The old bull squealed a few short, sharp blasts, his horns swept low, he charged to meet the invader. The young bull came on, his pace increasing to a fast lope. The two great brutes crashed together, their horns locking as they grunted and twisted. For several minutes they tussled in this manner, each trying to sweep the other off his feet. The young bull was forced to his knees but came up with a lunge which set the old one back. Then they parted and backed away, heads still lowered, spreading horns protecting vital parts of their bodies. For a moment they halted with eyes glaring and breath whistling into the grass, then they charged again and the force of the impact sent them both to their knees. The old bull was well aware of the advantage his few extra pounds gave him and he kept hammering away, thrusting the youngster to his knees, eager to weaken him so that he would expose himself to the ripping thrust of horns.
The combatants had moved down the slope and the young bull was now on the downhill side, moving slowly toward the spot where Midnight and the pinto stood watching the battle. A yellow band of sunlight had slipped out across the grass. The mule deer, led by an old doe, had slipped into the timber to seek a hiding place for the day. The cow elk ceased feeding and stood watching the combat out of calm eyes which betrayed no hint of favor for either warrior. They would accept the lordship of the winner without question. After all, their real leader was a wise old cow who knew the ways of the trail and the best hiding places. The lord of the herd was master only for the time of the love moon.
The smaller bull began to retreat a little before the onslaught of the old bull. They had been fighting a quarter of an hour and the youngster’s wind was beginning to give out. They had backed away, the challenger still savagely willing to charge but very short of breath. As they lunged together, the young bull went down; this time one foot slipped and he fell sidewise. Instantly the monarch shook his horns free, backed away a step and lunged, his lances lowered. The sharp daggers of bone ripped into the side and flank of the young bull. He floundered and struggled as the death wound racked him, then he got to his feet with an effort. Staggering but with his defenses again down and ready he lunged at the old bull. The monarch smashed at him. This time he was down with his whole side exposed and the victor was on him.
But the old bull was at the end of his strength, too. He tried to tear his adversary into shreds but did not have the power. After a half dozen weak thrusts he backed away and stood, blowing and grunting savagely, while the youngster got to his feet and staggered toward the woods seeking a secluded spot where he could lie down.
Midnight snorted and pawed. The cows shook their heads and turned toward the woods following the lead of the wise old cow. With a savage grunt the monarch trotted after them.
Midnight turned away. With the pinto filly at his side he trotted into the timber and there they bedded down for the day. That night they moved again, heading along a ridge with the white stars lighting the rocky trail. All night Midnight kept going and dawn found them at the edge of the high mesa. With the gray light about them they fed close to Sam’s deserted cabin. Midnight felt safer in these familiar surroundings. Even the cabin seemed to give a friendly protection to him. He crossed the meadow and halted near the head of the trail leading down into Shadow Canyon. The pinto was afraid of the cabin at first but when Midnight walked up to it in passing across the meadow and sniffed about, she joined him. The man smell was dead and old. It lacked the pungent freshness which roused fear and caused flight.
The old yellowbelly whistler mounted his perch on the high rock and sounded an “all’s-well” whistle. The mesa came to life with the chipmunks singing their chorus, the prairie dogs barking, and the other chips racing about. With the coming of life to the meadow Midnight headed down the trail to cover.
The two horses came to the crevice which lay across the ledge trail. It was no longer a barrier, being filled with rocks and torn tree trunks with gravel piled in the cracks. Midnight moved down into the sunken mass and over it. Together the two plunged up the far side. Now Midnight felt secure. With the high walls towering above him and the sheer drop into Shadow Canyon guarding the lower side, there was only the entrance across the debris-filled crevice and that was hidden from the main trail by bushes screening the rocky ledge.
He set to feeding and the pinto joined him. They stayed in the shade of the aspen grove which afforded them complete protection from anyone who might halt on the rim above and look down. All such a pair of eyes would see was the pale-green canopy of the aspen grove. They grazed peacefully until they had eaten their fill, then Midnight led the pinto to the bed of needles under the Engelmann’s spruce over near the wall. There they lay down in the cool shade.