In This Western Land
Book II : Going On

Written by Pawface and Windhowler
Illustrated by Windhowler.
 

Chapter I: Not-so-green Pastures

A place northwest of the little forest Fleewood, where the ground was flat but considerably above sea level, there grazed a group of horses, five in total. They were a small part of a large herd called the Panthera - three mares and two stallions, one of the latter being a very old and grey appaloosa.
     Holding against the crazy wind which blew from north to west, they browsed the stretch of hill pasture quickly. For poor pasture was Fleewood Pasture, and although lavish with grass, it was with dry, yellow grass, and it lacked much else.
     The elderly appaloosa, called Archer, paused to look up at his mate, another well-up-in-years horse with a coat almost the colour of a blueberry, with a rain cloud grey mane, which was slowly turning white with age.
   'What do you think of this one, Breezey?' said the old stallion, gesturing at a patch of weedy and dejected looking plants.
     His mate, Clovebreeze (commonly called by her mate and some of her relations, Breeze or Breezey) raised her head from the ground shrubs she had been picking at and moved along to study the plants her mate had selected.
     'Those are fine, Archer. They're safe to eat,' she said with a loving look at her tired, old and rather senile mate as he slowly consumed the greenery thankfully. Clovebreeze felt so sorry for him; with his now bent and withered neck that he used to hold so high, and those weak legs which were once powerful runners. The bad pasture they now fed on did not help him in any way.   
     The rest of the Panthera Herd (which numbered well over twenty members) were settling in a maple forest, called the Gold Holz, on lower ground where there was foraging a-plenty, but not much good grass; which was what the herd leader, Pantha, and his deputy Lonan, had led Archer, Clovebreeze and the three other Panthera herd members in search of.

     Not much luck so far, reflected Clovebreeze, snuffling at the ground sadly.

Not only did she feel empathy for her Archer, but she feared for him. He was becoming slower and slower every day and could hardly run now. Before, whenever the herd moved to new pasture, Archer used to hang back at times because he couldn't move fast enough. Now he was always left behind. And they had been moving and moving for several weeks now . . . it was nearly two whole months since they had left their old home by the Cimarron river - and left the company of the Cimarron Herd, ruled by Pantha's father Spirit.
     Clovebreeze heaved a heavy horse-sigh. There was also to be aware of the pair of cougars that seemed to be following the herd, at a distance. Clove had a sickening thought of the big cats devouring Archer. At least another herd - the Ninovan, led by Lucius the black bay stallion and his mate Discovery - had eventually joined the Panthera on their search for better lands, making things feel a bit safer. The more horses, the better.
     She quickly closed the overflowing box of worries in her mind and smiled again at Archer.
     'Would you like a drink now, dear?' asked Clovebreeze, standing next to his withering body.
   'Yes, please, Breeze,' nodded Archer, leaning against her side to stable himself as she led him towards the stream, nearly large enough to be a river.
     They moved further, quite a way, from their three companions, coming across the stream (called Dugg Creek) suddenly, because it could not be seen except very up close, because of the long grass which grew on its banks.
     Clovebreeze stared at the water critically; it was low, and Archer would have trouble reaching it. But before she could voice her concerns, her mate had lifted each thin front leg in turn, and slowly eased them into the deep ditch. He now stood oddly, his front down, his hindquarters up on the bank. His splayed back legs buckled a little.
     'Will you get out at all?' asked Clovebreeze.

     'Sorry?' 

     'Oh, I'm worried you won't get out, Archer!'

     Archer did not reply. He was quivering, shaking on his tired back legs which were under strain in such an awkward stance.

     'Archer - '

     Suddenly, forwards went Archer as his back legs gave way and his fore hooves slipped on the muddy river bottom. He stumbled over onto his face, sagging like a rag doll into the cold water.
     Clovebreeze gave a sharp neigh of anguish. In a second she was poised to leap in after her mate to save him - when the immediate second after, there came a fast but steady beat of hooves from afar.
     The sound grew louder, came closer, and two stallions came into view, dropping from a canter to trot over the grass towards the stream.

     While the younger one dallied behind, the older of the two approaching stallions - a stocky, buckskin-and-white tovero with a cut in his left ear - reached the stream first and made a tremendous leap. He landed fairly lightly next to Archer, who lay struggling feebly in the two-foot deep water, snorting water from his nostrils and trying to keep them from being flooded.
     The Tovero quickly snatched the crest of Archer's mane neck behind his wide-eyed head. He gripped the old horse tight and hauled him up. When Archer was half-standing, he was nudged here and there by the Tovero to straighten him.

     'Catch your breath,' said the Tovero, cheerfully. 'You'll be out in a moment.'

     Archer coughed, attempting to thank his rescuer. But the Tovero wrinkled his dark muzzle and snorted.

     'Don't speak now. Lucius will help you now.' And he nodded to somebody on the bank.

     Archer felt strong teeth suddenly take hold of his neck, and he was pulled to one side, upwards. He looked up. There was a young black-bay stallion on the grass above his head, grasping his neck. He whinnied in greeting through a mouthful of mane. Archer neighed a reply in a low tone.
     With the Tovero pushing from behind, leaning a broad chest against Archer's hind-quarters and the Black-bay pulling, the poor old horse was freed from the ditch, and he sank instantly onto the grass, utterly exhausted.

     'Thank you, Pantha!' he gasped after a while, as Clovebreeze nuzzled him all over. 'And thank you, Lucius. I had more of a drink than I wanted, really.'
     'It was nothing, Archer,' said Pantha the Tovero, bouncing from the stream and flicking water from his tail. 'Will you be alright?'
     'I'll be alright, son,' nodded Archer, half-laughingly. Archer tended to call nearly everyone younger than himself "son" or "daughter". 'I just need a moment's rest.'
     'If you say so,' Pantha smiled back. 'I'll go and bring the others over . . . care to come, Lucius?'
     'Of course.' Lucius fell in beside the Panthera Herd leader. 'But at a walk, mind.' He chuckled. 'That was a mad gallop out of the valley we made, Pantha.'

     'A bit reckless, I'll admit,' Pantha the Tovero shook his dark brown mane, as they approached the three other Panthera horses, who had all stopped grazing, obviously because of the commotion made during Archer's little adventure. Pantha neighed to them, beckoning. As they returned his call with whinnies and snorts, and slowly made towards their leader, Pantha stared back at the Fleewood.
     'I'd forgotten about danger for a few minutes,' he said. 'But the run was enjoyable - although I wonder what set Lonan off on it in the first place. Serious, do you think?'
     Before Lucius could reply, there came on the air a long, messy neigh from upstream, and following the waterway, at a steady pace, a blood bay stallion with socks and a blaze walked. He nodded to Archer and Clovebreeze as he passed them, and made a funny grimace upon reaching Pantha and Lucius, snorting breaths of air, and grinding his teeth. This gesture (to most horses who did not know Lonan, Second-in-Command of the Panthera Herd, well enough) would usually be taken as a rather aggressive one. But Pantha just waited, smiling in amusement, expecting Lonan to speak.
     'How's the herd?' said Lonan in due time, after taking a few deep breaths.
     'Fine, Lonan,' Pantha nodded. 'Archer had a little accident, but he's none the worse for it. A bit shaken and tired though . . . Everyone fine otherwise.'
     'Good.' Lonan nodded once, twice, jerkily.
     'You have something on your mind, Lonan,' remarked Lucius. He was getting to know some of the Panthera horses pretty well, although they had not been acquainted for much over a year or so. Lonan was fairly easy to read, however.
      Lonan twisted his lower jaw to one side thoughtfully. 'Yes, now, well . . . You may think I'm going mad . . . '
     Pantha smiled at his Deputy's words. No horse who had ever met Lonan considered him exactly . . .  sane. Lonan was an eccentric. He had his wild moments. He had been named Tshunke-Witke, 'crazy horse', by his old owners, the Lakota Indians.
     'You may think I'm going mad, Sir, but I'm dead certain that down in the valley I heard, and believe, I caught the scent of Toast.'

     'Toast?' Pantha cried.

     'Toast.' Lonan nodded exaggeratedly, bobbing his large head.

     'Ehem . . . Toast?' Lucius asked, with a polite cough. 'Sorry, I - '

     'Toast. Oatis and Maisy's colt. Roc's grandson's friend,' explained Pantha to the baffled Ninovan Herd leader. 'You've never met him. He was taken by wranglers a year or so back.'

     'I see...'

     'So you think you heard him?' Pantha asked Lonan.

     'First I heard him, then suddenly I thought I smelt him. And I smelt humans too, and another horse. Something else too. Cattle.' Lonan frowned. 'The mixture set me off, I'm afraid. Silly of me.'

     'No harm done,' chuckled Pantha. He looked up for the first time since he began talking to Lonan, and realized, not with surprise (he was old and experienced enough not to be surprised at much), that they were now surrounded by his five herd members; Archer - standing, sleeping, basking in the weak sunlight - and his mate Clovebreeze; a black stallion with a white mark on his forehead, called Condor - with the strange scruffy bird-shaped marking on his shoulder and ears that had seen better days - and his mate Lilacflower, who was a pale mare (of an apricot shade) with one white sock on her left foot; and a black overo pinto with a golden sun on her shoulder (painted on when she was very young), called Night Light, who was Lonan's mate.

     'Are we moving back to join the rest of the herd?' asked Lonan.

     'I think so,' replied Pantha. 'Archer, what's the pasture like here? Is it as bad here as it was below?'

     'No, it's not as bad, can't complain, son, can't complain,' said Archer, raising his head from his small ten minute slumber.
     'You never complain, deary,' Clovebreeze smiled in amusement at Archer and tidied up his long, worn forelock.
     'But it's not like where we used to stay for the summer,' went on Archer.' Which is a bit of a shame. But anyway, you know me: Mostly any grass is next to good grass. It doesn't matter what type it is.'
     'Hmm.' Pantha sniffed the air. He looked at Lucius. 'What do you think?'
     'I would say move to the valley, Pantha,' replied the Black-bay. 'But since there's the . . . ranch . . . No, we're better off here. It beats the dangers of our old haunts.' He gave a rueful grimace. 'I admit this place is better than where I set up my own herd.'

     'Where's that?'

     'On the other side of the Big House,' Lucius said, voice low and rueful.

     Pantha's ears went back, in understanding. 'Ah.'
     The Big Building was an old grey structure surrounded be rotting fencing, standing not very far to the north on a higher stretch of pastureland. Although it looked unused, even abandoned, there had been a few sightings of humans both in and around that homestead.
    'It was the first good grassland we came across since we moved to this area,' explained Lucius. 'We'll move as soon as my horses have rested a good bit.'
     'Come to the maple forest, there's more than plenty of room there,' said Pantha.
     'Thank you, we will - '
     'Hssh!' exclaimed Lonan suddenly, swinging his big body around to face the Fleewood. 'Listen!'

     Lucius and Pantha stiffened at his words. Intense, the three stallions strained their hearing, and concentrated, avidly questing for strange sights, sounds or scents.
     Then they came: voices. The voices of humans, and with it hoof-beats, and the strong smell of sweat.
     By all these signs, the wild horses could guess one thing: there were riders about to enter the valley.
     An unanimous thought struck them hard: a Roundup?
     Lonan began to shiver excitedly, grinding his teeth in anticipation; he glanced at his leader, waiting for an order.
     Pantha spoke slowly. 'Lonan, take Archer and the others straight to the Holz . . . '

Chapter II: Uncertain

The riders were entering the valley at breakneck speed, or very close to it. They were men from Mill Town, and they were after Indians.
     Paul Adams, son of Stg Adams, with a heavy rifle grasped in one hand, rode a black mare, urging her to speed up. Oh, but she just wasn't fast enough for him, even though the poor girl was galloping for all she was worth, foaming at the mouth and sweating like a train fireman.
     Dust billowed from under the horses of the riders, who had been willing to help ward off the Indians from the Buckbone pasture. The Indians were trouble; trouble for the town, the local Buckbone ranch, and most of all, Jenni and Ivy.
     Jenni and Ivy! Paul feared for his sisters' lives. Were they okay? He struck the black mare - lent to him by Mr McStanley the General Store manager - both across the rump and shoulder, making her draw up alongside Milo Mistrack, who was at the front of the band on his sturdy rose-grey mare. It was Milo who had ridden into Mill Town with news of the intruding Redskins.

     Milo, squint-eyed and brown-haired, looked up and around at Paul.

     'There's no sign of Indians,' shouted Paul.

     'No, there h'aint,' replied Milo in his throaty voice. 'They've probably got well away bah now.' He snapped his head away, slowing his horse - 'Who-a, Sandy, hold back a bit, girl,' - and beckoned to two riders further behind. The pair galloped up close, and Paul heard Milo telling them to run up the side of the valley, to the Fleewood, with some extra men.
     'Check if them Redskins are up on the flat, and we'll continue down the valley,' Milo said, and in less than a minute a group of twelve men had split from the main charge, careering away to the right and up the valley side.
     Thirteen riders progressed along the floor of Buckbone Valley, where the grass was high and green. Up ahead of them, the gorge curved to the left.

     Thirty seconds and they were very close to the bend.

     Paul screwed up his face, grimacing in worry and anticipation, willing that they would turn the bend quicker - soon -  now!

     And suddenly they were veering around it.

     Milo loosed hold of his reins, giving Sandy her head.

     Paul lifted his gun closer to his shoulder and kicked his beat mount.

     Everybody gritted their teeth and held their breath.

*

Pantha and Lucius crept through the Fleewood. They were both buzzing with anticipation, although Pantha, older and more experienced, seemed considerably less tense. He walked slower, while Lucius, not wanting to rush ahead, tripped along rather stiffly and was close to looking like he was executing the piaffe.
     Pantha, with head close to the ground, sniffed the air thoroughly.
As he and Lucius came to the edge of the woodland, they could clearly detect humans and their horses.

     'Run!' ordered Pantha.

     A volley of riders were storming up the valley side towards them.

     The two stallions bolted, Lucius taking off to the right to gallop along the edge of the Fleewood, westwards in the direction of Buckbone Ranch.
     He heard Pantha following him for a second or two. Then he glimpsed the pinto snap off to the right, into the forest.
     Lucius tore across the grass alone, ducking in and out of the forest as he galloped, nostrils flaring and eyes slits of determination. The riders, wranglers for sure, would be following him. If not him, Pantha. He ran and ran until the forest ran out, and, climbing onto a small grassy hillock, he slowed down. Then he stopped, and looked back.

     There were no riders in sight.

 *

On the shoulder of Lonan, Archer pushed his elderly body as quickly as he could down the steep hill called Flee Edge. It was a ridiculous way of reaching the Gold Holz forest, with a slope of nearly fifty metres to take on. But that was why Lonan had chosen it. There was only one safer way of getting to the lower ground; a groove down which the Dugg Creek ran; that was far away to the east. The riders would most likely choose it, and take a very long time getting there.

     With Archer's orders, Clovebreeze, although reluctant to leave her mate, had gone on ahead of them to prepare the main body of the herd for whatever might happen.

     The bone-chilling sounds of human whoops and shouts rent through the air.

 Lonan, trying to be patient, was quietly helping the frail Archer down the rock-ridden hill face. But he was burning with curiosity. Were the men chasing them? Where were Pantha and Lonan? The two leaders had gone to 'check the humans out' - a thing which Lonan himself would have been only too happy to do instead - and hadn't returned yet.

     Lonan glanced back at the way they had come, to see his mate Night Light, a silhouette, blacker than black against the skyline at the top of the hill. She had volunteered to keep an eye on any riders that might be following.
     There were the whoops again, stabbing into the ears of the fleeing horses. Lonan saw Night Light flinch, but she stayed put. The men were not in sight yet.

     Archer stumbled and Lonan, with a 'Whoa there!' quickly put his head under the old appaloosa's neck to prevent him from dropping to the ground.
     Condor and Lilacflower, up ahead, had reached the bottom of the slope and halted, waiting for Lonan and Archer.
     Lonan nodded to them both to continue. 'Keep going. We'll be right behind, if not always in sight.'

     'Take care,' snorted Condor.

     'My father . . . ' said Lilacflower, eyes staring, anguished, through her brown forelock.

     'Go, child,' smiled Archer.

     Condor nudged Lilacflower gently, urging her into a trot. He led her off and away over a little rise behind which lay a dusty track that meandered into the Holz.
     Lonan turned his attention back to his charge. He had had a quick look around and an easier way for Archer to get down the slope had formed in his mind.
     'Right, Archer, the humans are coming quickly,' said Lonan. 'Can you follow me?' He leaped downwards and to the right, and landed softly in a turfy bit of the hill's face, which was thick with masses of old grass, spiky and dry.
     'I'll try, son,' Archer said, lifting a foot and gently easing it onto the dirt slide leading down to the place Lonan stood. 'But, I won't be able to jump it.' He put his other front foot on; then slowly went the back feet.

     'That's it,' said Lonan encouragingly. 'Now, as gently as you can, let yourself slip towards me.'

     There came more shouts and hoofbeats.

 Lonan's heart skipped a beat, his blood ran chill and he shot a stare up at Night Light. She stared back at him, horror etched across her face. Lonan tossed his head at her, ordering her to come down. She did so.
     As she made her hasty descent, she slowed upon reaching her mate.

     But Lonan flashed out with his teeth at her sun-marked shoulder.

     'No!' he said. 'Go to the herd. We'll follow.'

     'And quickly, Archer!' he whinnied as Night Light, knowing better than to argue, bucked herself down the slope in powerful leaps after Lilacflower and Condor.
     Archer was nodding and letting himself slide down, again, for Lonan had moved away, further down the hill. His tired head swaying in front of him like a tree on a windy day.
     'That's it, yes, you're going nicely. Now ease down,' nodded Lonan, skipping lightly from one foot to the other in slight impatience. He could not hear hoofbeats, nor human voices. But the heavy breath of tired, invisible horses was hissing from somewhere over the rise above.    
     Archer went on. It hurt him, every bit of it hurt him; his legs weren't strong and wobbled all the way, and to make matters worse, chunks of stone and rock were loosened by his hooves and came rolling behind him, bouncing off his hindquarters like hail. But it didn't stop him from obeying Lonan. He knew just as much as the younger stallion, whom he trusted, that it was the quickest and safest way down that hill. Safe from the men that is.
     'You're nearly there, Archer, nearly there,' Lonan encouraged the old appaloosa. As soon as Archer had reached the grassier patch, Lonan quickly went to stand on a lower one. 'Just a few more metres to go, just a few. Come around those shrubs, mind, they're not easy to push through. Then you'll be there.'
     And it was true, he was nearly down. This was the hardest bit of the hill, but then they would be grass, softer grass. He would soon be at the bottom (where Lonan was now standing) - soon safe in the company of the herd. Archer whinnied softly back at the younger stallion, a small, happy smile on his tired face as he slithered his way closer and closer towards the hill's foot.
     It would have gone well, so immensely well, if the covered groove - by the jutting rock, hidden from Archer by the shrubs -  wasn't there.

     But it was.

     And that was where Archer caught his leg . . .

Chapter III: So Close

The piercing scream of an animal in despair ripped to shreds the semi-silence of the Wild Western country air.

     Josh Richardson headed the dozen riders that had split from the main party led by Milo Mistrack. He had led them up the valley side into the Fleewood, and, in the forest, they had come across a stallion. It had been a pinto; and as a wily old rider in the group suggested, the Indians tended to favour pintos over most other colours of horse. Perhaps this horse belonged to the Redskins they were after. And so, perhaps those Redskins were close by.

     They hounded the buckskin-and-white stallion, with the possibility in mind that he would lead them to his owners. But he disappeared after a short while, and Josh's gang found themselves on the poor pastureland which lay on the other side of the Fleewood.
     They had split up. Josh rode his dark palomino stallion west to the very edge of the pasture where it became a dangerous slope, which touched the lower ground leading to the maple woods known as Gold Holz.
     The Holz could be seen in the distance; Josh was sure he spotted a dark animal running into the trees. On that terrible edge, he stared around for Indians, and once his mount had rested a bit, turned back to rejoin his party.
     But then the horse scream made him stop.
     Josh Richardson steered his pally around and called to the other men who, having no luck spotting Indians had themselves regathered and seemed to be discussing taking a different route.

     'Over here, boys!' Josh cried, pulling his steed this way and that as it fidgeted in a nervous way. 'I can hear 'orses.'

     A younger man, with reddish-brown hair and a slim figure, cantered his horse up to Josh, his rifle hanging loosely in one hand.
     'What?' yelled the young man. 'Yeh mean down near Gold Holz? Did you see any of them?'

     'Yes'm, Joe, down by the forest. Didn't see them, no, but I knows they be there! Cumm'on, boys, now, boys!'
     He kicked his horse roughly in the sides with cry of "Hup!", at which the palomino made a slight rear before thundering down towards the edge, the other men in hot pursuit.

Clovebreeze flicked her head round at the scream. She knew it was Archer, and couldn't go to him, no matter how much it made her anguish not to do so.
     She had strict orders from the lead mare, Treacle, to stay with the herd and look after the younger fillies. But his sharp cries nearly killed her.
    Treacle and Elf did their best to console the old mare, but to not much avail.

    'Just keep calm, Breeze, dear,' said Elf, daughter of Pantha and Treacle, as she herself, white with stunning copper-streaked red mane and patched legs of the same colours, stood calmly, although with her young daughter Bella shivering with fright at her flank.
     Both Treacle and Elf knew how Clovebreeze was feeling, for they too felt for their mates, both out and close to danger - if not in it; Pantha was missing, and now Alcatraz, Elf's stallion (and Lonan's son), had gone to look out for him as well as for Lucius.

    The three mares and several young fillies were grouped deep inside the forest, where the ground was a large gully, Elf and another young nut-brown female huddled against the course fur of Clovebreeze who listened intently. Other horses of the Panthera Herd were standing not far off, half-hidden in the trees.

     They all stiffened as a pounding sound began crescendoeing through the trees. But Clovebreeze neighed gleefully, as her daughter Lilacflower, closely followed by Condor and finally Night Light, came cantering into the gully.
     'Archer and . . .  ' began Clovebreeze, eyes wide and desperate. The screaming which stabbed from the direction of Fleewood Pasture had not ceased.
     'Coming down the Edge, still,' nickered Night Light, ears lolling unhappily.

     'Oh-!' exclaimed Clovebreeze.

     And then she, and everybody else, looked up in uncertainty.

    For the screaming, had suddenly . . . stopped.

'I'm sorry, son,' Archer whispered through clenched teeth, unmoving as stone with his leg still wedged in the crevice. His foot had started bleeding, and was bent and twisted at the joint. 'I didn't mean to cry.'

     Lonan didn't answer; dumbfounded was he as he chanced a stare upwards at the hill top, where the top ends of three black figures had materialized. He pressed his body closer to the hill's steep face and signaled to Archer to hold his breath. Oh, how glad he was that there was an overhang of shrubs just above, large enough to cover them both.

     'What are we looking for?' muttered the whiny voice of a man from above.

     'Maybe you imagined it, Josh,' said another, gruffer voice.

     'What! That's impossible!' came a third. 'Yeh' must 'ave heard it! It was crazy-loud!'

     'As loud as you, Josh?' muttered the Whiner.

     'I might have heard it,' said the Gruff Tone. 'You heard a horse screaming, Josh, is that right? And you saw somethin' in the Holz?'

     'What's this got to do with the Redskins?' snapped the Whiner. 'Come'on, if there's anything at all in the Holz, let's get down there. We'll go the Dugg Creek way.'

     'That'll take too long!' exclaimed Josh.

     'Climbing down here would be insanity.' Whiner laughed. 'But by all means take this route if you've lost that many, Josh.' Lonan and Archer heard a horse grunt, as if Whiner had spurred his mount. Gentle hoofsteps could be heard, fading away.

     Lonan's throat tightened and it grew dry; he peered around the vegetation, fixing his eyes on the hill top. He could see the figure he guessed was Josh, a short man dressed in a rather business-like suit, still there, the only man lingering. He had dismounted from his steed and stood at the edge of the slope, looking wistfully out over the countryside.

     Josh gave a grunt, and with one foot it kicked a couple of stones down the hillside in an ill-tempered way.
     Lonan flinched as the stones hit his back and bounced off down the valley. He looked back up at the man.
     Josh shrugged and walked back to his horse, dragging his feet slightly, before getting on. Horse and rider disappeared, leaving Lonan and Archer to breath for a moment.

     'You can come out now,' said Lonan to Archer.
     The elder stallion nodded. He had stayed absolutely still throughout the last few scary moments.
     Not quite still, thought Lonan, noting that the poor old stallion had managed to extract his now blood-covered leg from the crevice. He smiled proudly at Archer. 'Well done.'
     Archer hoisted himself down to the bottom of the hill, where he paused to rest.
     'They might come back this way,' said Lonan, 'So I am afraid we've got to be quick. Can you make it? I'll support you.'

     Archer bit his muzzle. 'Of course, and thank you' he nodded, bravely pulling himself up and leaning on the muscular red-brown stallion's shoulder. 'Let's go, son.'
     Slowly the two horses made their way towards the dusty track which led into the the Holz.

*

Clovebreeze nearly shattered her teeth, before at last the cry of, "I see Lonan and Archer coming!' came to her shuddering sharp ears.
     Leaving her place with the permission of Treacle, the old mare next to galloped through the maple trees (somehow managing not hit any of them!) towards the tired calls of the returning stallions.

     She stopped all-of-a-sudden near the fringe the woodland, in a clearing; fearing the humans, she trotted about calling her mate's name, for she could not see any sign of him anywhere.
     'I'm here, Breezy,' came the voice of Archer, and the elderly horse pushed himself through the undergrowth and stumbled towards her with a smile, Lonan not far behind.

     'Oh, Archer!' cried Clovebreeze, and so there was reunion. 'Oh, I was so worried! Why! Whatever happened to your poor leg? Come, let me see it. Let me clean it. Lie down on this soft moss just under your feet. That's it, now . . .Oh, it's terrible! How it must hurt you! Oh, dear Archer, how did it happen? How did you walk with that? How did you even get here?'

     Lonan watched the two with a half-smile on his face, then he turned to a strong looking brown-and-white stallion with a silver-streaked black mane who had just come into the clearing. It was Alcatraz.

     'Wotcha, son,' said Lonan.

     'Wotcha, sir. Tough adventure you had,' said Alcatraz. 'I've been looking out for you both . . . Did you catch sight of Pantha and Lucius?'
     Lonan shrugged and shook his head. 'No. Left them in the valley. Haven't seen them since. What's been goin' on here? Everyone safe?'

     'Oh, we're all fine,' said Alcatraz. 'I managed to round up all the colts I was watching before the humans came, and took them over to the pond lying at the furthest part of Gold Holz. The rest of the herd is somewhere deeper in the forest, safe in the shadows.'
     'Good work,' Lonan nodded. 'And the men?'
     'Heading back towards the Fleewood last time I saw.'

     Lonan pinned back his ears in thought. Perhaps the riders were not part of a roundup after all. Still, he felt something bad was on its way. He wasn't the slightest bit sure what, however. Or when. But the feeling buzzed in him, around him. And it was growing.
     'We need to wait for Pantha,' he said. 'I can't move the herd without his order. I'll check on the colts now. Do you mind staying here and keeping a lookout for Pantha?'

     'Not at all.'

     'Thanks,' said Lonan. He flicked his mane and slowly disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

     Alcatraz stood, watching Lonan go, his father's shiny blood-bay coat glistening for a few minutes in the warm sunlight rays that broke through the branches and into the clearing.

 Chapter IV: Around the Bend

 They came around the corner not knowing what to expect, Milo Mistrack on Sandy, both leaning with skill as they galloped.
     Paul found himself squeezing his gun in anticipation, which his black mount seemed to pick up on, enough to pick up speed.

     They came around the bend, thirteen riders headed by Milo on Sandy.

     Halt.

     Milo stopped them in a cloud of dust.

     They were close to the left valley side, where the ground was a bare patch of sandy soil. Part of the side had crumbled away unbelievably. Where there once had been - twenty, thirty years ago as some could gather - a smooth valley slope, grass and saplings - there lay a cut, a wound, a thing that looked like a wound gouged by the claws of a giant fantastical beast. All earth and stones and dead trees

     'They could be on higher ground now,' came the growling whisper of a stocky man to Milo.

     'Whit?' muttered Milo, face twisted into what looked like an annoyed scowl. He was staring at the landslide with some sort of irritation and confusion in his eyes. He turned to glare at the stocky man, Bill 'the Wrangler', a horse rustler of good reputation in Mill Town.

     Bill glared back at him. 'Indians, Milo, Indians . . . Not here.'

     Milo sniffed. '. . . Yer, they're probably long gone.'

     The riders shifted uncomfortably on their horses, waiting for an order.

     Just as Bill was deciding to take charge, Paul flew off his horse. With gun to shoulder he strode up to the broken piece of valley; some men followed his lead. He struggled up the rocks and crumbling earth, not knowing what intuition was leading him to. But leading him it was.

     Soon a final mound of stones lay in his way. He placed a hand on to top of it, seeking a sturdy hold.

     At that moment, there came there came short, sharp ''click'', and a shaky voice cried out: 'Who's there?'

    Paul scrambled over the stones. He came immediately confronted a slightly quaking gun point, and behind it, the scared white face of a red-headed girl.

     'Jenni!'

End of Book II

Characters Copyrights Note

• Jenni Adams, Elf, Discovery, Josh Richardson, Paul Adams, Archer, Clovebreeze, Lilacflower and Condor and additional characters belong to Pawface (of Animation Source) aka Little Blue (of Blogger).
   
• Ivy Adams belongs to Minti Panda, ex-member of Animation Source.
• Toast, Mr McStanley, Milo Mistrack, Night Light, Lonan (the ''Blood-red'') and additional characters belong to Windhowler (of Animation Source) aka W.H.Marbles (of Blogger).
• Pantha (the ''Tovero'') and Treacle belong to Gums (Animation Source) aka Speckle (Blogger).
   
• Lucius (the ''Dark One'') belongs to Bae (Animation Source).
• Alcatraz and Bella Sara belong to Racoon (Animation Source)
• Sandy belongs to Breyerlover21 (Animation Source)
• Sgt. Adams, Joe, Bill (and Joe and Bill's horses) belong to the company Dreamworks.

Artwork (c) Windhowler