by Fran Striker
Chapter VI
SILVER
After Penny left the clearing, Tonto stepped to the side of the bigwhite horse. He stroked the silken sheen of the stallion's nose andsaid, "Soon girl come back with plenty food. Then we go to whitefriend."
A rare bond of friendship existed between the wounded Texas Ranger inthe cave, the Indian named Tonto, and the mighty stallion, Silver. Tontoand Silver were of royal blood. Tonto was the son of a chief; Silver, aformer ruler. But these were honors of the past. Destiny had evengreater things ahead for the white man.
Tonto lost his chance to reign when his tribe was wiped out in hisboyhood. Silver had abdicated. The stallion's background is a story initself:
Wild Horse Valley, nestled in the heart of green hills, was a sanctuarywhere men had never been. The grass was green and lush; great treesspread leafy boughs to cast soft shade. Here, from the living rock, camewaterfalls that were sweet and pure. King Sylvan and his gentle mate,Moussa, ruled this land. Their court was made up of untamed horses.Horses that had never known restraining bit or binding saddlestrap.Happy, carefree horses they were, that had never seen men nor knownmen's inventions. Sylvan had won the right to rule his followers bymight and courage. He was the fleetest of foot, the quickest of eye, thegreatest of strength. Sylvan, the King!
Then Moussa bore the king a son--a prince--and Sylvan's happiness wascomplete. His fleet hoofs pounded the turf, racing, turning, flashing awhite coat in the bright sun. He hoped his little son would see hisstrength, his speed, and emulate them. Less than two hours after hisbirth, the prince was trying his slim, straight legs. In the months thatfollowed, the white colt developed the strength and fearlessness ofSylvan. Added to these were the gentleness, grace, and beauty of Moussa.
For many weeks the prince of Wild Horse Valley stayed close to hismother's side, and his little shadow merged with hers as the two movedthrough the valley, guided by Sylvan, who knew where water was sweetestand grass most tender.
Then came the days when colthood was left behind, and the son couldoutrun Moussa and keep pace with mighty Sylvan. Like the wind, the whiteone and Sylvan raced side by side. How the sun flashed from their sleekbodies as they raced, cut back, reared, and whirled in sheer joy! Lifewas good. Life was sweet. And Moussa watched with pride.
Tragedy came into the prince's life when Moussa went to the everlastinghappiness of other green pastures. By this time the prince was fullygrown and the equal in strength of his father. Day after day, the princemet and defeated new challengers in the field of combat. While Sylvanremained king, the prince fought to hold his own exalted position. Thebattles were furious. No quarter was asked, none given. The white princenever paused in the fray until his opponent lay conquered at his feet.Finally, when the last challenger was beaten, the prince called out inhis victory. Sylvan responded with mighty pride. A king and his son,both conquerors and champions. Stronger, greater, than any other intheir herd. Acknowledged by all as the ones who should lead while othersfollowed.
Then, one day, at the narrow entrance to the valley, strange creatureswaited with cruel weapons; creatures new to the horses. Men who camewith tragedy and pain. These were intruders who were looked upon asenemies to be driven away. The king sounded the attack, and led thecharge. Fire, like lightning, flashed before the horses. Thunder roareddeafeningly close at hand. The fury of those hammering hoofs could notlong be withstood, and the men retreated--then rode away to save theirlives.
The prince raised his strong voice in shrill exultation, but his cry wasshort. The king was on the ground beside him. Mighty Sylvan was dead.
Burning hatred for men grew in Silver's heart while he gently nuzzledhis father's prostrate form. There was little left for the prince inthat valley. Nothing to conquer or to love. For some time he stoodmotionless, looking at the soft grass, the trees, the valley that hadbeen his home. Then he turned to leave the valley.
Alone, the white horse made his way through the mountains. Hour afterhour he held a steady lope that carried him ever further from the placewhere he had known happiness and joy, then tragedy and sudden death. Thewhite stallion wanted to travel far, far from the place where he hadseen those hated men who had killed his father. The mountains gave wayto level plains.
Here was a new world! Level land, as far as he could see. He racedacross it, ignoring the danger of gopher holes and rocks. Then,suddenly, quite out of wind, he stopped. Ahead of the prince there was achallenger. Not another horse, and not a man. A dirty beast, of muddycolor, with a tangled mane and a huge hump on its back. A buffalo. Theprince saw tiny blood-red eyes that seemed filled with evil and hatred.As if in anger at intrusion of its domain, the huge beast stamped andpawed the ground. From the monster there came a horrible bellow, andthen the muddy fury charged.
With all the agility the white one could command in his exhaustion, hestepped aside to dodge the charge. Here was a new kind of battle! As thebuffalo raced past him, the prince felt the rough fur brush his body,and a foul odor assailed his nostrils. Mad with fury, screaming withrage, the buffalo turned and charged again. Again the white horsesidestepped. Time after time, the game was played, but it could notlast forever. Soon the two must come to grips, and this would be abattle to the death.
Great bellows filled the air. Mountains of dust rose from beneath thechurning hoofs as the battle began in earnest. The buffalo drew bloodfrom the horse's side. The prince reared high, and struck down, with allhis strength. The power of the huge horse's hoofs seemed ineffectualagainst the hairy beast. The massive head was a battering ram, drivingrelentlessly into the white body of the prince. Trembling and weak, thewhite one grew unsteady, but his gallant heart knew no defeat. He foughton, desperately and hopelessly, against the greater strength of hisopponent. Utter exhaustion robbed the brave horse of the power to stand.He slumped to the ground, legs useless.
The king of horses raised his head to meet the death that was at hand.Evil, hate-filled eyes glowed redder than before as the buffalo drewback, head lowered for the final rush.
The buffalo charged--then seemed to halt in mid-air--and crumpled to theground. The white one didn't understand at first. And then the echo of agun--the same sort of sound he'd heard when Sylvan had been struck down!
It was later that the white horse opened his eyes, which were brightwith pain. He knew then that man was not always an enemy. Gentle handscaressed him, and he felt cool water on his wounds. His strength, someof it, was returning, and the proud head came up once more. Heremembered Sylvan. Here were hated men again, two of them. The tiredbody rose from the ground on trembling, weakened legs. For a momentSilver stood there, then he turned and fled.
He ran for a time, but slower with each passing moment. For some reason,the prince felt that he had left a friend behind him. He had learned agrim lesson in the wilderness outside of Wild Horse Valley. There werecreatures there far stronger than any horse had been. Huge, shaggy, uglybrutes who could kill him. Beasts that fell only before the weapons ofman. The horse slowed, then stopped and looked back. He seemed to knowthat in this new world outside the Valley he needed friends with anotherstrength than his. He recalled the gentle touch and the deep, kindlyvoice of the man who had bathed his wounds.
He took a few steps toward the recent scene of battle where the two menstood, still watching him. The terrible weapon that had killed thebuffalo was quiet now. Some strong force drew Silver nearer. He wastense, ready to turn and flee forever from creatures in the form of menif the thundering machine of Death was fired again, but there was onlysilence. The touch of the man's hand was so like the soft caress ofMoussa--Silver wanted more of it. The voice of the man was good to hear.It was rich, friendly. Silver went still closer, still tense, ready tobolt. And then he was at the side of the tall man who had saved hislife. He touched his sensitive nostrils to the brown hand and a newemotion was born in the heart of the horse. A love of beast for man.
The Texan found it hard to restrain his excitement. "The finest horseI've ever seen," he told the Indian bes
ide him. "Look at him, Tonto!These muscles, and the eyes! The tail and mane are like silk! Look athis coat, how it glistens in the sun. I'm going to ride this horse. Hecame back after he'd left us. I'm going to ride him. And his name shallbe Silver."
The horse stood quietly while the tall man with the deep voice andgentle touch mounted his bare back.
"You, Silver--" the man said, "--we're going to be friends, aren't we,old boy?" A gentle caress on the white neck. To show his happiness anddemonstrate the fact that he was strong again, the white horse rose highon his hind legs, then came down without a jar. He would prove to thiswhite man who had defended him that he was glad to have a friend.
"_High, Silver!_" the man cried out. "_High up_ again!"
Trying to understand what the man on his back wanted, Silver repeatedhis rearing action. He heard the happy laugh of his rider.
"Now, big fellow," the man called out, "let's travel. _Away_ there,Silver." For a moment the white horse couldn't comprehend. Then he felta nudge from the heels of the man on his back.
"Hi there you, Silver horse, _away_!" Silver moved ahead, carrying hismaster. He was desperately anxious to do what this man wanted. Eager toshow his happiness at the finding of a friend. As he moved, he heardshouts of encouragement.
"That's it, Silver! Hi you, Silver, away!"
The horse moved faster. Another shout, this time contracted.
"Hi-Yo' Silver, Away!"
Silver broke into a run. Now he knew what the master wanted. At the nextshout, the big stallion gave all his strength in a burst of speed thatmade his snowy figure like a flash of light across the open plains. Theshout was one that later rang throughout the West--the clarion call--thetocsin of a mystery rider who wore a mask.
"Hi-Yo Silver, _Away-y-y-y_."