KING of THE PLAINS

Northern Advocate, 5 September 1939, Page 2

KING of THE PLAINS

(By Ruth Guest. P. 0.. Whangaroi Ago Mi.

On a lonoly plain at Iho foot ot a range of mountains a young a pit ■miffed sorrowfully over the- body of a dead marc. She had boon attacked by a mountain lion, and in defending her foal, had been killed, taut lived long enough to see the puma breathe its last.

Soon the colt, its coat gleaming a magnificent strawberry roan, turned dismally away, heading slowly for the foothills near by. It knew; that soon it would join a herd of wild horses which roamed the wilderness.

A year had passed away, and the foal had grown into a fine, sturdy young animal. He had travelled many hundreds of miles during that year, but now that summer had come, the herd was returning to the valleys in the mountain, where food and water were in abundance. Here no man had ever penetrated, so the animals were free from danger, except for mountain lions and rattlesnakes which lurked in hidden dens. As the months wore on the hunters began drifting into this untamed world. The horses became wary of all unknown scents and sounds, and often evaded capture only by their keen sense of smell and healing. By this time the leader of the herd was showing signs of age, and his mares were discontented. The roan, who was now a magnificent young stallion, challenged him for the leadership. The older animal began to back away, but suddenly struck out at the roan with his forefeet. Then they rushed at each other’s throats, their wicked teeth bared. The roan, by far the more agile of the pair, dodged a murderous snap, and flung his heels at his opponent and struck him. The mares and younger animals watched anxiously,. The black leader was tiring. He was long past his youth, but he did not want to die yet. With a shrill neigh of defiance, his head held high, he limped over to the watching herd, while the strawberry roan pranced proudly along beside him, roaring a challenge to all who wished to defy him. He was now the leader.

Not long after a drought set in. All the animals were forced to leave their happy pasture lands to seek food and water elsewhere, and so they were brought near civilisation. Even here there were not many waterholes, and these few were often guarded by men with guns. The roan, now King of the Plains, led his charges well. He could always find water for them when they had given up the search as hopeless, and ho seemed always to know the best and safest grazing lands. Peace was .nearly always theirs, until one day came a hunter. He was a young man who made his living by catching “broncos” to sell. One day when the nomad animals were unaware of his approach, he caught sight of the King of the Plains and determined to make him his own. He trailed the horses to a water hole and, twirling his lariat, swiftly hurled it at the drinking steed. The throw went wild and just grazed his flank. The next instant the herd, with shrill whinnies of terror, whirled round, their one idea to escape. Their leader took them to safety. Tom Trent, the tracker, still followed.

By this time, there was only one really good drinking place left in that district. It was at the end of a tiny canyon, and was surrounded by stone cliffs. A small opening was at one end. So Tom Trent, knowing that the horses would have to come there sometime to quench their thirst, almost blocked in the entrance to the canyon. When the animals came, he thought it would be an easy matter to rope the young stallion. For days on end he waited and watched, but in vain, until one day the beat of hoofs echoed along the lonely trail and he knew the herd was coming. His hands closed gently over his pony’s soft nose. No sound must escape to betray his presence. The King of .the Plains, in the lead, drew nearer. His head erect, he. sniffed the air suspiciously. Common sense told him that he should not go where men had recently been. He looked questioningiy at his followers. Should they go in? “Yes,” he thought. Many of them were drooping from fatigue. Only water could save their lives. Only he could decide whether they should live cr die. Ho remembered his dead mother, terribly mauled by the puma., His herd would not look that way, but they would look bad enough. He stepped lithely forward. His decision was made.

They reached the water and began drinking. Tom rode to the narrow entrance. The horses could not get past him. Again he twirled his lariat and let it go. This time the noose fell true and the young man’s pony Sat back to take the pull which the roan was expected to give.

Instead, the stallion, with a cry of mingled rage and fear, rushed at his captor, the noose about his neck slackening. He shook his head and the rope fell off. Tom completed the blockage, and although 11 was only midday. decided to wait for the morrow before trying his skill again, as it looked as though the drought might break. Black ciouds were rolling up from the west. Soon they covered the sky. Then, with a vivid flash of lightning, and n terrible roar of thunder, the storm broke. The horses in (.lie canyon were terrified, but all their attempts to escape were of no use.

For hour.", the rain fell and then, almost ns suddenly as it had begun, the downpour ceased. .lust as it did so the blockade of the canyon fell. The wild horses, now with much of their old strength returned, were quick to make their way to freedom. They raced up the rocky trail to the mesa above them.

Tom Trent watched' them go. “I’m gbd they’ve gone,” he said to birnscif. “None of them could bo tamed. They should have their freedom. They’re real children of the wilds-—” As night fell, the figure of the herd leader was silhouetted on the mesa top against a golden moon. As Tom watched it the words of a song issued from his lips. After that all was quiet. The herd had peace. —Original,

(Sent in by Valerie Holster. Parakao.) Q: Why is a letter “A” like twelve o’clock noon? A: Because it is in the middle of the day.