Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1945-07-20

cliff-tops. A good-sized rivulet swept
under Ken's sheltering rock, and in
a moment he was immersed and
drenched. He rolled out from under
and stood choking and laughing,
shaking the water out of his eyes.
Then, since he could be no wetter,
he decided to ignore the storm and
continue his search for Flicka.
Either the wind was getting cold
er or the rain was turning to hail
or snow, for his wet jersey was like
ice against his skin as he trotted in
and out of the paths and trees.
Often in September there were
snowstorms on the top of the Divide,
and it seemed to him one was COM
ing now. Up here in the high alti-
tude one day it was showing and
the next like summer.
Ken came upon Flicka in little
dell at the foot Of a cliff, cut by
the narrowest thread Of a path. She
stood under an over-hanging tree,
but even that could do little to pro-
tect her against the rain. When he
saw the foal beside her, he stood
staring. There had never been a
white foal born on the Goose Bar
Ranch before. He could hardly be-
lieve it. There came dry fullness
in his throat. Flicka-Flicka's foal
her first! And not only off color,
but white! A throwback! 1t was a
shock to him.
He called her name quietly. She
turned her head and he went to her.
She looked anxiously at the foal.
Ken stood staring down at it in the
gathering darkness. White and mar
row and with head beaten down by
the pouring rain, tilted toward its
mother-it looked as though it might
fall over any minute.
Flicka gave little grunting
whinny. Ken could understand her
talk, and he knew she was cold and
miserable and worried about the
foal. They should both of them be
in the barn, and Flicka should have
good pail of hot mash. He won
dered if the foal could follow her
up that thread of path, and coaxed
the mare to try the ascent.
She would not move. Ken put his
belt around her neck and led her
up. The little one, coming after her
with wavering steps, struggled but
could not follow. Flicka, turning,
saw it halted here. She baked. Ken
slipped the belt off her neck and she
backed down to the foal and licked
it.
Somehow the foal must be got up
the path. Ken wondered if he could
drag or carry it. Often he and How
ard, wrestling with the little foals
as they trained them (part of the
work of their summer vacations)
would clasp their arms around
them, lift them off the ground. One
little fellow Howard had carried all
around with its long legs trailing.
But this was an unusually big colt
Ken was doubtful.
With his hand on Flicka's neck he
sided toward the foal, speaking
soothingly. "There, there, little fell
low-wouldn't hurt you-don't be
frightened-it's all right, Flicka-
wouldn't hurt your baby-you know
I wouldn't
The mare was excited and anxi-
GUS and the foal, as Ken's hand
touched its neck, squealed and tried
to struggle away. Ken put both
arms around the wet slippery body
and held tight, but lifting was a diff
ferent matter. Still talking to
Flicka, who was nickering nervous
ly, Ken eXerted all his strength. Sud-
denly he had little kicking fight
ing demon in his arms and the foal
barred its four baby teeth and bit his
arm.
Ken dropped it, Flicka whirled
close and stood protectively over it.
Ken, scolding under his breath and
holding his forearm that the foals
teeth had pinched, realized that he
must get help.
He leaped up the pathway.
Gus and Tim, Immediately after
the supper dishes had been washed
up, had taken the pickup and driven
over to the Saturday night dance in
Summervale's barn at Tie Siding.
Kens mother and father had gone
in to town to dine with Colonel Har-
ris. There was no one but himself
and Howard on the ranch, and the
responsibility was his own because
Flicka was his mare. BesideS-this
little foal-thiS particular foal-at
the thought of all that depended on
him, Ken's feet flew faster, and his
eyes, made keen and knowing by
his life on the ranch, gazed at the
sky and the clouds, gauging the
storm
The wind was changing, veering
around to the east, and, yes-what
he had suspected was happening.
Every raindrop now had body to
it, a little core of slush-it was
changing to snow. 1t beat on his face
and nearly blinded him. The wind
changed its tune, it rose to a howl,
whipping the branches of the pine
trees.
But Ken was not cold. The excite
ment in him made him hot and