Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1945-12-28
CHAPTER XIV

hell lay III HIS llut pdtIl, HAUL ldS-
ing. All the sore knotted muscles
eased and relaxed, and the feverish
pain was drawn out of the scratches
and abrasions.
He got the iodine bottle from the
medicine chest and attended palms.
takingly to his wounds. He was dot
ted and smeared all over when he
finally sat down with slicked hair
and startlingly clean fingernails to
the supper of fried chicken and
mashed potatoes whipped with hot
cream such as only his mother could
make.
And again he told and retold the
story of his adventure, even to the
bit about the black mare who made
the dash for freedom. "She was
a beauty, dad. She reminded me
Of Gypsy, only she was bigger"
And at last Rob told his boy of
the important thing. That none of
his plans need be changed. He could
still 60 to Saginaw Falls with
Charley Sargent. He could still send
a race horse of his own in Charley
Sargent's express car. There would
still be Goose Bar entry in the
races. The only change would
be that it would be the two-year-old
FLY, Touch And Go, instead of the
three year old stallion, Thunder
head.
And so when the big black Buick
rolled down the mountain passes of
the Wyoming-Idaho highway on
October eleventh there were two
racehorse-owners sitting in the front
seat, Charley Sargent, quite formal
looking in a black overcoat and
derby hat, and Ken, feeling at least
ten years older than ever before.
Thunderhead lifted his nose high
and searched the wind.
1t was a bare craggy peak over
looking the southern end of the val
ley that he had chosen for his look
out. From here he could see below
him where his mares were grazing.
He could turn and look at the tiers
of mountains behind away up to the
Thunderer in his eyrie in the sky.
He could see the clouds rolling
around them, he could hear the
deep rumble of the giants that lived
underneath, the fall of every ava
lanche, the crack of every frozen
tree; and not a bird nor ami
NAL could move without his eyes
and ears taking note of it.
1t was an uneven pinnacle of rock
on which he stood, with barely room
for foothold. His hind legs were
braced down and apart. His body
was twisted. His head, with its float
ing white name and spear-pointed
ears, was lifted high, his dark,
white-ringed eyes filled with the
wildness of the mountains and the
clouds. Dangling from his black
halter was bit of rope, frayed and
worn at the end.
A little below him, baked by the
steepness of the last sheer ascent,
a small white colt stood looking up
at him. Now and then Thunderhead's
glance rested on him for a second,
then brushed past and up again.
A new message was on the wind
this early morning. There was a
heavy storm coming. The temporal
ture was twenty below already and
still falling.
The mares and colts were pro-
tected by a long thick growth of
hair which they had started grow
ing in September in preparation for
this early storm. But Thunderhead
was warmed only by the inner heat
of the stallion. His coat was, as al
ways, silky and shining, SCARED
only by patches of rough, long hair
under his throat, and on his Shout
ders where he had been wounded.
Around the mountain peaks many
storms were tossing, rolling down
the slopes, colliding with each other,
carried on opposing currents of air.
A boiling mass of wind-cloud swept
north over the valley with an eagle
sailing before it. Now and then the
storms united and came down in a
deep white blanket, then were
broken up again and, roaring, sepa-
rated and moved in every direction.
Gradually the smother thickened
and snow fell, driving first one way,
then the other.
Thunderhead reared his crest high
into the storm. His name streamed
to the west. The eastern wind was
strongest and would prevail. An
easterner.
Memory tingled through him and
his paving hoof rang on the rock.
When the cold burns too deep,
when there is death in the wind,
take the way down the mountain.
Gates are open. Managers are full