Black Stallion and Satan (4 page)

They left the van and went to the wire fence which kept them from the field. The plane came off the main runway and taxied toward them, its silver body glistening in the lights that played upon it.

Henry stopped staring at the plane and looked around. Luckily, they were far from the center of the field’s activity and there was no one in their immediate vicinity except for a few Trans-World cargo employees who were awaiting the plane. “Now the less fuss we have around here the better,” he told Alec. “I’ll check the office again to make sure all the papers are in order.” Henry walked toward the lighted building to their rear, but Alec never turned from the plane.

It was a few minutes before it came to a stop a short distance from him. He saw three men in white
coveralls go to meet it. The engines were raced to a high pitch by the pilot, then cut.

Alec waited for the wide cargo doors to open, his heart pounding. He turned to the gate, a little way beyond him, and to the man attending it; then his gaze swept to the Trans-World office as he looked anxiously for Henry.

Turning back to the plane, he found the doors still unopened. He was moving along the fence toward the gateman when Henry came running up to him.

“We can take him once he’s off,” Henry said. “No quarantine is necessary. He’s been checked out.”

“Let’s get up to the gate then,” Alec replied, without stopping.

“Take it easy,” his friend cautioned. “They’ll get him off all right. It’s just a consignment to them now, so let’s not make it any more than that.”

Reaching the gateman, Henry handed him the clearance he’d received from the office, and the man checked it against his list. “They’ll have him off in a few minutes,” he said.

Alec saw the cargo doors open. A man appeared and called to the men on the ground. He left the doorway but reappeared a few seconds later, pushing out a long wooden ramp. When they had the ramp set up it extended from the doors of the plane to the ground.

Suddenly the long, piercing whistle of the Black shattered the night but died quickly beneath the roar of a plane going down the runway.

Alec’s hand went quickly to the chain extending across the entrance to the field; then he stopped, turning to Henry. “Maybe I could help them,” he said.

Henry smiled at the gateman, “We’re a little anxious about our horse.”

“No need to worry,” the gateman replied. “We sort of specialize in carrying horses and animals of all kinds. Never had any trouble yet.”

Henry nodded agreeably, but Alec turned anxiously back to the plane. The Black uttered another shrill scream; then came the sharp ring of his hoofs striking metal.

“Some are a little harder to handle than others,” the gateman was saying. “But it’s all in knowing how. That fellow inside the plane is a professional animal handler. He rides along with every animal we carry. Just another of the services our company provides its clients.”

“As y’say,” Henry agreed, smiling. “It’s all in knowin’ how.”

“Yeah, that and having the equipment,” the gateman added. “We can make our planes into regular flying stables, when necessary. We use collapsible stalls with a soft rubber matting and wooden shavings for the horses to stand on. Everything for their comfort, you might say. But if they give us any trouble, this fellow can take care of them; he’s got a firm hand.” He turned to the plane. “Yours is the only animal we’re carrying tonight. The rest is freight. He should have had him out by now. It usually doesn’t take …” He stopped abruptly, his eyes on the doorway.

The Black stood just within the plane, the animal handler at his head.

“There he is now,” the gateman said. “We’ll have him off right away.”

“Sure,” Henry said uneasily, for he could see the man was having trouble. He put his hand on Alec’s arm.

The Black shook his head savagely as the man jerked hard on the lead shank he held short in his hand. The stallion snorted in contempt and his eyes blazed defiantly; then he moved out of the doorway and onto the ramp. For a moment he remained still, his eyelids blinking in the glare of the floodlights and his ears pricked to the sound of an incoming plane.

He was like a giant statue. Arrogant and noble, he stood there; his small head, crowned by silky foretop, was set majestically on his long and highly arched neck, and no sculptor could have done justice to the suppleness and fineness of line of his beautifully molded body.

The man at his head jerked again on the lead shank, trying to move him down the ramp. Tall and long-limbed, the stallion took two steps; then, without warning, he reared, carrying the man with him.

No longer was he beautiful to behold, but a ranting, raging beast, fighting for his freedom! To bring him down, the man struck him hard across the muzzle. The Black swelled to greater fury at the impact of the blow, and, when his forefeet touched the ramp, he bolted forward.

Alec was running to him when the Black pulled himself free of the man’s desperate grip on his halter. Jumping clear of the ramp, the stallion broke into a gallop. He started toward the runway but stopped before the outburst of a plane’s engines. Whirling, he came
back, his eyes white and starting from his head. He swerved when he came upon Alec and swept by, perilously close to the boy.

His whirlwind charge came to a sudden stop. He shook his disheveled head, and his nostrils filled out. Turning again, he faced Alec. His large eyes were upon the boy, his ears cupped to the sound of Alec’s voice. He jerked his head upward and held it still, his every sense keyed to the utmost.

“Black, Black,” Alec kept repeating while his eyes held those of the stallion. He saw every sign of impending recognition, but he could only wait and hope.

Now the Black was tense and rigid, with only his nostrils quivering. For many minutes he seemed undecided. His flashing eyes left Alec to move back and forth, slowly, as his head turned. He moved neither toward Alec nor away from him. He stood alert and confident in his strength.

Alec kept talking, caring little what he said. It was only the sound of his voice that mattered. His voice and scent were what the Black remembered.

The stallion turned to him again, listening intently, smelling with long, delicate nostrils; then he came forward, trotting with high head and tail.

Alec reached out to him, and the stallion did not move away at his touch. The boy’s arms swept around him and he buried his head in the long mane.

He heard Henry’s voice, but he did not turn to him.

“Take him out, while you got him,” Henry was saying excitedly. “Let’s get outa here before …”

The Black moved nervously at the sound of Henry’s voice. Alec took him by the halter. “Come on, fellow. We’re going home.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the Black moved with him. Henry had led the men away from the gate, but their gaze followed Alec as he took the stallion from the field.

Alec led the Black toward the van, Henry walking a little behind them.

“Nice and quiet just like he wanted,” Henry muttered to himself. “I shoulda known better than to expect it. But it could have been worse. If he’d gotten away, everyone on the field would have known it, an’ it’d be in the papers tomorrow. As it is, these Trans-World guys are just glad to get rid of him.”

Henry’s gaze swept over the Black as the stallion walked nimbly beside the boy. He was quiet now; there was none of the savagery displayed only a few minutes before. Nor was he fidgeting or capering nervously; only his head moved, and he turned it back and forth, observing everything about him. Yet he was a picture of pure blood and fiery energy, ready to burst into action at the slightest impulse.

Henry stopped in his tracks, for Alec had the stallion at the van and he was shying away from the ramp. Henry started forward; then, thinking better of it, stopped again and stayed behind.

Alec waited patiently for his horse, talking to him all the while. He turned him around in a circle several times, then led him to the ramp again and stepped upon it. The Black hesitated, then followed, his hoofs resounding on the wooden boards.

Running to the van, Henry pushed the ramp inside. He was closing the door when Alec called, “I’ll ride back here with him.”

“As if I didn’t know,” Henry said.

It was well over an hour later when Henry drove up to the barn in Flushing. He backed the van to a grassy knoll just to the side of the driveway, got out and opened the door. Alec pushed the ramp over to him and Henry set one end down on the knoll. The descent from the van was gradual, and Henry knew Alec wouldn’t have any trouble getting the stallion down. He went to the barn, opened the doors wide and switched on the lights. Napoleon raised his head, neighing softly.

“You’ve an old friend comin’ to see you,” Henry told him. “Maybe you’ll recognize him.”

Henry turned from the door at the sound of the Black coming down the ramp. Alec had him off and was leading him toward the barn. The stallion’s lips, eyes and ears were all in motion.

“He knows where he is, Henry,” Alec called. “Just look at him!”

As the Black entered the barn, his ears pricked forward at sight of Napoleon. He neighed shrilly and moved quickly across the floor. Napoleon stretched out his head to him while the Black moved close, his nostrils quivering.

“Better be careful with him,” Henry warned both Alec and Napoleon.

But Napoleon had no fear of the Black, and he shoved his gray head hard against the stallion. The Black stood still, watching him curiously.

After a few minutes Alec opened the door to the empty stall. The Black turned to it, his long nostrils quivering; then, without a word from the boy, he went inside.

Henry waited while Alec fed and watered the Black, but when he saw that the boy meant to stay inside the stall he walked slowly toward the barn door.

This is the way Alec wanted it, all right, he thought. Just the Black and him all over again. But it can’t go on. No more than it could with Satan. Someone’s going to learn about the Black’s being here, and when the news breaks the Lord only knows where it’ll end. But no need to tell him that. Not now. Let him have it the way he wants for as long as he can. It’ll be short enough.… It can’t last, not with a horse like the Black.

Quietly Henry opened the door and stepped out into the night, leaving Alec alone with his horse.

It was very early the next morning when Alec returned to the barn after only a few hours’ sleep. He went directly to the Black, running his hand through the stallion’s long mane to remove the straw that had matted the hair.

“You were down last night,” he said softly.

The Black nickered, following him to the water pail that hung in a corner. Alec removed the pail from its bracket and left the stall, closing the door behind him; then he went into Napoleon’s stall and got his pail, too, before going to the water faucet outside the barn. Returning, he first went to Napoleon, setting his pail up for him; then he entered the stallion’s stall again. Instead of placing the pail in the corner, he held it while the Black pushed his small, finely drawn muzzle down to the water. Alec’s fingers touched the molesoft skin as the stallion drank.

A few minutes later Alec was at the feedbox, scooping up containers of oats for the Black and
Napoleon. And, while the stallion ate, he cleaned the stall and pitched in some fresh straw, bedding it down well; then he went quickly to the chest in the tack room. He took out the brushes and currycomb and was about to close the lid when he saw the folded blanket. He picked it up carefully, his eyes turning to the far wall of the room; then he unwrapped the blanket from about the Black’s picture and hung it once more in its proper place on the wall. His eyes shining, he turned from it and left the room.

The Black moved uneasily as Alec brought the brush across his body, but the boy moved with him, unmindful of the fiery brightness coming into the stallion’s eyes. Alec went to the rear of the stallion, brushing out the straw from his tail; then he stopped to pick up the Black’s feet, going from one to the other, cleaning them of the dirt and manure that was packed within the hoofs. It was only when he straightened, close to the Black’s head, that he saw the unusual light in the stallion’s eyes. Aware of the fury that smoldered within the Black, he stepped closer to him and raised the brush to the stallion’s lips.

“It’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said as the Black nuzzled the brush. “It can’t hurt you. And you’re not worried about me. I’m supposed to be here … no place else.”

Taking a cloth from his pocket, Alec ran it along the stallion’s neck; then he turned away from him, going over the sleek body and down the long, sinewy legs. When he straightened, he found the Black licking his feedbox clean of the last remaining oats. The stallion’s
eyes were soft and dark again, and Alec knew that any uncertainty the Black might have had regarding his right to handle him was gone.

To the rear of the stall was a sliding door, and it was to this that Alec now went. His hand was on it when the Black came to him. The stallion’s small ears were pitched forward, his head craned high. Sliding the door open, Alec stepped to one side.

For a few seconds the Black remained rigidly still in the daylight that came through the doorway; his lips shriveled and he snorted through dilated nostrils. Cautiously he stepped outside, his eyes in constant motion, his ears pricked and keyed to pick up the slightest sound.

A narrow runway led behind the barn to the field. The Black turned to the green grass, neighing for joy at sight of it; then he was moving at a slow trot, his long tail streaming behind him.

Leaving the door open, Alec ran back through the barn and outside. He went on to the high rail fence, and his eyes were on the stallion as the Black swept from the runway into the field. He watched him change from a trot into a slow canter.

Alec climbed to the top rail of the fence and sat there, content in the knowledge that nothing in the world could equal what he had again for his very own.

The stallion cantered alongside the stone wall but stopped when he came to the hollow at the far end. He stood still for a moment, then trotted along the rim of the hollow and across the field. Reaching the stone
fence on the opposite side, he stopped to look through the trees toward the boulevard. A car went down the street, its engine whining loudly in the early-morning stillness. The Black snorted and came up the field. Reaching the fence at Alec’s end, he turned with it. He stopped a short distance from the boy, his slender neck arched sharply at the crest, his head cocked a little to one side.