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.