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

uut duBTly. ne OuQ not want 10 pc
born. The violent constructions of the
walls Of his house, which came un-
expectedly, disturbed his long
peaceful growth and put him in a
fury, and he unfolded himself and
kicked again and again.
He wanted no change. Here was
quiet Understanding to prick and
tantalize his eyes. Here was Sc
curity - no possible harm could
reach him. Here was food without
effort or even knowledge on his
part. Here was the softest floating
bed to buffer him against shock.
Here was warmth that never fluc-
tuated. Here was-(in some dim
way he felt it)-love and protection
from his mothers heart. He would
not be born.
Twice before he had foiled the la
Dor pains, and his dam had resigned
herself and had continued to carry
him. (She was the handsome sorrel
mare called Flicka, belonging to
young Ken Mclaughlin of the
Goose Bar ranch.) She had stood
patiently, not moving much, up in
the stable pasture just beyond the
corrals. And it had become the habit
Of everyone at the ranch, Rob and
Nell Mclaughlin, and their two boys
Howard and Ken, and Gus and Tim,
the hired hands, to walk out to see
her every day, to note how patiently
she stood, getting larger and larger,
her bright and lively nature
changed to somber brooding. If any,
one went near her hindquarters she
kicked at them.
Visitors to the ranch went out to
inspect her too. One said to Nell
Mclaughlin, "That's the hugest
mare ever saw"
She's not so huge" said Nell.
"1t's just that she's carrying a colt
that should have been born in the
spring, and here it is, nearly time
for the boys to 60 back to Laramie
to school, and still she hasn't
foaled."
They all agreed that now and then
such things happened to mares and
everyone could tell of case. There
was much curiosity as to what the
colt would be like. He surely ought
to be good one, big and strong
and well developed.
The laboring mare lay down on
the ground. The foal, impose his
will as he might, was helpless. The
violent surges continued, coming at
regular intervals, and he was being
turned this way and that as if by
intelligent hands, until he took the
position of a diver, front hoofs
resting on them. Then he felt pain
for the first time and would have
struggled and kicked if he could
have, but he was held in wise and
could not move. Pressure was
strong against him on all sides.
There was the sensation of move
ment through passage and sud-
denly a jar as he slid out to the
earth.
from the air and the light by the
envelope of membrane in which he
was enclosed; then the mare gained
her feet and whirled around and
her teeth and tongue stripped him
of the membrane and he began to
breathe.
From that moment on all that he
knew was pain, for the breathing
hurt his lungs, and, opening his
eyes, they were stabbed by blind
ing flashes of light. Terror came
when his ear drums were ham,
mered upon by crashes of thunder,
and he reacted by giving little chok-
ing bleats and trying to sit up. Icy
rain sluiced upon him. The hard
ground upon which he lay was run
ming with water.
His mother licked and licked him.
This warmed him and brought the
blood to the surface of his body.
He yearned to be closer to her and
struggled to rise but had not yet
the strength.
There was no mercy for him in
the skies. 1t was the collision of sew
eral storms that had ridden up from
the lowlands to this high peak of
the Wyoming Rocky Mountain Di-
vide. Clusters of purple thunder
heads struggled nightly, hurting
themselves oSaAiiok SoSll oIllSA Will
detonations that shook the ground.
Wide bands of intolerable light
stabbed from zenith to earth.
But there was mercy for the colt
closer by, and he knew it. His feeble
struggles to rise became stronger.
His mothers licking tongue encour-
aged him. The yearning to reach
the warmth and shelter of her body
grew to a passionate must, must
get to her.
And so, long before the storm was
over, the foal had found his feet.
The teat, hot and swollen, was in
his mouth. He was safely an
chored; and because of the danger
and pain so lately experienced, his
awareness was sharpened. Warmth
and milk were more than food-they
were an ecstasy.
Ken Mclaughlin was hunting his
mare.
A thin, twelve-year-old boy, with
n shock of soft brown hair falling