This morning he wanted to go through the canyon which led to the ledge overlooking the spit of land. Bottle Canyon, he reminded himself—that’s what Pitch calls it on his map. I’d better call it that, too. And the ledge overlooking the spit is Lookout Ledge. I guess Pitch named it that because from that ledge the Spaniards could have seen any approach from Antago and the south.

He gave Flame his head, and the stallion went into his long, effortless lope down the valley. A group of yearling colts and fillies broke and ran at Flame’s approach. Steve watched them go, then turned to look at the mares and foals grazing near the wild cane. Next to Flame he loved the foals best. It was fun watching them as they stayed so close to their mothers, seeking protection from anything that might frighten or startle them.

But soon the band was left far behind and they had reached the water pool. Flame stretched down to drink. When he had finished Steve took him along the southern wall of the valley toward the wild cane on the opposite side. Just before they reached it, they came to the cleavage in the wall. Steve turned Flame into the long neck of Bottle Canyon.

The ground was soft with good grass and free of rock. Flame went from a walk to a trot, and Steve let him go. For a hundred yards the high walls of the canyon rose close on either side, then they widened, forming the great base of Bottle Canyon.

The grass here too was good and cropped low, so Steve knew that Flame used the canyon for grazing. The high yellow walls rose all around them and Steve didn’t see where it was possible to reach Lookout Ledge from the canyon floor. But Flame seemed to know where he was going, so Steve let him alone.

The stallion went toward the far wall, which Steve knew was the only barrier between them and the spit. As they neared it, Flame veered to the right, and Steve saw the trail running up along the right wall. He thought it too steep and narrow, and sought to check Flame’s speed. But the stallion only shook his head, then gathered himself and lurched up the trail. The first few feet were the steepest part of the climb; from there on the ascent was much more gradual than it had appeared from below. Steve noticed the regular cuttings in the rock on either side of the trail; the Spaniards must have widened this path to Lookout Ledge.

Halfway up the wall, Flame entered a high natural cleft in the stone. The light grew dim but the sky could be seen overhead. Farther on the chasm narrowed until Steve could touch the walls on either side of Flame. He looked up. There was no opening overhead. Quickly he checked Flame’s walk. Then he saw that the light ahead was as bright as day. Also, the walls had widened. They were in a large shallow cave that opened on Lookout Ledge!

Steve brought Flame to a stop and slid off his back.