Brimstone

71

THE STALLION WAS STILL THERE, a gray leopard Appaloosa, tending his mares on the flank of a hill outside Appaloosa. He’d been there when I’d come to Appaloosa, and I’d passed him the last time I rode out. Now returning, I paused at the top of the hill to watch him. Virgil and the women went ahead, trailing the pack mule. The stallion reared and snorted at the scent of the mule, though the mule was no threat to his harem. One of the mares drifted away from the herd, and the stallion, glancing at me every few steps, moved off to get her and drive her back. When he got her back to the herd, he left her and came around to put himself between me and the mares. The wandering mare went right off again, not in a hurry, just like she had a mind of her own and wanted to graze where she wanted to graze. The stallion stood, stiff-legged, ears forward, looking at her. He bugled once. Then he looked at me and went after her again. This time he nipped her as he drove her back. She tried to kick him, but he was an old hand at this, and he evaded the kick without effort. He drove her to my side of the herd this time and pressed her in among the other mares. Then he resumed his position between me and the mares, cropping the grass, raising his head every few crops to check on my position. The mare began to edge her way through the other mares, away from the stud. He raised his head and looked at her and bugled again and hurried around to the other side of the herd to block her. She stopped, still among the other mares, and put her head down and began to graze. Eyeing me all the time now, he reluctantly stayed on that side of the herd. Several of the mares appeared to be carrying foals. After they were born, there would be wolves to deal with. Being a stallion is high-pressure business. I decided not to add to the pressure by hanging around, and turned my gelding down the slope and followed Virgil and the women on into Appaloosa.