The chestnut was eager to close with Midnight again. He lunged in and his weight sent Midnight staggering back. Then he lunged once more, before the black could get his balance. He landed squarely against Midnight’s shoulder and the colt went down. He rolled and lunged while massive hoofs pounded him and the chestnut’s teeth ripped gashes along his side. Finally Midnight staggered to his feet. He ducked drunkenly and saved himself from another smashing blow from the shoulder of the chestnut. Pain stabbed through his shoulder joint and hampered his speed as he tried to run away. The chestnut sensed that his victory was about to be complete. With squeals of triumph he charged on the colt. Midnight thought of the ledge trail where he had always found haven when wolves and cougars came. If he could reach that ledge he would make a stand. Desperately the little stallion plunged toward the castle rocks. The chestnut overtook him and smashed him aside, but Midnight dodged and raced on, not stopping to fight. Again the chestnut smashed him, his teeth ripping gashes across Midnight’s rump. The black staggered and weaved under the terrible battering but he kept going. He reached the ledge and plunged upward with the chestnut slashing at his back, trying to smash him to the ground where he could finish the fight. Midnight tried to whirl about on the ledge. He suddenly realized that if the big fellow got him trapped in the shelter at the end of the trail the chestnut would kill him. He managed to turn around and face the charging leader of the band. They smashed together and Midnight went down, sprawling and kicking on the narrow ledge. He rolled over and his hoofs slid over the rim. In a moment he was sliding down over the edge. Screaming and pawing, the chestnut glared over the rim. He saw his adversary land on a shelf below and stagger slowly to his feet. The big stallion raced up and down the trail but saw no way to reach the colt below. * * * * * The spot where Midnight landed was only a few yards below the place where he had landed when the silvertip shoved him over the edge. He got to his feet panting and blowing. For a long time he stood trembling, favoring his pain-raked shoulder. Then with a squeal of defiance he hobbled along the ledge and down to the little meadow where he had lived before the band came to the mesa. He was eager to cross the crevice again and join the horses above, but when he reached the aspen grove he halted to ease the pains shooting through his shoulder. After a bit he moved on. He halted at the edge of the crevice and stood listening. He did not try to leap across the narrow chasm, he would have to wait until the pain left his shoulder. Above he could hear the triumphant snorting and calling of the chestnut stallion. Slowly he turned and walked back to the aspen grove. After a time he lay down on a bed of dead leaves and grass.