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Show W.N u. FEATURES'" - . C..v 1 TtIK STOllY THUS FAHt In c0ll! rainstorm. Kllcka-i colt, lonB overdue, la born. Ken MiLaughlln, Kllcka'a 12. year-old owner, flnoi her at Inst In a lully. of which there are many on his Lither'a bit horse ranch In the Rockies. Ken ts aslonUhed to see that the colt is white, and evidently a throwback to the Albino, a wild stnUton that Is l-'Ucka'i irandsire. lie reulliea that the mare and her colt should be In the warm stables. When he attempts to lead FUcka sha balks. Ken then tries to lift and drat the foal, but the little animal kicks and bites. Knowing then that he j must jet help. Ken runs to Uie ranch-I ranch-I house. Thero he Duds only his brother Howard at home. CHAPTER II. micka's colt's bornl You've gotta help me get it lnl Iff down In the stable pasture. Down at the foot of that red clitT the one you and I ride up and down!" Ken paused for breath and Howard How-ard stared at him. Howard always took his time. He glanced down agnln at the page opened on the table before him and j finished reading "Til alter your life success depends on your bodily development de-velopment " "Gee, Howard! Come alongl" Howard closed the pamphlet and jot up from his chair. "Won't It follow Flicka up the patht" "It can't. It's too steep. It tried but it can't make it" "Jiminy Christmas!" said Howard, How-ard, "what'll we do? It might die J it stays out In this storm all sight" "We'll carry It!" cried Ken Impatiently. Im-patiently. "Come on! That's what came to get you for. We gotta " The two boys ran up the gorge. Passing the stables Ken hesitated. He's a regular little kicking levil." he said doubtfully, "may-e "may-e we'll have to tie Mm " He leaded Into the stables. "Bring a lantern!" shouted How-ird, How-ird, and Ken emerged with two lalter-ropes, a halter and lead-rope or Flicka and the stable lantern. The temperature was falling rap-dly. rap-dly. Ken's face flamed and burned rom the heat within him and the tinging cold without but he didn't lotice. Ail he could think of was he white foal white I They slithered down the steep iath, not much more than a gully ut by the rain in the cliff, and saw he mare and foal Just as Ken had eft them. "White!" exclaimed Howard, halt-ng halt-ng Just as Ken had clone. Ken slipped her halter on and iropped the rope. Then thf two boys ogether tried to grip the foal but le squealed and bit and seemed to tave a dozen thrashing legs. Suddenly Howard slipped and sat (own. The colt too, lost his footing ind fell and Flicka whirled nervous-y nervous-y and stood over him. Ken threw Jmself on the foaL "Here, Howard!" he said, keeping Us voice calm, "while I'm lying on lim tie his hind feet together, can 'Ou? Howard accomplished this, then Cen rolled over and the two boys ied the front feet and stood up, lantlng, while Flicka grunted anx-ously anx-ously . over the prone body of her Seating foaL "We can't ever carry him up that iath," said Howard, lighting the antern. "He weighs a ton never ;aw such a husky colt. And la he strong!" "He sure Is," said Ken proudly, 'ought to be he's been In there two -nonths more than a year Just jrowin' and eatln' look Howard, ive'll have to get him up on Flicka. She'll carry him." "He'd fall off," objected Howard doubtfully. "I'll ride her too and hold him on you can lead her." "How"!! we get him up?" "Lift him." Howard hung the lantern on the bough of a tree and the two boys lifted the struggling foal in their arms and hoisted him onto the back of his dam. Flicka stood with her head turned, watching them, but she seemed to know the moment her own foal was across her withers, and though she kept her head turned to see what the boys would do next, she became quiet. ' "Gimme a leg up," gasped Ken, leaning against her side, holding the foal In position. And Howard placed his knee and hand and Ken scrambled up behind the colt. "Can ' you hold him?" asked Howard. "Yep. I think so" Ken leaned over the colt, grasping Flicka's mane. . Howard took the lantern, picked up Flicka's lead rope, and went ahead. Flicka knew now Just what she had to do. And the little procession wound its way up the cliff, pausing occasionally for a breath, or for Howard to lift the lantern high and pick out the way in the smother of snow which was beating against them. The foal lay like a sack of meal across Flicka's withers. The first part of the journey was the worst. When that was accomplished accom-plished they were on level ground, going rapidly toward the stables. Flicka whinnied with joy as the familiar smell reached her nostrils. And when she was in her stall, and the boys had untied the colt and lowered him to the floor, she stood over him and smolled and licked him and gave the deep, soft, grunting grunt-ing whinny by which a mare reassures re-assures her little one. The foal struggled to its feet, staggered about uncertainly, shook itself, then hunted for the teat. Finding the bone of the thigh. Instead, it gave a savage sav-age bite at It and kicked out In anger. "Gosh! Look at it!" exclaimed Howard. "What a mean little devil!" Ken said nothing but watched anxiously. anx-iously. The foal found the teat at last "You stay here. Howard, will you?" asked Ken. "I'll go down and make her some mash. You might give her some clean straw." "I'll rub her down," offered Howard How-ard generously, and as Ken left the stable he got a dry sack and rubbed her streaming back and flanks and neck. A half hour later the mare and foal stood content and dry and comfortable com-fortable with a deep bed of dry straw under them and a pail of mash for Flicka in the feed box. "She's all right now," said Howard, How-ard, at the door of the barn. "Come on " Ken pretended to be casual and offhand. "I want to wait till she's IW H.I .MM... - ... liiii The foal lay like a sack of meal across Flicka's withers. finished her mash. You go on down. I won't be long." Howard still hesitated, eyeing his younger brother where the boy stood leaning on the rail of the manger, almost under the mare's head. "Well I'll go ahead. I'm goin' to make some hot cocoa want some?" Howard was handy at making chocolate and flipping eggs and giving giv-ing his mother a hand with the cooking. cook-ing. "Sure!" said Ken. "You bet!" But he sat still on the manger rail, watching his mare, and Howard went out, closing the door behind him. Ken stood listening to Howard's retreating steps. He heard the rasp of the corral gate being opened and closed again. Now they were alone, the mare, the foal and himself. In the stable was a sweet quietness and the smell, of hay and horses. Ken sat on the manger rail close to the feed box in which he had placed the bucket of mash, and the mare dipped her muzzle into it, ate hungrily, then lifted her head and chewed, looking at Ken, her long ears pointed forward. She had gentle golden-brown eyes with a seeing see-ing expression in them. Looking at Ken, her intelligent face was not a foot from his. He straightened the flaxen forelock that hung between her eyes, murmuring her name now and then. She swung her head around to look at the sleeping foal. The lantern, hung on the corner post, only half lit the stall. Ken too looked at the foal. Now that he had it safely in the stable, the surprise and worry that he had felt when he first saw it took possession pos-session of him again. What a to-do this was going to make! A white foal out of Flicka! A white foal on the Goose Bar ranch where everyone every-one knew Banner, the big golden sorrel stud that sired the yearly crop of colts. Ken's uneasiness was linked to a series of nearly disastrous events of past years in which he and a certain cer-tain line of horses had been involved. in-volved. This train of events led directly di-rectly to the small white foal lying there so innocently on the clean hay, and it had begun long before, when a wild stallion of the plains, called the Albino because cf his white color, col-or, had stolen a mare from the Goose Bar ranch. She was the Thoroughbred, Thor-oughbred, Gypsy, one of Rob McLaughlin's Mc-Laughlin's foundation mares. He had bought her when he was a cadet at West Point and used her for polo. When he graduated and then resigned re-signed from the Army in order to go in for horse-breeding, there were three of them that came west to gether and settled down on the Goose Bar ranch, Rob McLaughlin, Nell, his young New England wife, and the black mare, Gypsy. Rob bought more mares and built up nil foundation stock. Then, one spring, Gypsy disappeared. The McLaughlin ranch was cot the only one in that section of Wyoming from which a fine mare disappeared. There began to be talk of a white stallion, "a big ugly devil but a lotta horse," who had formerly for-merly ranged the open land of Montana, Mon-tana, had come across the border during a drought, and had gathered a band of mares in the open land of Wyoming, stealing from ranchers, tearing down fences, fighting and even killing other stallions. He reigned for six years. Then a number of ranchers banded together, to-gether, held a round-up, and caught the Albino and his mares, finding brands from all over the state on the hides of the stolen marcs. Gypsy of the Goose Bar ranch was there with four beautiful colts. Rob McLaughlin was delighted with their looks and speed and outstanding outstand-ing personalities, and took them home with him, feeling that Gypsy's philandering might contribute valuable valu-able qualities to his polo stock. But he found It Impossible to break and train the colts. Even though the fillies were bred by Banner, Ban-ner, the Goose Bar stud, than whom no horse could be more intelligent or better mannered, yet the offspring off-spring showed the outlaw strain. He explained It to his boys. "Colts learn from their mothers. They copy them. That's why it's practically Impossible Im-possible to raise a good-tempered colt from a bad-tempered dam. The colts are corrupted from birth. That is the rule. There are, of course, exceptions ex-ceptions we have some very striking strik-ing exceptions among our own horses. Here Is Gypsy, the best-mannered mare In the world with a bunch of wild hoodlum colts absolutely abso-lutely unbreakable." "Is It because they were born and brought up with that gang of wild horses?" asked Howard. "It's because of the prepotency of the stallion," said Rob grimly. "His wildness outweighs all her gentleness gentle-ness and that of her long line of aristocratic forbears. Some stallion!" stal-lion!" But all of this was an old story to Howard and Ken. They had grown up on the Goose Bar ranch, familiar with talk and speculation about the near-mythical personage, the Albino, Al-bino, and witnessing their father's struggles with the outlaw strain which, through Gypsy, had been introduced in-troduced into the breeding stock. Ken's actual Involvement in this tangle was of more recent date. On a day a little more than three years ago he and Gus had been working in the meadow, and came upon a new-born foal and its dam. "Luk at de little flicka I" exclaimed ex-claimed the Swedish ranch hand. "What does flicka mean, Gus?" asked Ken. "Swedish fur leetle gurL" explained ex-plained Gus. And when, a year after that, Rob McLaughlin told Ken he could have for his own any colt on the ranch up to one year of age. Ken chose that same little golden filly and named her Flicka. Flicka was out of Rocket by Banner. Ban-ner. And Rocket was, by common consent, the wildest of the offspring brought home by Gypsy from her sojourn with the Albino. Rob McLaughlin was exasperated. exasper-ated. "I was hoping you'd make a wise choice, son," he said. "You know what I think of Rocket, of that whole line of horses it's the worst I've got. There has never been one amongst them with real sense. The mares are hellions and the stallions stal-lions outlaws. I'd have got rid of this whole line of stock if they weren't so damned fast that I've had the fool idea that some day there might turn out one gentle one in the lot and I'd have a race horse. But it's not going to be Flicka." But Ken had fallen in love with her and could not give her up. That summer one nightmare disaster dis-aster followed the other. Flicka, as wild as her wicked black mother, fought beyond all reason when she was roped and brought in. When she could escape no other way, she made a suicidal leap into the high barbed-wire fence, and there ensued her long illness from the infected wire-cuts, terminating in McLaughlin's McLaugh-lin's command that, next day, she should be shot and put out of her misery. Ken spent that night with her, sitting In the stream where she had fallen, holding her head in his arms. Gus came looking for them in the morning, and carried Ken, helpless with cold and exhaustion, exhaus-tion, up to the house. This caused Ken's long and severe attack of pneumonia, during which, miraculously, the filly recovered. At the end of the summer, there was one triumph which made up for everything. The filly loved Ken as dearly as he loved her, and he was able to say to his father, "She did get gentled, didn't she, dad?" And Rob McLaughlin answered, with a softer note than usual in his voice, "Gentle as a kitten, son." And now here she stood in the stall, a husky three-year-old, docile, gentle, beautifully trained, resting her liquid, trusting eyes on the face of her young master. (TO BE CONTINUED) |