Up the hill came the stallion with a pounding step. He was a bright bay with a big white blotch on his back. His forelock covered his white forehead blaze, and his eyes also, for all one could see. The black hair of his mane and tail was crimped or waved, unlike the lank locks of the mares. He moved with a vigorous action, lifting his feet high, and with a long stride. He carried his tail with a finer sweep than the mares, while his mane rose and fell with the energetic movement of his neck. His coat was glossy, and the high lights rippling to and fro on the bright sienna surface were golden in the sun and blue in the shade. When he reached the summit he stopped, looking back with twitching ears. He snorted and hurried to the group of ponies, and past them, then stopped, and the herd, understanding, prepared to follow their leader, the mares calling to their recumbent foals, which rose to their feet and stretched before cantering to their mothers. The cavalcade moved off, only the dappled grey remaining motionless. She was wilful or lazy. The stallion took a few quick paces back and touched her with his nose as a hint to move on. She whinnied crossly and tried to strike him with a fore-foot. He lowered his head, bared his teeth and snorted, whereupon she thought better of it, and moved off. The stallion trotted to the head of the column, and looked round to see that all were following.
As they went down the hill, two riders showed on the ridge to the right, a man on a tall white horse and a boy on a forest pony.
“Look, sonny,” said the horseman, “that was the stallion walking before us up the hill. He has warned his mares and set them all going. How fine they look in a bunch with their varying colours! Seems a pity,” he continued, “that these fine creatures should have to go down into the coal-mines.”
“Let’s ride down and stir them up, dad,” suggested the lad.
“Not a bit of it,” his father answered. “We should want a good reason to disturb mares with young foals. The forest people would think us very inconsiderate. Remember,” with a smile, “you may be a verderer yourself some day, and sit in the court hall at Lyndhurst, where the big stirrup hangs on the wall. We’ll make off to the right and watch them as we go.”
As the ponies saw their supposed pursuers getting further from them, they relaxed their pace, stopped, and fell to grazing.
Only the stallion, still suspicious, kept his head up, and trotted a little way towards the receding figures, watching the intruders until they disappeared behind a rise.
Then he turned and walked to the little stream in which some of the ponies were standing, fetlock-deep, or drinking.
Blackdown.