They located the trail easily and remounted the young stallion. Wolf again tried to keep up, but he soon lagged behind. Ayla worriedly watched him falling farther and farther back. That he had found them the night before eased her fears a little, and she consoled herself with the knowledge that he had often run off hunting or exploring on his own and had always caught up with them again. She hated to leave him behind, but they had to find Whinney.
It was midafternoon before they finally caught sight of horses in the distance. As they drew nearer, Ayla strained to find her friend amidst the others. She thought she caught a glimpse of a familiar hay-colored coat, but she couldn't be sure. There were too many other horses with coats that were similar, and when the wind carried their scent to the herd, they raced away.
"Those horses have been hunted before," Jondalar remarked. But he was glad that he caught himself in time before he voiced his next thought out loud: There must be people in this region who like horse-meat. He didn't want to upset Ayla even more. The herd soon outdistanced a young stallion that was carrying two passengers, but they continued to follow the trail. It was all they could do for now.
The herd turned south, for some reason only they knew, heading back toward the Great Mother River. Before long, the ground began to slope up. The land became rugged and rocky, and the grass more sparse. They continued until they came to a broad field high above the rest of the landscape. When they caught sight of water sparkling below, they realized they were on a plateau on top of the prominence they had skirted around the base of a few days before. The river they had crossed hugged its western face before joining the Mother.
As the herd started to graze, they moved in closer.
"There she is, Jondalar!" Ayla said with excitement, pointing to a particular animal.
"How can you be sure? Several of those horses have a similar color."
Though her coloration was similar to others, the woman knew the particular conformation of her friend too well to doubt it. She whistled and Whinney looked up. "I told you. It is her!"
She whistled again, and Whinney started toward her. But the lead mare, a large, graceful animal with a darker than usual, grayish-gold coat, saw the newest addition to the herd moving away from the fold and moved in to head her off. The herd stallion joined in to help. He was a big, stunning, cream-colored horse with a high-standing silver mane, a gray stripe down his back, and a flowing silvery tail that looked almost white when he swished it. His lower legs were silver-gray, too. He nipped at Whinney's hocks and herded her toward the rest of the females, who were watching with nervous interest; then he cantered back to challenge the younger stallion. He pawed the ground, then reared and neighed, daring Racer to fight.
The young brown stallion backed away, intimidated, and could not be coaxed to move in closer, much to the frustration of his human companions. From a safe distance, he neighed to his dam, and they heard Whinney's familiar answering nicker. Ayla and Jondalar dismounted to discuss the situation.
"What are we going to do, Jondalar?" Ayla wailed. "They won't let her go. How are we going to get her?"
"Don't worry, we will," he said. "If necessary, we'll use the spear-throwers, but I don't think we'll have to."
His assurance calmed her, and she hadn't thought of the spear-throwers. She didn't want to kill any horses if she didn't have to, but she'd do anything to get Whinney back. "Do you have a plan?" she asked.
"I'm pretty sure this herd has been hunted before, so they have some fear of people. That gives us an advantage. The herd stallion probably thinks Racer was trying to challenge him. He and that big mare were trying to keep him from stealing one of their herd. So we have to keep Racer away," Jondalar began. "Whinney will come when you whistle for her. If I can distract the stallion, you can help her avoid the mare until you get close enough to get on her back. Then, if you shout at the big mare, or even poke her with your spear if she crowds in on Whinney, I think she'll keep her distance until you ride away."
Ayla smiled, feeling relieved. "It sounds easy enough. What will we do with Racer?"
"There was a rock a little ways back with a couple of bushes growing near it. I can tether him to one of them. It wouldn't hold if he really fought it, but he's used to being tied, and I think he'll stay there." Taking the young stallion's lead rope, Jondalar started back with long strides.
When they reached the rock, Jondalar said, "Here, take your spear-thrower and a spear or two." Then he slipped off the backpack. "I'm going to take this off and leave it for now. It limits my movement." He took his own thrower and spears out of the holder. "Once you get Whinney, you can get Racer and come back for me."
The highland angled in a northeast-to-southwest direction, with a gradual incline on the north that became somewhat steeper toward the east. At the southwestern end, it jutted up like a precipice. On the western side, facing the river they had crossed earlier, it fell off sharply enough, but toward the south and the Great Mother River there was a high precipice with a sheer drop. As Ayla and Jondalar walked back toward the horses, the day was clear, and the sun was high in the sky, though well past its zenith. They looked over the steep western edge, then shied back from it, afraid that a misstep or a stumble might carry them down.
When they got closer to the grazing herd, they stopped and tried to find Whinney. The herd – mares, foals, and yearlings – was grazing in the middle of a field of waist-high dry grass; the herd stallion was off to one side, somewhat away from the others. Ayla thought she saw her horse far back, toward the south. She whistled, the dun-yellow mare's head came up, and Whinney started toward them. With his spear-thrower in hand and a spear in place ready to go, Jondalar slowly edged toward the cream-colored stallion, attempting to get between him and the herd, while Ayla walked toward the mares, determined to reach Whinney.
While she was working her way toward the mare, some of the horses stopped grazing and looked up, but they weren't looking at her. She had a sudden feeling that something was not right. She turned around to look for Jondalar, and she saw a wisp of smoke, and then another. It was the smell of smoke she had noticed. The field of dry grass was ablaze in several places. Suddenly, through the haze of the smoke, she saw figures running toward the horses, shouting and brandishing torches! They were chasing the horses toward the edge of the field, toward the sharp drop-off, and Whinney was among them!
The horses were beginning to panic, but among the high-pitched sounds she thought she heard a familiar neigh coming from another direction. Looking north, she spied Racer with his lead rope dragging behind, running toward the herd. Why did he have to break loose now? And where was Jondalar? The air was filled with more than smoke. She could feel the tension and smell the contagious fear of the horses as they started moving away from the fire.
Horses were jostling around her, and she couldn't see Whinney any more, but Racer was coming toward her, running fast, caught up in the panic. She whistled loud and long, then made a dash for him. He slowed and turned in her direction, but his ears were laid flat back and his eyes were rolling with fear. She reached him and grabbed for the rope dangling from his halter, yanking his head around. He screamed and reared as horses dodged around him. The rope burned as he yanked it through Ayla's hands, but she held on, and when his forefeet touched the ground, she grabbed his mane and leaped up on his back.
Racer reared again. Ayla was nearly thrown, but she held on. The horse was still full of fear, but he was used to a weight on his back. There was a comfort in it, and in the familiar woman. He settled down to a run, but it was difficult for her to control the horse Jondalar had trained. Though she had ridden Racer a few times and knew the signals that had been developed for the horse, she was not accustomed to guiding with reins or a rope. The man had used both with equal ease, and the stallion knew the confidence of his usual rider. He did not respond well to Ayla's first tentative attempts, but she was looking for Whinney while trying to settle him down, and she was distracted by her anxious need to find her friend.