Black Stallion and Satan (12 page)

“How is he?” Alec asked. “Henry told me that you were a little worried about him.”

“He’s all right now. Although your black horse has made him more nervous than I like to see him.” He paused, turning to Alec. “You’re sure you can handle that horse? I’ve seen fighting stallions before and he certainly seems to be one.”

“I can handle him,” Alec said.

“One like that can bring out the worst in any stallion,” the man said, still unconvinced.

Alec was about to reply when he heard the van coming down the row. Leaving the stall, he saw Henry, accompanied by Lenny Sansone and Fred, the groom who took care of Satan. He waved to them as the van rolled by and came to a stop near their stalls.

Lenny Sansone, short and stocky and in his middle thirties, was the first off the van. He came toward Alec, a large grin on his wizened face, his hand outstretched. “It’s good seeing you again, Alec.”

“Good seeing you, too, Len,” Alec replied, clasping the other’s hand. “You’ve been really riding Satan,” he added.

“I just sit there and let him go. You know him,” Lenny said.

Henry and Fred were at the back of the van when Alec went to them. “How’d he ship, Fred?” he asked of the groom.

“Fine, Alec. Just fine,” Fred grinned. “He takes to travelin’ just like everything else. There’s no more horse anywhere.”

The back door of the van came down, and Satan neighed shrilly. Then the Black screamed, and his whistle was more piercing than Alec had ever heard it. He turned to him and saw that the stallion’s eyes were bright with fury. Lenny Sansone, who was standing close to the Black’s stall, called, “He’s apt to tear this door down, Alec!”

Alec went to the Black, but the stallion’s eyes never left the van, for Satan stood at the ramp.

“Stay with him, Alec!” Henry shouted. He and Fred had Satan by the halter; the burly colt uttered a shrill scream and his ears swept back, flat and heavy against his head.

“He’s never acted that way since I’ve known him,” Lenny said. “It must be the Black.”

The Black struck his foot hard against the door again, almost shattering the wood.

“Another blow like that and you won’t have any door,” Lenny warned.

Without fully realizing what he was doing, Alec pushed the Black’s head back, then quickly opening the door he went inside. “Bolt it again, Lenny!” he called.

The stallion came back to the door, his eyes blazing, while Alec stood beside him. “Easy, Black. Easy,” he pleaded. But the giant body continued to tremble in fury as Alec ran his hand over him. Alec stayed near the small, glaring head, desperately trying to keep the stallion from stepping too close to the door.

Henry was taking Satan down the ramp, but seeing Alec inside the stall he called angrily, “Get out of there, Alec!”

But the boy didn’t hear him, for he was moving with the Black as the stallion turned furiously about the stall. He didn’t think the Black would kick him, but he wasn’t sure under these circumstances; so he kept close to the stallion’s head, his hand resting lightly on the halter. Always he talked to his horse, coaxing, urging, guiding. But it seemed the Black didn’t even know him now. Nothing but fury and hate absorbed the stallion.

The Black moved quickly toward the door again, carrying Alec with him. He struck high with his foreleg, bringing it down over the door. Outside Satan was rearing, and his face, too, was fearful to see.

Lenny Sansone had hold of the upper half of the stall door. “Get out, Alec! I’ll shut it!” he shouted.

Knowing that he was afraid, Alec tightened his grip on the halter. If he left now, he knew he’d forever be afraid of the Black. Anything would be better than that. His heart pounding, he stepped in front of the stallion, trying to force him back from the door. His weight threw the stallion off balance and the Black pulled his foreleg off the door.

“Shut the top!” Alec shouted to Lenny.

“Not until you get out!”

“Shut it!” Alec shouted again, and when the door remained open for the Black to see what was going on outside, Alec pulled it shut himself.

The only light came through a small, high window to the rear of the stall. And within the light Alec moved with the Black, always talking to him, always touching him. The stallion screamed his piercing challenge
repeatedly. For a while he was answered by Satan’s whistle; then it was quiet outside and Alec knew that Henry and the others had moved Satan away from the Black’s stall.

Gradually the stallion’s actions became less furious. For a time he stood still and was responsive to Alec’s voice and hands. But then he was on the move again, turning restlessly about the stall, stopping only to paw at the straw with his forefoot.

It was only after a long while that the fire left his eyes and he turned to Alec. He shoved his nose hard against the boy’s chest, then nuzzled his pockets for carrots.

Removing one, Alec fed it to him. “You didn’t want it before,” he said, “you didn’t want anything but to fight. It can’t work out that way, Black … not for you or for me. Neither of us belongs here if it’s going to be that way. Maybe I’ve been wrong all along.… Maybe we shouldn’t be here at all.”

And as Alec remained with his horse he thought of how much he had looked forward to the day when the Black would meet his colt. He’d even thought they would recognize each other for what they were, father and son. But it hadn’t worked out that way at all. There was no love between them. They were two giant stallions, both eager and willing to fight. No, it wasn’t the same as he’d thought it would be at all. And now Alec wondered what he would do … and, more important, what Henry would do, for it was he who would decide whether or not the Black would race in the International.

Later Alec left the stall, closing the top door. He
walked up the row to the end stall, where Henry stood alone, leaning on the door, watching Satan.

The black colt drew away from Henry when Alec joined the trainer. “How is he?” the boy asked anxiously, reaching out to touch Satan. But the colt moved farther back into his stall.

“He’s calming down now,” Henry said quietly. “He’ll be all right.”

Taking a carrot from his pocket, Alec held it out to Satan. The big colt took a step closer, his heavy head extended; but then he came to a stop again and his nostrils quivered.

“He probably smells the Black on you,” Henry said. Alec was withdrawing his hand when Henry added, “Keep it there. He’ll come over.”

A few minutes later Satan took the carrot from Alec’s hand and moved to the door while the boy and trainer patted him.

“I’m sorry it had to happen this way,” Alec said.

“I’m sorry, too,” Henry returned.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, Alec. Just now I don’t think it’s going to work out … as I said it wouldn’t.”

“Maybe the Black will get used to the others … within a few days, I mean.”

“Maybe,” Henry repeated.

“Then we’ll keep him here and see?” Alec asked anxiously.

The trainer shifted uneasily on his feet. “I don’t know, Alec … really, I don’t. It might be better for everyone if we took him away now. Things might not get better an’ they could get worse.”

“But maybe …” Alec began.

“I’d like to see him race as much as you would,” Henry interrupted. “More now than before we came here.” Pausing, he added, “But you saw what he did to Satan, and he could do the same to the others. The Black brings out the instinctive savageness and hatred in every stallion to fight his kind. Up to now, these horses know but one thing an’ that’s to race as they’ve been trained to do. Racing is something the Black hardly knows anything about.… Fighting is what he knows best.”

“Then what do you think we should do, Henry?”

“Let’s wait a week for the others to get here. Let’s make sure I’m right before we take him away. He just might come around, Alec, the way you think he will.… He just might.”

Turning down the row to the Black’s stall, Alec knew he wasn’t really so sure that his stallion would come around. No, not at all. And perhaps both he and Henry were making a mistake in keeping the Black here for another week.

As Henry had said, things could get worse, much worse.

The following week saw the arrival of all the horses entered in the International Cup race. Phar Fly, the Australian champion—a robust blood bay stallion with glossy black mane, tail and stockings—was the first to arrive; then came the European horses. Sea King, from England, was a gray, small in height but long-bodied. Cavaliere, from Italy, was a rich brown stallion with four white stockings, standing seventeen hands in height. His entire physique signified power. Avenger, from France, was a round, chunky little dark bay horse, dainty to the point of femininity, his action effortless and birdlike. The last to arrive at the track was Kashmir, from India, a sorrel with white face and feet; sixteen hands strong he stood, alert and confident, high-spirited and fractious.

And with their arrival came the owners, trainers, exercise boys, grooms and reporters. No longer was the row quiet, belonging only to Alec and Henry, for now
from morning until night horses and people filed up and down the row.

The top of the Black’s stall door was left open for only a few hours each day. And during that time Alec and Henry would stand close by, watching him, ready for anything he might do.

“He’s got to get used to seeing them around,” Henry had said earlier in the week. “A few hours a day will be enough until we think he’s ready to be with the others.”

But the Black’s hatred of the other stallions did not lessen with each passing day. His shrill challenging whistles were screamed constantly, even from behind closed doors.

A week before the big race, Alec stood beside Henry at the track rail, watching Lenny Sansone work Satan. Working out with the burly colt were Cavaliere and Avenger.

Satan was moving fast, coming down the backstretch, and Henry had his watch on him. The black colt swept thunderously into the turn, moving close to the rail. Leveled out, with his ears flat against his head, Satan came off the turn and passed them.

The light of a trainer’s joy and pride in the part he had played in molding such a horse shone in Henry’s keen gaze as he watched Satan. He pressed the stem of his watch and glanced at it. “He’s ready. They’ll have to really go to beat him,” he said, making no attempt to keep his enthusiasm from Alec.

“What’d he do it in?”

“Forty-five.”

“The Black went that,” Alec reminded Henry.

“I know,” Henry said. “But what good is his speed? What good is it, when we’ve got to gallop him nights and keep him penned up during the day?”

Cavaliere passed and they watched the big brown stallion who had won the Italian Derby as his rider let him out going down the stretch.

“His action is a lot like Satan’s,” Alec remarked.

“Yeah,” Henry said, “but there’s the one you want to watch, Alec.” He was pointing to Avenger as the small champion from France moved down the backstretch. “Round and dainty,” Henry added, “but he sure can go. Look at that action, Alec.… That’s what won him his big races!”

Avenger moved with long strides that belied his smallness. He glided over the track, scarcely seeming to touch it with his flying feet.

“He has the coordination of a machine,” Henry said enthusiastically. “And he won’t make any wrong moves, Alec. I’ll have to tell Lenny to watch him; he’s the kind of a horse who could slip by you without your even knowin’ it.”

Alec turned to his friend. “Henry, what are we going to do about the Black? We just can’t go on like this. We’ve got to make up our minds. It’s not fair to him.”

“What do you think we should do, Alec?” Henry returned.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think he’s just making a lot of noise … that he wouldn’t fight at all if we took him out with the others. This is all so new to him that it’s only natural he should be excited.”

“I’ve been thinking along those lines, too, Alec. But we could both be wrong,” Henry added.

“Or we could be right,” Alec argued.

“Yes, I suppose we could.”

“He was coming along well until the others got here.”

“That’s just it, Alec … until the others got here, and they’re still here. He’s not making it easy for them, either.”

“I know,” Alec said. “But maybe if we gave him a chance he’d get it out of his system. He needs to work with the others.” The boy paused and added: “We’d know then, Henry. We could take him away if we were absolutely sure he wasn’t going to come around. I’d feel all right about withdrawing him from the race, knowing we’d done all we could.”

“You mean, if we did that, you’d feel that we’d done everything Abu Ishak could have done had he lived?”

“Yes, Henry, I would.”

Lenny Sansone was bringing in Satan, and they turned toward him.

“That enough for him, Henry?” Lenny called.

Nodding, Henry turned back to Alec. “Let’s get him, then,” he said quietly.

“The Black? You mean it, Henry?” Alec asked anxiously.

“Sure. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” the trainer replied, moving off toward the sheds.

They were walking down the row when Jim Neville, the sports columnist, joined them. “Just got in this morning,” he said. “What’s this talk I hear about the Black not racing in the International, Henry?”

“He’s been giving us trouble. We’re not sure yet,” Henry replied, continuing down the row.

“You mean there’s some truth to this talk of Alec’s not being able to handle him?” Jim asked.

The trainer was silent, so Jim turned to Alec. “What do you think, Alec?”

“I don’t know either. If I can’t control him, we’ll withdraw him, Jim. No good could come of it if we raced him.”

“When will you decide?” Jim asked.

“Within a few minutes,” Henry said. “Stick around.”

They were nearing the Black when they saw the crowd gathered in front of El Dorado’s stall. Joining the group, they saw the track veterinarian in the stall with the golden stallion.

Alec overheard a man tell Henry, “El Dorado ran a high fever again last night, and they thought it best to get the vet.”