Black Stallion and Satan (8 page)

Alec remained there until the Black found the hay in the corner and began to eat; then he left the room, closing the door behind him. There was still much to be done. Alec ran the length of the barn and went outside. He returned almost immediately, pushing a wheelbarrow to the Black’s empty stall. Working hurriedly, he piled it high with the straw the stallion had used for bedding and wheeled it out to the manure pile in back of the barn. It took two more trips before the
stall was clean of straw; then Alec removed the water pail from the corner of the stall and set it outside.

There was no evidence now that the stall had been occupied only a few minutes ago. From all appearances, there was only one stall being used in the barn and that, he would tell the reporters, was used by Napoleon.

Alec listened for any sound of the Black in the tack room. But the barn was still, and he knew that only a nicker or snort from the Black would give his presence away. Alec’s plan was to keep the reporters away from the barn, except for a quick look, if they insisted, to see that only one stall was being used. The reporters, he figured, would be more interested in questioning him about his retirement from the track, and he would be able to keep them outside.

Alec glanced at his wristwatch. It was four o’clock. He could expect them anytime now. But he was about ready for them; there were just a couple more things to do.

Filling the water pail, Alec took it to the tack room and hung it on a peg near where the Black was eating; then he got some feed, just to make sure the stallion would have enough to eat to keep him occupied for the next hour or so.

As he stood beside the Black, he heard the creaking of the iron gate. Quickly he turned away from the stallion and left the tack room, this time snapping the padlock on the door and placing the key in his pocket.

He was hurrying to the barn door when he heard the sound of hoofs on the gravel driveway … hoofs and the turning wheels of Tony’s cart. The tenseness
left his body as he realized it wasn’t the reporters after all.

“Allo, Aleec,” Tony called when he saw the boy standing in the doorway. “Why you no put your Black in the field today?”

Alec waited until Tony had laboriously descended from the cart seat before going to him. “I need your help, Tony,” he said anxiously. “I’m in a jam.”

Tony’s bright eyes turned quickly to him. “You need my help? I give it to you. But what for you in this-a jam?”

“I took the Black to the park yesterday morning,” Alec explained. “A cop saw us and I was given a ticket for galloping in a public park. This afternoon I went to court and a reporter there recognized me. I got away from him, but I’m sure others will be here very soon. I don’t want them to know it was the Black I rode.”

Tony’s gaze turned from Alec to the barn. “But if these men come like you say, how you hide such a big horse, Aleec?”

“I have him in the tack room,” Alec said. “I don’t think they’ll look around the barn much. They’ll be more interested in questioning me.”

“But what you want for me to do, Aleec?”

Alec went to Napoleon. “I’d like to put Napoleon in the field and have you stay with me until they come. When they ask me what horse I was riding in the park, I’ll tell them it was Napoleon. You can back me up.”

Tony shook his head. “You think they believe you?”

“Why not?” Alec asked. “All they know is that I
was given a summons for galloping. It could have been Napoleon as well as any other horse.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Tony helped Alec unharness the gray. “Maybe it will work, Aleec. Maybe.”

They had put Napoleon in the field and were closing the gate when they saw a car come to a stop before the iron fence.

“Here they are,” Alec said, his gaze quickly returning to Tony.

“What we do now, Aleec?”

“Nothing. Just stay here. Let them come to us. We’ll try to keep them away from the barn.”

Tony turned again to the road. “There’s-a two more cars stopping behind the first,” he said.

Their eyes remained on Napoleon as the gate creaked open and the sound of many footsteps came toward them. They didn’t turn to the newcomers until one said, “Hi, Alec.”

There were six of them, and Alec recognized every one of them from interviews he’d had at the track. They were sports reporters sent by their editors to follow up the lead that the police reporter had uncovered. And now they leaned casually upon the fence, watching Napoleon as though it were their custom to drop in daily on Alec Ramsay.

But finally one of them asked, “Who’s the horse, Alec?”

“That’s Napoleon. Tony’s horse,” Alec said quietly. His eyes remained on the old gray as Napoleon plodded heavily across the field to better pasture. He waited for the reporters to ask him about his appearance in
court, but the minutes went by without any one of them showing the slightest interest. The sound of footsteps on the driveway came again, and they all turned simultaneously.

A tall, heavy-bodied man came toward them, and Alec recognized Jim Neville, the foremost racing columnist in the country. Jim Neville had been Alec’s friend for a long while. It was he who had been responsible for getting the Black into his first and only race in America.

Jim waved to Alec, then leaned on the fence with the others. “How’ve you been, Alec?” he asked.

“All right,” the boy said quietly.

The reporter next to him said, “We figured you were sick. Out in Chicago, Henry Dailey said you weren’t feeling well. That’s why Lenny Sansone was up on Satan.”

“I—I haven’t been feeling too good,” Alec said quickly.

“He’s-a been taking it very easy,” Tony added helpfully.

“But you’ve been doing some riding in the park to keep in trim. Is that it, Alec?” another reporter asked.

“That’s it,” Alec said.

“It makes a good story … you being top jockey, I mean, and then being picked up for racing in a public park,” the reporter added.

“We weren’t racing,” Alec corrected him. “Just galloping a little.”

“Who were you up on?” another asked.

Without hesitation, Alec said, “Napoleon there.”

They all looked at the old gray for several minutes
before one of them broke the silence by asking, “He gallops?”

“Sure,” Alec said with feigned lightness.

“He’s-a one fast horse,” Tony added angrily. “Maybe he no look it, but Nappy he’s-a fast all right.”

“Sure, I believe you,” the reporter said. “You can’t go by looks. I know that for sure.”

Jim Neville left the fence, walking a little to the rear of the reporters. “I haven’t been around here in a long while, Alec,” he remarked casually.

The others turned away from Napoleon to look about them; as one, their heads turned in the direction of the barn.

“How much room do you have in there, Alec?” one asked.

“Two stalls,” Alec said. “But Napoleon has the place to himself.”

“Mind if we take a look inside?”

“No … not at all.”

The group walked toward the barn with Alec leading the way.

“It’s funny the way cops can get mixed up,” someone said. “We got hold of the cop who gave you the summons and he said you were up on a black horse … a big black, he said.”

Alec’s lips tightened, and it was Tony who said, “He’s-a color blinded all right. Nappy is no black.”

“He certainly isn’t,” the reporter agreed.

“But the cop said,” another added casually, “that he’d never seen a horse run as fast as this one had gone.”

“Nappy he’s-a fast horse like I tell you,” Tony said,
laughing. “Maybe I race him one of these days. Maybe I do.”

Alec said nothing. Now he realized that he had forgotten completely that the reporters could have interviewed the cop before coming here. They were looking for a bigger story than his retirement from racing. And that’s why they wanted to go into the barn. From what the cop had told them they knew it couldn’t have been Napoleon he had ridden in the park. Even now, they might suspect it was the Black! For what other horse could have kept him from riding Satan in Chicago? They knew he hadn’t been sick at all. He had been silly to think he could keep the Black’s identity from them. He had made the critical mistake of taking the Black to the park. Now he had to pay for it.

Alec stepped inside the barn, followed by the reporters. Jim Neville stayed at his side, but the others went directly to the stall the Black had occupied. They took one look at the clean-swept floor and then went on to Napoleon’s stall. After that their gazes swept about the barn.

No sound came from the tack room, but any second the stallion could utter a snort that would betray his presence. Alec felt Jim Neville’s hand upon his arm, but he didn’t turn to him. The reporters had filed their way to the tack room, and already one of them was fingering the lock. Tony was with them, and Alec heard him say, “There’s nothing in there; only harness for Nappy. We go outside now, yes?”

But the reporters weren’t leaving. They had found what they sought; their gazes turned to Alec as one of
them jiggled the lock. It was then that the stallion neighed.

“It’s the Black, isn’t it, Alec?” Jim Neville asked quietly.

Wearily Alec nodded.

“We all guessed it was, for the cop described him pretty well. Besides, we figured no other horse could have kept you off Satan in Chicago.”

Now the reporters were asking for the key to the room. They wanted to see the Black to make sure it was he before writing their stories.

Alec walked toward the door, the key in his hand. It mattered little what happened now, for within a few hours the world would know that the Black was once again in the United States. The reporters were asking him many questions and he replied quickly and in as few words as possible. He told them that the Black belonged to him, that Abu Ishak was dead and had bequeathed the stallion to him. He wasn’t going to race the Black. He and Henry had bought a farm. They were taking the Black there within two weeks.

And when he had answered all their questions, he inserted the key in the lock, knowing that they would go as soon as they had seen the stallion. He wanted them to go, to leave him alone with his horse.

The reporters stepped back when he opened the door. The Black was standing there, his eyes large and shifting. Alec held him by the halter while the reporters took one look at the giant stallion and then hurriedly left the barn.

Only Jim Neville remained when Alec led the
stallion from the tack room. Tony walked beside the boy but said nothing.

“I’m going to put him in the field, Tony.”

Outside, the huckster ran ahead to open the gate. Napoleon looked up from his grazing and neighed at sight of the Black.

Alec released the stallion, and the Black burst into full gallop, passing Napoleon, who turned and trotted ponderously after him.

“I’m sorry, Aleec,” Tony said.

“I was crazy to think I could keep it from them,” Alec returned bitterly. “It’s all my fault, Tony … no one else’s.”

“What happens now, Aleec?”

“I don’t know, Tony. I really don’t.”

Tony shifted uneasily, for he didn’t know whether or not Alec wanted him to stay around. The boy looked intently at the stallion, following his every move; yet Tony noticed that his eyes were sad. Finally the huckster glanced at Jim Neville, who now sat on the bench outside the barn.

“Why he not go like the others?” Tony asked angrily. “What more he want?”

Without turning from the field, Alec said bitterly, “He’s a columnist, Tony. He’s after the human-interest angle. The others take care of the straight news story, but Jim wants more than that. He wants to know how I feel and why.

“… He wants to dig.”

“I give it to him then,” Tony said furiously. “I make him go quick!” Tony moved away from the fence, but Alec stopped him.

“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” Alec said. “It’s his job, and he’s a good friend. I can’t run away
anymore. Tomorrow, when the stories break, we’ll have plenty of visitors.”

With Tony beside him, Alec walked toward the barn.

“You want me to stay, Aleec?”

“No, Tony. I’ll get along with Jim all right. If you want to go home, I’ll take care of Napoleon for you.”

Tony left Alec at the barn, and the boy went to the bench, sitting down beside Jim Neville.

“He looks good, Alec,” Jim said, his eyes on the Black. “He hasn’t changed a bit. How does he go?”

“The same,” Alec replied, his gaze, too, on the stallion. “Exactly the same.”

“He might be just a little bit heavier.”

“Maybe,” Alec said. “But he could take that off.”

“Yes, I suppose he could,” Jim returned. “He was a fast one, Alec.”

“He still is.”

“Moves nicely, does he?”

“Perfectly.”

Jim Neville was silent for a few moments, then he said, “He’ll get some good colts for you, Alec. Satan is proof of that. I guess you’ll be doing all right.”

Alec nodded. “I hope so, Jim. We’re going to buy the best mares we can get.”

“Fine! Where’s the farm, Alec?”

“Upstate … a hundred miles or so.”

“Cyclone and Sun Raider have been retired to stud, too. But I guess you know that,” Jim added quickly.

“Yes, I do.”

“Remember how the Black whipped them both in
the Chicago match race, Alec? Only four years ago, but it seems more like forty. You and Henry sure have come a long way since then.”

“But we couldn’t have done it without your help, Jim,” Alec said gratefully.

The columnist laughed. “I wouldn’t say that, Alec. All I did was to let the public know what you and Henry had to race; the people saw to it that the Black got in the match race. Too bad that was the only time they ever saw him race, though,” he added thoughtfully. “I guess everyone who loves horses regretted that. A pity. A great pity.”

Removing his hat, Jim placed it on the bench beside him, then turned to the field. “Look at him go, Alec,” he said, nodding at the stallion, who had left Napoleon and was galloping down the field. “He certainly has Satan’s action. Or, rather,” he corrected himself, “Satan has his.” He paused and without turning to the boy asked, “You’ve been up on them both, Alec. What do you think?”