Not that he’d ever seen much of Pitch during the daytime. Pitch had always been too busy exploring the maze of tunnels that ran through the coral rock of Azul Island. And when Pitch hadn’t been on a tunnel exploration he’d been working on his manuscript, writing in detail all they’d found here and giving his reasons for believing that Azul Island was the last great stronghold of the Conquistadores, almost three hundred years ago! The Spaniards had left this natural fortress hurriedly, for all the relics Pitch had found indicated this … and as further evidence there were the horses which had been left behind. Where else could this pure-blooded band have originated?

At this point in his thoughts, Steve sat up to look at Flame. Flame’s forebears were Arabians of the finest strain. All one had to do to be convinced of this was to look at him and the mares. Their pure blood and the ideal conditions in Blue Valley had kept the strain free of flaw through generations of inbreeding. Now they were as perfect a group of horses as their ancestors had been … perhaps even finer.

Again Steve lay back on the grass, looking at the sky that was spotted with small, fleecy clouds. He was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open and began to realize that he must be more tired than he had thought. But he told himself that he mustn’t go to sleep. He had time to rest after his long sea trip … plenty of time … just so he didn’t fall asleep.

He listened to the splash of the waterfall and the occasional nicker of a mare to her suckling foal. Nothing else disrupted the peace and quiet of Blue Valley. Steve closed his eyes. Flame had come down the valley and was standing close by. Steve didn’t have to open his eyes to know the stallion was there. Nor did he need to hear him. It seemed that the very air vibrated with the red stallion’s greatness whenever he was around. If one looked, Flame’s greatness could be seen in his eyes. But it wasn’t necessary to look. One could feel it.

Steve suddenly felt a tightening in his throat, and he swallowed hard. Ordinarily he would have wanted Flame to be seen and appreciated by people other than himself, by horsemen who had never looked upon such a perfect stallion. But that kind of thinking wasn’t for him, Steve knew. It wasn’t possible for anyone but Pitch and himself to look upon Flame. To bring others here would mean the destruction of Blue Valley, the end of everything they held so dear. What they had here would last a long time. No one would know of Blue Valley until Pitch had his historical manuscript ready for publication, and it would take him many years to complete that work.

Steve opened his eyes. Flame had taken another drink from the pool and was returning to his band.

Steve’s thoughts turned to all the swift rides he’d had on Flame. Had there ever been a faster horse than his stallion? He sat up and watched Flame move from one patch of grass to another. His red body was scarred heavily from all his battles to maintain leadership of the band, but his legs were straight and clean of any serious injuries. He’d give any horse in the world the race of his life!

“Stop daydreaming,” Steve told himself.