“Crossing that valley, we enter the chasm and cave which take us to the sea entrance. And there, as you know, we have our launch in the great chamber, making it possible for us to come and go as we please … using the very same entrance the Conquistadores used in bringing their armies and supplies into this stronghold.”

Pitch began rolling the map. “Well, that’s it, Steve.”

“It’s a good job. As good a job as any professional could have done.”

“No,” said Pitch with a smile. “But it’s the best I can do, and I’m glad it’s clear to you.” Putting away the map, he urged, “Let’s eat now, Steve. I’ve spent too much time talking, and you must be hungry and tired. It’s been a hard day for you.”

Early the next morning after breakfast, Pitch took his light pick and placed his flashlights in the small leather bag which he carried over his shoulder.

“You’re sure I can’t help you?” Steve asked.

“No. I’ve found an interesting tunnel. I can travel it better alone.”

“You’re careful?”

“Very careful, Steve. I won’t get lost. I mark every tunnel I travel. I’ll show you later today, if you’d like to go inside with me.”

“I would,” Steve replied.

“I’ll be back by noon.” As Pitch started up the trail, he said over his shoulder, “I’m taking it for granted you want to spend this morning with Flame and the others.”

After Pitch had disappeared within the great opening at the top of the waterfall, Steve looked about for Flame. The giant stallion had left his band several times during the last hour to come down the valley, his head raised in the direction of the ledge, looking for the boy. But Flame was back with the band now, grazing with them.

Steve went down the trail and started up the valley floor. He hadn’t gone very far when Flame saw him. Lifting his head, the stallion neighed, then went back to his grazing. But only for a moment. He stopped, then trotted toward the boy.

Steve watched his horse, felt the muscles of his throat tighten at the beauty and grace of this spirited stallion. And he marveled and was humbled that Flame belonged to him. During the months that he had been away from Blue Valley, he had often thought that it all had been a dream, that there was no such place as Azul Island, no such horse as Flame, no lost band living in a lost world.

When Flame stopped before him, Steve touched the soft nose of the stallion, ran his hand between the large, bright eyes and then down the soft neck. He stood stroking his horse for a long time, straightening the red mane and forelock which hung low over Flame’s forehead.

Finally he mounted and, letting the stallion choose his gait, rode toward the band. The mares with suckling foals at their sides moved away at sight of him, but the long-legged weanlings stood their ground, inquisitively watching his approach. They scattered when Flame neighed shrilly, and Steve laughed as they pushed hard against each other in their wild efforts to get out of the path of their running leader.

Flame moved past the band, his strides lengthening. Letting him go, Steve rode low and close to the stallion’s neck. For all of a mile Flame went at a full gallop, then Steve spoke to him and sat back. The stallion responded, slowing down to a canter and then a trot.

They were on the left side of the valley, near the marsh. Already gray vapors were beginning to rise from the swampland in the heat of the sun’s first rays. The hollow which fostered the marsh was no more than a hundred yards deep and ran for perhaps a quarter of a mile along this side of the valley. But to reach the dry stream gorge which cut the barrier wall here one had to pass through the marsh. Luckily there were green avenues of solid ground that made it possible to avoid the quagmires.

Steve turned Flame away from the desolate marsh and back toward the band.