Steve was with Flame when Pitch started the launch’s motor. The roar of it caused the stallion to move quickly away. Steve watched him until he disappeared through the cave on his way back to Blue Valley, then he boarded the moving launch. The foal had raised his head a little at the sudden noise, but now was sleeping again. Steve hurried to the bow of the ship. Pitch kept the launch steady while Steve reached for the handholds in the wooden doors above the low sea hole. The partitions spread apart, sliding easily in their grooves.
“That’s wide enough,” Pitch yelled over the motor’s roar. The wind swept into the chamber. The open sea was before them.
While Pitch was taking the launch through the exit, Steve ran back to the stern. Once they were outside the wall, Pitch held the boat steady while Steve closed the panels. Then he went to sit beside the foal. Pitch gunned the motor, taking the launch safely through a channel which found its way past the black shadows of submerged rocks.
It would take them about four hours to get to Antago, Steve knew. That meant it would be a little after noon when they arrived. He turned to look back at the yellow dome of Azul Island when they were well away from the barrier walls; then his gaze swept back to the foal, who still slept. The boat rocked on the swells of the open sea; there were no waves to speak of and the colt wouldn’t be jostled in any way. Steve thought of the hours he had spent dreaming of taking this colt away with him from Blue Valley. But not like this. Would it be possible for the veterinarian to help him? Would it …
Steve got to his feet and joined Pitch at the wheel. He needed Pitch’s assurance that everything would turn out all right.
“Even if it’s a break, the vet on Antago could set it, couldn’t he?”
“I’ve heard that he’s a very good man, Steve.” Pitch turned to the boy, saw the fear in his eyes, then added emphatically, “I’m certain everything will turn out all right. Bone injuries heal fast in the young. Why, Mrs. Reynolds’ baby fell out of her high chair when she was only a year old and broke her collarbone. And new bone started forming within a few days!”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I know I’m right,” Pitch said. “You’d better stop worrying about what the vet will do and start thinking about having some milk ready for the colt when he wakes up.”
“I hadn’t even thought of it, Pitch. Why, I don’t have …”
“Yes, we do,” the man said. “Go below to the galley and you’ll find everything you need. The powdered milk is in the tin container marked ‘Tea.’ There’s not much but it’s enough for a couple of feedings until we get to Antago.”
Pitch waited until the boy had disappeared down the short steps to the galley, then his face sobered and concern was evident in his eyes. He wasn’t worried about the colt. He sincerely believed all he’d told Steve. It was his stepbrother Tom who was worrying him. If Tom had returned to Antago, if he by any wild chance saw the colt, all the strange things that had been happening during the last six months might be brought to a head. And it wouldn’t be a happy affair. He had avoided telling Steve very much about Tom whenever the boy had asked. But now … now it would be best if Steve were told. They had to be ready for anything Tom might do if he did see them and the colt.
Later, Steve reappeared. “I found everything,” he said. “I’m waiting for the water to cool.” He turned to the foal, saw he was still sleeping, then asked, “Want me to take the wheel for a while, Pitch?”
“No, Steve … thanks.” Pitch kept his eyes on the sea ahead. “Steve?”
“Yes, Pitch?”
“You’ve asked me about Tom several times since your return.”
“Yes? What about him, Pitch?”
“I’d felt it best all along not to discuss Tom with you,” Pitch said. “We were safe from him in Blue Valley. But now that you and the colt are going to Antago …” He stopped as though to collect his thoughts, then plunged into what he had to say.
“Tom’s been acting very strange the last five or six months. He’s always been a domineering person, as you know. But it’s more than that now. With no just cause, he’s been cruel, even vicious at times, to the native help we’ve had at the plantation. Finally it reached the point where no one living on Antago would work for him. He lost our last cane crop. But even this didn’t seem to bother him. I made it a point to keep out of his way. That wasn’t very difficult for me to do, especially since he started making trips to the islands south of Antago and once even went to South America.
“While he was gone, I was able to get the natives back to work. But when Tom returned they’d leave again the moment they saw him. A week before you arrived, Tom left Antago once more, this time telling me he’d be in South America for a year.”
When Pitch had finished, Steve studied his face a long while before asking, “Do you think he really went to South America, Pitch?”
“I don’t know, Steve. He’d been restless and wanted excitement which he couldn’t get on Antago. He’d lived there for years, longer than he’d ever settled down in any one place before. He could have gone to South America again but …” Pitch stopped.
“But what, Pitch? What makes you think he didn’t?”
“The morning of the day you arrived a friend of mine told me he thought he’d seen the Sea Queen in the waters to the north.”
Steve’s gaze never left Pitch as they stood at the bow in silence. Sea Queen was the name of Tom’s motor launch. If Tom had been going to South America he would have traveled west … to one of the western islands, where he could get a plane for South America.
“You think then,” Steve said, “that he’d been to Azul Island? Does he have any idea what we’ve found there?”
“I don’t honestly know, Steve. He may be curious about my trips to the spit to do a little excavation work. He knows of my interest in the island. But he didn’t seem to take any active interest in my work until the last few months. In his sarcastic way he asked if my digging had turned up anything. I told him I’d found nothing on the spit … which I hadn’t, of course.”
“But why his sudden interest?” Steve asked gravely.
“Perhaps his restlessness was the cause of it. Perhaps it was your letters.”
“You didn’t let him see them, Pitch?” Steve’s words were clipped.
“No, but I burned them after reading them. Tom saw me burning one. He probably guessed my only reason for doing such a thing was to keep the letter out of his hands. I should have been more careful.”
They said nothing more for a long while, then Steve spoke. “And you’re afraid he might have returned to Antago by this time? You’re afraid he’ll see the …”
“… the colt.” Pitch said it for him. “And if he did he’d know we had found something on Azul Island we were keeping to ourselves.”
“But the colt could be from the band on the spit,” Steve said quickly. “We can tell Tom that, if he sees us.”
“But would he believe us?” Pitch asked quietly.
Steve turned to the foal, who was starting to wake up. Again he took note of the fine wedge-shaped head, the delicate lines of neck and body.
Even as he looked at the colt, Pitch reminded him, “Tom’s been around horses most of his life. He’ll see what you see, Steve … he’ll know that that foal could never have been born from the stock on the spit.”
The boy turned to him. “But we don’t need to go to the plantation, do we, Pitch?”
“No. I did all I could there before your arrival. I have no reason to go.”
“Then after we’ve seen the vet we’ll go right back to Blue Valley,” Steve said.
“Yes,” Pitch agreed, “that’s our best bet. Do what we have to do, then get off Antago fast.” He paused. “I feel much better now that I’ve told you everything, Steve … much better.”
The foal was fully awake, and Steve hurried below to the galley to get the milk for him.
During the remainder of the trip to Antago, Steve stayed with the colt, keeping him down
on the blanket. There was pain in the foal’s eyes now and Steve tried to comfort him, soothing him with voice and hands. Occasionally the foal would drop off to sleep again and only then would the boy’s thoughts turn to Tom Pitcher and what he had seen this giant of a man do with the long bull whip which he wore wrapped around his bulging waist. He knew the terror Tom would bring to Blue Valley if he ever found the lost band of horses that grazed there.
But never would Tom find them. Never!
It was almost a year since Steve had last seen Tom Pitcher. But it could have been only an hour ago, for it wasn’t easy to forget him. Steve saw his dark, low-jowled face with its beady, suspicious eyes always watching, waiting to catch one off guard. And when the opportunity came, Tom attacked viciously by word or action, for it was in him always to demonstrate his superiority over man and animal. Steve wondered now what instinct fostered Tom’s determination to dominate everything before him. Was it fear? Was it pride in his tremendous body and strength? Anyway, it was there for anyone to see.
Steve thought again of the bull whip which Tom could use so skillfully that it might as well be his own arms going out to grasp and tear at will. Steve had seen him use it last summer.
There had been no escape for the small, wiry horse in the plantation’s corral. Tom had run him before the whip until the horse could hardly stand. He’d fought him for what seemed to Steve to be a terrible love of fighting. And when the horse had stood before him with swaying and trembling body, Tom had regretted the end of the fight. Then the animal had been broken to saddle by Tom, broken in body by Tom, broken in spirit by Tom.
The colt moved, seeking to get to his feet. Steve quieted him, keeping his hands on the small, hard body, comforting him, protecting him.
Before noon they were within sight of Antago. The island lay green and rolling with no hill more than a hundred feet high. They could see the red-roofed homes which dotted the coastline and, beyond, the waving green fields of sugar cane. A half-hour later they rounded a point and came into Chestertown, the only port and town of any size on Antago.
A freighter was just off shore, transporting its cargo into large, deep rowboats. But Pitch and Steve were more interested in the sailboats and launches moored to the wharf.
“Would the Sea Queen be here, if Tom’s on Antago?” Steve asked from where he sat with the colt.
“Usually he keeps it here,” Pitch said without turning around. “But he has a pier near the plantation also, and once in a while he uses that.”
The foal raised his head as though he, too, wanted to know what lay ahead. Keeping the tiny body still, Steve said, “Quiet, fellow. Just be patient a little longer, and we’ll have you at the doctor’s.”
Pitch said, “The Sea Queen’s not here.”
A few minutes later he brought the launch in to the end of the wharf, where he had left his car when he and Steve had set out for Azul Island a few days earlier. Steve helped him moor the boat, then they carried the foal to the car. There was plenty of activity going on farther down the wharf, near the great warehouse sheds, so scarcely anyone noticed their burden.
“You get in back with him,” Pitch said. “That’s it. But watch his legs; they’re hitting the door.”
They got the foal inside the car, stretched out on the seat. “It’s the best we can do, Pitch,” Steve said. “I’ll watch his leg so it won’t be jarred.”
The man nodded and got behind the wheel. Leaving the long wharf, they went up the main street of Chestertown. The noise and confusion were startling after the quiet of Blue Valley, and Steve tried to shut his eyes and ears to the sight and sound of the crazy tangle of traffic.
The shops on either side of the street were colorless but neat. The too-narrow sidewalks overflowed with busy people who spilled into the cobblestone road and scurried before cars and bicycles. They were predominantly Negro, and a few made their way through the bustling traffic skillfully balancing huge baskets on their heads. Native policemen, snappily dressed in khaki uniforms and caps, stood at the street intersections frantically blowing their whistles in an attempt to maintain some semblance of order.
Soon they had left the business section behind and were in the suburbs of Chestertown. Here they passed small, neat houses with yards of colorful tropical shrubs protected by freshly painted white fences.
“The vet’s office is just a little farther on,” Pitch said. “We’ll soon be there.”
They were out of the heaviest traffic when Steve noticed Pitch’s frequent glances in the rear-view mirror. “What is it?” he asked.
“I thought I saw Tom’s car behind us. But I must have been mistaken; it’s not there now.”
A mile farther on Pitch came to a stop before a two-story frame house. On the picket gate was the sign: DR. F. A. MASON, VETERINARY SURGERY AND MEDICINE.
They carried the foal around the house to a low one-story building in the back. “Now let’s just hope he’s in,” Pitch said, ringing the office bell.
A moment later, a bald-headed man appeared at the screen door. He had a gray mustache and a short, pointed beard.
“Dr. Mason?” Pitch asked.
“Yes,” said the man, his eyes on the foal. “Bring him in,” he said abruptly, holding the door open. “Follow me, please.”
He ushered them into a large room with a tanbark floor. Another man, younger than Dr. Mason, looked up inquiringly as they approached. “This is Dr. Crane, my assistant.”
“It’s his leg,” Steve said, “… his right hind.”
Dr. Mason nodded. “Let Dr. Crane hold him, please. And step back from the table, if you will.”
Pitch drew Steve away, but not before the boy had explained, “He fell, Doctor. He’s hurt just below the hock.”
“He can find it, Steve,” Pitch said sympathetically. “We’ll help more by leaving them alone.”
Steve didn’t say anything, but his eyes never left the doctor as the veterinarian’s hands traveled down the right hind leg. In an attempt to relieve his anxiety he listened to the sounds from other animals housed somewhere in the building. He heard the incessant barking of a dog, the bleating of goats.
Pitch said, “He keeps only his small animals here. But he does a lot of work on the plantations for cattle, horses and mules. He’s good. He’s got so much business he needed someone to help him. Dr. Crane arrived a month ago.”
Much later, Steve heard Dr. Mason tell his assistant, “It’s a complete fracture of the proximal end of the tibia. We’ll use a modified Thomas splint of light aluminum.” Only the words complete fracture meant anything to Steve. He broke away from Pitch’s grasp and ran to the table, fixing frightened eyes on Dr. Mason. “How bad is it, Doctor? Will he be all right?”
The doctor turned to him, annoyed at first, then tolerant and understanding. He put his hand on Steve’s arm. “Don’t you worry about him,” he said. “Within three weeks that leg will be completely healed, and you’ll forget he ever injured it. And so will he.” Addressing Pitch, and motioning to him to get Steve out of the room, he said, “If you two will wait in my office, we’ll get him fixed up all the sooner.”
Pitch understood. He took Steve’s arm and led him out of the room. Across the corridor was the doctor’s office, and they went in there to sit down and wait for their colt.
THE GIANT
8
“What time is it, Pitch?”
“One-thirty. It’s only been a half-hour.”
“It seems longer than that.”
Pitch nodded. They sat in silence for another fifteen minutes. The boy rose from the couch, walked around the room, then sat down again, glancing at Pitch’s wrist watch.
“We must remember to ask Dr. Mason about feeding the colt,” Pitch said, hoping that conversation would relieve the boy’s tension.
Steve nodded but said nothing.
“Unless we have to, let’s not mention anything to him about Azul Island,” Pitch went on. “The less people know about our being there the better. The colt
’s an orphaned foal; that’s all we’ll say. If I’m not mistaken the vet will just assume that we’re keeping him right here on Antago. What else could he think?”
Again Steve nodded without saying anything.
The door opened and Dr. Mason appeared, his hand stroking his light beard. “The foal’s ready to go,” he said.
Steve was out of the office before Pitch had risen to his feet. He entered the large room across the corridor ahead of Dr. Mason. The colt was standing, his injured leg held in a fixed position by a crutchlike splint that began at his tiny hoof and ended in a large hoop around his rump. The veterinarian’s assistant was with him.
Steve dropped down beside Dr. Crane. “He’s all right?”
“Yes. He’ll have no trouble. We’ve set the bone and the healing should be rapid.” Dr. Crane’s hands traveled up and down the light metal rods on either side of the foal’s leg and then he examined again the heavy bandaging above and below the hock. “We’ve used plaster of Paris here,” he explained. “There’s no chance of his getting out of the splint. He’ll be able to walk but not trot or run.” His hand went to the hoop of the splint which encircled the colt’s rump. “This is covered with soft leather, as you can see, so I don’t think there’ll be any chafing of the skin.” Smiling, he turned to Steve. “You needn’t worry about him. The bone’s been set and now he just has to use a crutch for a while. It’s as simple as that.”
Dr. Mason joined them, his hands too checking the heavily bandaged leg. “But keep him away from other horses, and watch his dam to make certain she doesn’t push him around either.”
Steve turned to him. “He doesn’t have any …”
Pitch interrupted. “He’s an orphaned foal,” he told the doctor.
Dr. Mason rose to his feet, and Steve heard him ask Pitch, “You’ve been giving him cow’s milk?”
Pitch nodded, and the doctor said, “He looks as though he’s doing all right. How old is he?”