The Island Stallion's Fury (Black Stallion, Book 7)
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Only Steve Duncan and his friend Pitch know of the valley hidden behind the high cliffs of the remote Caribbean Azul Island. And only the two of them know of the beautiful, purebred horses that live there, under the watchful eye of the great red stallion, Flame. But when Pitch's half-brother Tom learns of this lost paradise, he will stop at nothing to make it his own, even if he has to destroy it.
jibed. “Don’t get so excited. You passed the instructions. They’re on this side.” He tried to steady the can in Pitch’s hands, but he only succeeded in fumbling too. “Who’s excited? I’m not excited. Don’t you get excited. Mrs. Reynolds—you know the Mrs. Reynolds I boarded with on your block, the one who had all the kids—well, when she went on an automobile trip she always took powdered milk instead of bottled milk so it wouldn’t spoil.” “Here, Pitch … over here are the instructions. But it
one of the narrow green avenues running through the marsh. At a very slow walk the stallion entered the cloudlike world, following hoofprints which he had left from countless other journeys. He was no stranger to the marsh. Solid ground was beneath his feet, but on either side was a slimy wilderness of high reeds, swamp ferns and all-engulfing quagmires. Steve hated this place, but he made no attempt to hurry Flame. A slip, a fall, a few feet on either side meant a terrible death in the still,
barred gate of Bottle Canyon. He stood there, listening to the incessant neighing of the colt on the other side. Steve watched Flame and so did Tom. Finally the giant turned, looked in the direction of the marsh again, then at the map. He studied it for a little longer before rolling it up. Pitch and Steve could tell that Tom was trying to make up his mind whether to go to Antago that day. It was past mid-afternoon. If he left then it would be dark before he reached Antago. It would mean a
raise his eyes; his ears would tell him of Tom’s approach. And at the slightest sound of a step on the trail, he and Steve would start running. But no footsteps came, only Tom’s voice. And his words were all the more startling because of the softness with which they were uttered. “I know you’re up there, Phil,” he said. “But I’m not running after you any more. I don’t need to. You’re going to come to me.” Pitch felt Steve’s clawing hands on his legs, attempting to pull him back. Run! He’ll be
valley. I just call it Small Valley on the map,” he explained. “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