He began to speak. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget a word of the story he told. I’m going to try to write it down now, without interruptions, just the way he told it to us that night.
The Legend of the White Stallion
Many years ago, so many my grandfather does not remember it, there were two tribes who lived and battled one another in these lands. They had warred for so long that nobody could remember when they had not warred. Neither could anyone remember why they warred. So deep were their hatred and fear that it was forbidden for members of one tribe to speak to members of the other.
One year, on the night of the first full moon after the harvest, a baby was born in each of these tribes. In the tribe to the north it was a girl, daughter of the chief. He named her Moon Glow for the first natural beauty he saw after gazing at her face for the first time. In the tribe to the south it was a male child, son of a mighty warrior. His father named him White Eagle, after the great bird which had soared majestically above his home at the moment of his son’s birth.
When Moon Glow was fifteen, she was betrothed to her father’s bravest warrior. As a wedding gift, she chose to make him a cloak of pure white leather, embroidered with eagle feathers in the image of a bison—his totem. She traveled from her village to find the most perfect feathers for the cloak.
At that time, White Eagle was being prepared for the rigors of war. His elders had sent him out in the mountains with only his clothes, his knife, and a flint to make fire. He had to live alone and survive for half the life of the moon—two weeks—with only those tools. He could not see anybody or talk to anybody until he had completed his test. While others before him had died alone and in shame, White Eagle was determined to survive. In the wilderness he had made the weapons of survival—a bow and many arrows, even a spear. He had eaten well, he had slept warmly. He was sure he would survive his test.
White Eagle had been in the mountains for ten days. His only companion was a white stallion who roamed the mountains near his camp.
The horse ran whenever White Eagle tried to touch him or capture him, but he seemed to like being near White Eagle. The boy knew that the horse was wild, now and forever, and somehow the horse’s very wildness was a comfort to him.
One day Moon Glow walked in the mountains alone, hunting for an eagle from which she could pluck feathers for the cloak. She did not see the mountain lion that stalked her, nor did she hear him. But the mountain lion saw her. Without warning he attacked, howling and shrieking in victory as he landed on her back. Moon Glow screamed, knowing it would do no good and hearing in response only the slow, sad echo of her own voice.
White Eagle heard the cry of the mountain lion and leaped up from his fire. Then he heard the cry of Moon Glow and he ran. He was only vaguely aware of the presence of the white stallion—a shadow at his side in his flight toward destiny.
When he found Moon Glow and the mountain lion, the girl was struggling bravely against the over-powering force of the wild creature. Without hesitation, White Eagle drew an arrow from his quiver, slipped it into his bow, pulled it back, and let it fly. But he had drawn too quickly. The first arrow sped right past the lion and the girl and struck the ear of the white horse, who watched from beyond. The horse flinched momentarily but stood his ground bravely as the arrow passed right through his ear and landed harmlessly beyond him. Then White Eagle shot again, taking more careful aim. His arrow met its target. The mountain lion fell limp and dead. White Eagle ran to Moon Glow and took her up in his arms. She was almost unconscious and bleeding badly. White Eagle knew she was near death.
All thoughts of himself fled from his mind. He knew only that he must save this woman and the only way he could do so would be to return her to her people. He did not think of the consequences; he thought only of the woman who needed him. He began the long walk to the north, carrying the chieftain’s dying daughter in his arms.
As he walked, White Eagle became aware that the wild white stallion walked with him. It surprised him because it was White Eagle’s arrow that had wounded the stallion, but the ear showed no blood—just a nick that looked like an old wound, long healed. The stallion matched the boy step for step, never straying more than a few feet. And when a rock in the mountain caused White Eagle to stumble, the horse was there for him to lean on. It was the first time White Eagle had ever touched the horse. He was certain the horse would flee from his touch, but the stallion did not. The horse waited. Then White Eagle understood. The horse was offering to carry them to the north.
White Eagle lifted himself and Moon Glow onto the stallion’s back. He cradled her in his arms as the sleek stallion made the journey.
It was an arduous trip, for Moon Glow had traveled far to search for feathers. When they arrived at her village, the chief took his daughter but would not speak to White Eagle. The chief recognized him immediately as a son of the people of the south. White Eagle knew that his thanks was his life. He returned to the mountains.
Time passed. Moon Glow healed and White Eagle survived the rest of his test. But neither could forget the other.
Then, one day, the stallion mysteriously appeared at White Eagle’s village and seemed to invite White Eagle to ride him. White Eagle climbed onto the horse’s sleek back. The stallion took off immediately. Soon White Eagle found himself in the mountains once again. This time he was not alone. Moon Glow was waiting there for him. She was well and beautiful. At the moment they saw one another, they knew they would love each other for eternity and that the stallion understood their love and had brought them together.
Many times after that, the stallion carried the two lovers to one another. Moon Glow delayed her marriage by insisting that she finish the cloak she was making for her future husband. She sewed the feathers on the soft, white leather, but try as she did to make it the pattern of a bison, it was an eagle, soaring gracefully. Though she knew she was being disloyal to her father and to her tribe, Moon Glow loved the design she had crafted, as she loved the man it stood for. She would present the cloak to White Eagle, rather than to her promised husband.
Finally the day came that Moon Glow and White Eagle had always dreaded. On the day that Moon Glow planned to give the finished cloak to White Eagle, Moon Glow’s betrothed trailed the white horse to the mountains. When he found the lovers together, the warrior was angry and jealous. Hatred for this enemy of his people filled his heart. Vowing that the pair would be punished, he seized them both, bound their hands, and made them walk back to the village in shame. There was no sign of the white stallion as they walked. There would be no rescue this time.
The chief was shocked to learn of his daughter’s treason. He immediately condemned White Eagle to death and offered his daughter to any of his braves who would still have her.
All hope was lost for the lovers. There was no escape for either, and to both death seemed preferable to separation. At the moment of White Eagle’s execution, Moon Glow swallowed some poison. She lived long enough to watch the flames consume her beloved White Eagle and the flowing white cloak he wore to his death. As the smoke drifted up to the pale blue sky, she saw the distinct outline of a soaring eagle take flight. She gasped—whether in pain or surprise, nobody knows.
Then, at that moment, there was a thunder of hoofbeats. A pure white stallion came galloping through the village. He paused at the weak and dying Moon Glow. With her last ounce of energy, she reached upward, clutched the stallion’s mane, and was swept up off the ground. Magically the horse rose in the air and flew skyward. Then, as the tribe watched, there appeared behind her on the horse the pure white leather cloak she had so painstakingly made. On it was the perfect image of an eagle.
They say the horse still roams the wilderness, rider-less, on an endless quest to help others whose love transcends hatred and bigotry. He carries the nick in his ear as a reminder of White Eagle’s sacrifice, for the moment the brave performed the selfless act of saving Moon Glow, his fate was sealed. Our people call the horse after him—White Eag
le.
It was an incredible story. I thought it was so sad that the lovers were separated for such a stupid reason. But they still stayed true to each other.… I guess it just goes to show that when love is true, it will live on, no matter how far apart the people are. It’s sort of like how we (my parents and I, I mean) still love Peter just as much even though he’s so far away. Speaking of Peter, I’m beginning to wonder if he’s ever going to write back. Maybe my letter got lost in the mail or something, or maybe he’s so busy with his studies and his newspaper reporting and the rest of it that he doesn’t have time to write. I guess I could understand that. But it would be nice to hear from him …
Anyway, as I was saying, John’s tale was quite a story. After he’d finished, he left the bunkhouse as quickly as he’d come, and we were left talking about it. Stevie and Carole thought the tale was very romantic, and Christine said her mother had told her a similar story once, though she hadn’t told it as well as John had.
“He is good,” Stevie agreed. “I mean, his story made me shiver, though not in the way my story scared you guys, right?”
“His wasn’t supposed to be a scary story,” Carole said.
“Oh, yes it was,” I said. “It was meant to scare Kate from adopting the stallion.”
“I know. And it’s not fair,” Kate added.
We talked about it some more, trying to figure out what John was really up to and why he’d come to tell us that story. Whatever he’d meant it to do, in the end, I think his tale just made Kate more determined than ever to adopt the stallion. After all, the story was just a story.
It took me a while to fall asleep that night. My mind was full of John, the stallion, and all sorts of other things. But the next day I didn’t have much time to think about any of it. There was too much to do to get ready for the Halloween Fair. Stevie kept us all busy—hanging decorations, peeling grapes, and so forth.
That evening we saddled up our horses for a moonlight ride over to Christine’s house. Her mother was going to help us put the finishing touches on our three blind mice costumes. She was even going to come up with a costume for Kate as the farmer’s wife!
It was during the ride that it happened. It started with a howl: How-oooooooo! I had never heard the sound before, but I knew immediately what it had to be. A coyote. It was a spooky sound, dangerous and lonely in the clear, cool night. I found myself shivering as it came again. How-oooooooo!
“Let’s go,” Christine said. Coyotes don’t usually attack humans, but they are dangerous animals, and it made sense for us to hurry on our way in case there were more of them about.
“No, wait.” Kate was staring off to one side. “Look!”
We all turned and saw what she had seen. Some distance away, a cloud of dust rose from the dry earth. “It’s the herd,” Carole said. “They must have been startled by the coyote. Look at them!”
We hadn’t even noticed the horses until they started moving, though they weren’t all that far away. But now we couldn’t miss them. The mares and foals were milling frantically, letting out frightened whinnies and snorts.
“We’ve got to help them!” Carole said.
“By doing what?” Christine shook her head. “What’s going on here is what’s been going on for thousands of years. There’s nothing for us to do.”
I could tell Carole wasn’t happy about that. But a moment later, just as the moon slipped behind some clouds and the unseen coyote let out another long howl, the horses suddenly stopped their panicky movements. After a moment, the stallion emerged from the center of the pack, his gleaming, silvery coat shining in the dim light from the stars.
I squinted at him. There was something about him—something odd about his shape. “Did you see that?” I whispered to the others. I couldn’t believe what my own eyes were telling me, and I wanted someone else to confirm it.
“What?” Stevie asked as the stallion led his herd behind a rock outcropping. Within seconds, the horses had disappeared from our sight.
“It was a rider,” Kate said breathlessly.
I nodded, glad that she’d seen it, too. “Pure silvery white, just like the horse.”
“And just like White Eagle,” Christine added.
Stevie looked at us skeptically. “Come on, you guys,” she said. “It’s just John, playing another joke on us.”
I wasn’t too sure about that. But there didn’t seem to be any way for us to know the truth for sure one way or the—
Oops, I just realized Mom’s calling me from down-stairs. I guess I’d better sign off for now—she probably wants me to set the table for dinner. I’ll have to finish this later!
LOCAL HALLOWEEN FUND-RAISER A SPOOKY SUCCESS
HALLOWEEN, TWO MILE CREEK. All Hallows’ Eve is a time for ghosts and goblins and ghouls, for spooky sounds and horrifying howls, for vampire bats and black cats, for … pony rides?
That’s right, pony rides were an important part of the Halloween spirit this year, as any of the hundreds of youngsters who enjoyed the Halloween Fair at Two Mile Creek High School could tell you. The fair, headed by local ranch owner Phyllis Devine, was planned as a fund-raiser to help sponsor an after-school youth program. Held last Saturday afternoon and evening, it featured a pumpkin-carving table, a candy corn counting contest, a haunted house, and numerous other activities along with the aforementioned pony rides. In the end, the event raised plenty of money for its cause and provided lots of fun for its young attendees.
We can only hope that Mrs. Devine and her gang of ghoulish helpers will be back for more spooky fun next Halloween!
Dear Diary,
When I reread the article I just pasted in, which Kate sent us from her local newspaper, I realized what my writing teacher, Ms. Shields, means when she says you can say a lot with a few words or a little with a lot of words. The article has quite a few words, but it doesn’t even scratch the surface of what really happened at the fair. That’s why I’ve decided to write my own “newspaper article” that tells the whole story. (I’m sure Peter would be impressed after all his newspaper reporting this summer!)
PHONE FAILS; SPOOKY STALLION SAVES STEVIE
HALLOWEEN, BAR NONE RANCH. Little did Stevie Lake know what a long, strange ride she would have last Halloween night!
Miss Lake was one of the co-planners of the fabulously successful Halloween Fund-raising Fair at Two Mile Creek High School. As such, she was responsible for arranging transportation for the amazing door prize, a beautiful handmade adobe dollhouse. Miss Lake, a resident of Willow Creek, Virginia, is a very intelligent young lady with many fine personal qualities. However, in this instance her memory failed her and she was left at the eleventh hour with the prized dollhouse several miles across the desert from where it was supposed to be. She had to find a way to move it from its creator’s home to the high school-pronto.
Miss Lake first attempted to telephone the house in question, but she quickly deduced that the local phone service had been disrupted and was out of service. Not wanting to waste any more time, Miss Lake hurried outside, mounted her trusty steed, Stewball, and prepared to ride to the rescue. She alerted her friend, Miss Christine Lonetree, of her intentions. Miss Lonetree loaned Miss Lake the white cloak from her costume as protection against the chilly desert evening, and Miss Lake set off.
Among Miss Lake’s other fine qualities is a vivid and sometimes overactive imagination. As she rode across the moonlit desert, she found her mind overrun with thoughts of all the spooky ghoulies that were supposed to roam on Halloween night.
Then, breaking into her thoughts of imaginary dangers, a real threat appeared. A coyote howled nearby. Miss Lake’s horse, spooked by the sound, took off. Unfortunately, Miss Lake was left behind, flat on her—well—behind.
Obviously, the situation was already rather grim for poor Miss Lake. She was stranded, on foot, all alone at night, miles from where she was supposed to be.
Then things got worse. Somewhere nearby—way too close, in fact—Miss Lake he
ard a familiar, menacing sound. The sound of a rattlesnake.
She froze immediately, aware that the slightest movement could attract the deadly snake’s attention. She tried to determine where the sound was coming from, but the night was dark and the surrounding rocks threw too many echoes. Before long it seemed as if a whole pack of monster snakes surrounded her, and Miss Lake understandably began to panic. She screamed in terror, loud and long.
Then another sound broke through the echoes of her screams. The sound of hoofbeats. Miss Lake felt a flicker of hope. Had her horse returned for her?
But it wasn’t her faithful skewbald coming toward her. It was a stallion—a silvery white stallion with a nick in his ear. There was a rider on his back, cloaked in white. A long, strong arm reached toward her, and in one smooth motion she was drawn up behind the rider. They raced across the desert, away from the snake, away from all danger.
Miss Lake clung to the rider with all her strength, not speaking a word. She was so grateful that she hardly knew how to thank her rescuer.
He never gave her a chance. After depositing her safely at her destination, the horse and rider whirled before she could speak and disappeared into the night. It was a Halloween Miss Lake would never forget.
Dear Diary,
Okay, I decided writing newspaper articles is harder than I thought. It was impossible to work in everything that happened that night and have it make sense in that “who, what, when, where, how” kind of way that reporters do. Because you see, so much of what happened didn’t make sense in that factual way. I can’t explain it. I can only write down what happened and hope that someday, somehow, I’ll figure it out.
First of all, before I even get to the fair, I should mention what happened the night before when I was trying to get a rock out of Chocolate’s foot. It was wedged in there pretty tightly, and I guess I looked like I was having trouble, because John came over to offer his help. I managed to get the stone out myself, but then we started talking. After a few lame comments about decorating for the fair, John reached over and took my hand. Yes, took my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Lisa Page 6