shapes and sizes. Their coats were of varied colors—brown, bay, sorrel, roan, dun, gray, white and paint—and covered with scars.
The mustangs came to an abrupt halt again, eyeing the black stallion and sniffing his scent. Suddenly they broke the stillness with loud snorts, wheeled and dashed away, speeding once more over the desert, an earth-skimming mass of horseflesh.
When the dust cleared, Alec saw that a few horses had stood their ground without fleeing. There were six mares, all with suckling colts at their sides. Just behind them were an old stallion, who looked too tired to run anymore, and two yearling colts who ran about as if undecided which to choose, freedom with the large herd or the chance to lead a small band of their own. Alec knew it was the water that had kept the mares behind, for they needed it more than the others if they were to continue nursing their foals.
They came closer to the waterhole, leaping and stomping, raising a cloud of dust around them as if that would conceal their presence. Alec watched themclosely, for they seemed more playful than fearful. But they were cautious of the black stallion, circling downwind, the better to smell his odor.
One mare was more curious, more adventurous than the others, Alec saw. She was the only black in the small band, but as raw and rough as the others. What set her apart was a long, raven tail that reached to the ground and a foretop that fell to the tip of her nose. In order to see, she constantly tossed her knobby head, throwing the forelock back over her ears. Her interest in the Black set her apart as well.
She left the other mares, daring to come closer to the waterhole, quivers running along her flanks while she continued to toss her head in a series of impatient and coquettish jerks. Alec wondered if she had an affinity to stallions of her own color, for the foal at her side was black too. It happened sometimes, regardless how one explained it. The other mares were white, bay, roan and dun, and they all stayed put while the black mare moved ever closer to the black stallion. Her snorts were loud and startling, rolling over the desert, but they were not alarming, not the signal for flight.
The other mares seemed to want her decision as to whether or not it was safe to approach the waterhole. They stood still, waiting, while the two young yearling colts, who coveted the mares for their own, stood with them, too immature to assert themselves. The old stallion was far away and alone, no longer possessive of the mares; he was content to give way to the young stallions, whose vigor and aggressiveness he could no longer match. It was only a question of time before the yearling colts drove him away to become an outcast.
Alec knew this small group would rejoin the large herd as soon as their suckling foals could keep up with the others. Then the yearling colts would have to withstand combat with other stallions in order to maintain their monopoly on these mares. His eyes returned to the black mare, who was moving ever closer, still sniffing the wind but seemingly sensing no danger.
Alec rubbed his face, wiping the sweat from him. Perhaps the smell of him, so much a part of the Black, was the reason she scented no danger in his own presence. Perhaps she understood from the smell of him that he had the nature, even the mind, of a horse. It did not seem odd to him at all that he was there, alone with wild horses.
The Black uttered a soft, muffled neigh and the black mare came forward eagerly at his call, followed quickly by the others. Reaching the water, they all drank deep, ignoring Alec. He watched them without moving so as not to frighten them. Some mares pawed and rolled in the muddy sides of the hole, and when they were done they came out of the water, full and logy, and stood still, waiting. It was as if they welcomed the Black as their new monarch.
The black mare circled about, tossing her mane and forelock the better to see the black stallion.
The mustangs came to an abrupt halt again, eyeing the black stallion and sniffing his scent. Suddenly they broke the stillness with loud snorts, wheeled and dashed away, speeding once more over the desert, an earth-skimming mass of horseflesh.
When the dust cleared, Alec saw that a few horses had stood their ground without fleeing. There were six mares, all with suckling colts at their sides. Just behind them were an old stallion, who looked too tired to run anymore, and two yearling colts who ran about as if undecided which to choose, freedom with the large herd or the chance to lead a small band of their own. Alec knew it was the water that had kept the mares behind, for they needed it more than the others if they were to continue nursing their foals.
They came closer to the waterhole, leaping and stomping, raising a cloud of dust around them as if that would conceal their presence. Alec watched themclosely, for they seemed more playful than fearful. But they were cautious of the black stallion, circling downwind, the better to smell his odor.
One mare was more curious, more adventurous than the others, Alec saw. She was the only black in the small band, but as raw and rough as the others. What set her apart was a long, raven tail that reached to the ground and a foretop that fell to the tip of her nose. In order to see, she constantly tossed her knobby head, throwing the forelock back over her ears. Her interest in the Black set her apart as well.
She left the other mares, daring to come closer to the waterhole, quivers running along her flanks while she continued to toss her head in a series of impatient and coquettish jerks. Alec wondered if she had an affinity to stallions of her own color, for the foal at her side was black too. It happened sometimes, regardless how one explained it. The other mares were white, bay, roan and dun, and they all stayed put while the black mare moved ever closer to the black stallion. Her snorts were loud and startling, rolling over the desert, but they were not alarming, not the signal for flight.
The other mares seemed to want her decision as to whether or not it was safe to approach the waterhole. They stood still, waiting, while the two young yearling colts, who coveted the mares for their own, stood with them, too immature to assert themselves. The old stallion was far away and alone, no longer possessive of the mares; he was content to give way to the young stallions, whose vigor and aggressiveness he could no longer match. It was only a question of time before the yearling colts drove him away to become an outcast.
Alec knew this small group would rejoin the large herd as soon as their suckling foals could keep up with the others. Then the yearling colts would have to withstand combat with other stallions in order to maintain their monopoly on these mares. His eyes returned to the black mare, who was moving ever closer, still sniffing the wind but seemingly sensing no danger.
Alec rubbed his face, wiping the sweat from him. Perhaps the smell of him, so much a part of the Black, was the reason she scented no danger in his own presence. Perhaps she understood from the smell of him that he had the nature, even the mind, of a horse. It did not seem odd to him at all that he was there, alone with wild horses.
The Black uttered a soft, muffled neigh and the black mare came forward eagerly at his call, followed quickly by the others. Reaching the water, they all drank deep, ignoring Alec. He watched them without moving so as not to frighten them. Some mares pawed and rolled in the muddy sides of the hole, and when they were done they came out of the water, full and logy, and stood still, waiting. It was as if they welcomed the Black as their new monarch.
The black mare circled about, tossing her mane and forelock the better to see the black stallion.
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