Smoky had never reckoned with the fighting qualities of a stallion, and he couldn’t figger out how it was he’d struck just thin air when he was so sure his enemy had been right there in front of him and within easy reaching distance; and what’s more that puzzled him was that the stallion never offered to show fight when he landed at him so furious. Instead he’d just got out of the way of his rush, kept his ears ahead, and went on sizing up the bunch the same as if nothing had happened. Smoky felt like he hadn’t even been noticed, and the actions of the stud said plainer than words “fool kid.”
A swift kick in the ribs couldn’t of done any better towards putting Smoky down a peg or two, and that simple quick move of the stud’s went a long ways to show what could of happened if he’d been in mind to fight. All that left Smoky kinda uncertain as to how to proceed. He didn’t know whether to go back and try it again or let things rest for a spell till another chance showed up.
In the meantime the black stud had found out that there was none in that bunch he’d need to watch, and head down to the ground, ears back, he started cutting out the geldings, keeping the mares and fillies to put in with the bunch he already had. That was a harder job than it might sound here, for none of the geldings wanted to be cut out of the bunch they’d been with so long, and even though they went out easy enough they’d turn back as the stud would be cutting out another and would have to be headed off and cut out again and again.
Then the big buckskin which had been neutral all this time finally got riled up at being separated from the mares that way and when the stud headed for him he stood his ground. A few seconds more and there was buckskin and black hair a sailing in the air, then hoofs a pounding away which would of kept up with machine-gun fire for speed, only the pounding wasn’t sounding so sharp; it was hitting something solid, and there wasn’t many misses.
Finally out of the dust that was stirred there came a streak of buckskin and right close to it was a streak of black, away from the herd they went, and pretty soon the black stud came back shaking his head the same as to let every horse know that he wasn’t going to stand for no foolishness.
There was one more to be put out of the bunch, he was that mouse colored gelding, Smoky. He’d got in while the stud was chasing away the buckskin, he’d stood alongside his mammy and watched the fight, and there was a light in his eyes that showed he was ready to start another battle if it was necessary, but he sure wasn’t going to be put out, without he was convinced it could be done—he wasn’t built that way.
The stallion spots him there and never went thru no preliminaries nor tried to scare him out with just a look; he dived right into him and Smoky met him halfways. That battle was short and wicked and Smoky managed to land some good hard kicks, kicks that’d knocked the wind out of any ordinary horse and sent ’em a sprawling; but the stallion wasn’t no ordinary horse and them kicks only shook him a little and made him all the madder. He’d fought too many hard battles to let any gelding faze him and besides he was in the habit of winning.
His chance came when Smoky turned to land a couple more hard ones. The stud was broadside to the gelding, and as the hard ones came, he just reared up out of the reach of ’em, made a big lunge to one side and coming down he made a quick grab and fastened his teeth in Smoky’s withers. When Smoky pulled away and the stud’s teeth snapped together there was some of his silky hide between ’em.
Smoky squealed and kicked some more, then he whirled and faced the stud, figgering on doing some damage with teeth and front hoofs. Just about then the stud whirled too and planted his two hind hoofs smack bang into Smoky’s ribs. There was an echo which sounded like a steam engine ramming into a stone wall. That echo was followed with a mighty grunt as Smoky was lifted off his feet and throwed out a ways to a staggering standstill.
Smoky was in a daze, his vision was dim, and maybe it was all instinct that warned him of the dark cloud that’d turned and was now a tearing down on him. Anyway something made him move in a hurry; all the strength that was left in him was used to make distance away from the black devil which now looked to Smoky like a big centipede, it had so many legs.
His life depended in the speed he could make, and Smoky was running, running like he’d never run before. It seemed like there was no shaking the mad stud, and just when he was on the point of giving in and make a last stand for his life that destroying hunk of horseflesh left him—When Smoky stopped, looked back, and seen the stud hightail it back to the mares, he had no hankering to follow; he was convinced.
The next few days that followed was mighty aimless to Smoky, him and the big buckskin had formed a pardnership in that time and the two wandered around like they was lost and didn’t care where they went. They covered a lot
