Free The Young Black Stallion by Walter Farley Page B

avoid the attack. The leopard jumped on his back and he was borne to earth by the weight of the animal.
    Terror and desperation swept over him, lending strength and quickness to his movements. Rolling sideways, he jammed the end of the club into the leopard’s mouth, causing him to release his hold. He rolled away quickly but felt sharp pain where the leopard had clawed his shoulder.
    Blood streaming down his back, Rashid lashed out with his club again, hard against the leopard’s nose. The blows caused the leopard to lose courage and fall back, rearing on his hind legs. It was at that precise second that Rashid pulled out his knife and quickly threw it.
    The leopard fell over backward, tumbling into the grass, the knife blade deep in his throat. A few minutes later came the unmistakable gurgling sounds of a dying animal.

H EALING
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    Rashid crawled over to a bed of dry grass and collapsed. His shirt had been shredded by the leopard’s claws and teeth. Blood flowed freely from a row of deep gashes that ran across his mauled left shoulder. Allah must have been watching over him, because the leopard had barely missed tearing out his throat. And he must take credit himself.
He
had killed the leopard. It wasn’t every man who could kill a leopard with only a knife. Later he must render some of the dead animal’s fat and prepare an ointment from it. This balm would help heal his wounds and inspire him with boldness. But now he must rest. He fell into a deep sleep.
    The next morning he made his way back to his campsite. His body ached and was stiff with pain. He knelt down and lowered his face to the stream to drink. When he had finished, he opened his eyes and saw a shadow fall over him from behind. He sprang to his feet and spun around, ready to run, ready to fight.
    It was the black colt. Shêtân stood on three legs,lifting his right foreleg. Despite this he did not wobble. His coat and mane were thick with blood. Streaked wounds crossed his black body like red ribbons. Rashid stood still, eyes fixed on the wild animal before him. The colt regarded him just as intently. They both seemed dazed from the fight with the leopard the night before.
    Should he move forward? Rashid wondered. Was the vicious young stallion only waiting for the right moment to attack? The colt tossed his head. Despite his ravaged condition, it was a proud and defiant gesture. He lashed his tail at the flies that were buzzing around his cuts.
    Slowly and quietly Rashid moved in closer to the colt, holding up the palms of his hands to show he had nothing in them and meant no harm. The colt neither pulled away nor made any effort to come closer. Shêtân was alert now, anticipating the scout’s next move and preparing himself for it. There did not seem to be hostility or viciousness in his manner as much as aloofness. He was untamed royalty and seemed to know it. Rashid ventured as close as he dared and then stopped. Even wounded as he was, the colt did not retreat. His ears were laid back and the look in his eyes was not friendly.
    Rashid backed up and returned to wade in the cool water of the stream. He fashioned a bandage for himself out of strips of cloth torn from his turban and wrapped his shoulder. Looking up from his work, the scout saw Shêtân only a few feet away. As the two of them stood there, the blood from their wounds dripped down into the water, intermingled and washed downstream. Itseemed to be a sign that their fates were to be bound together while they were caught in these high, forbidding mountains.
    Rashid pulled out from within the folds of his torn shirt the last of the dates he had been saving for emergencies. He ate half and left the other half as an offering of friendship to the colt. When he returned later, they were gone.
    At nightfall the crescent moon appeared above a distant mountain ridge. Rashid said another prayer of thanks to Allah for guiding him in his fight with the leopard. He had come close to dying for this