black shadow had been following him all day like a pursuing fate.
Sir Wilton had trotted up a narrow arroyo, or gulch, to its head, looking for some spot where the wind might have swept away the snow so that he could find some feed. This gulch was a perfect pocket. Its walls on three sides were so steep that no horse could climb them.
He had reached the head of the pocket when he heard a slight noise behind him. Looking about over his shoulder, he saw the black stallion trotting rapidly toward him. There was no mistaking his intent, for his lips were drawn up, showing his white, gleaming teeth, and he fairly bristled with fury. Dapple Dandy wheeled around quickly and faced him.
He knew instinctively that a death struggle had come. It had been leading up to this ever since the black colt first kicked him the morning that he came to the island. He was not afraid, but he
