The Black Stallion (14 page)

“All set,” Henry said, when they had finished. He turned to Alec. “Now the idea tonight, kid,” he said, “is just to get him used to the track. Lucky there’s a full moon so it isn’t so dark out there, and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble seeing. Keep him under control as much as you can—try not to let him have his head until coming down the homestretch, then if everything is okay, let him out for a few hundred yards. I’ve been waiting a long while for this! Before you start, walk him down a ways and back. Got it?”

“Right,” answered Alec.

Jake was leaning on the fence, his white head against the rail, his eyes on the stallion. He moved slightly and Alec saw the flash of silver in his hand. He knew Jake held a stopwatch.

Henry boosted Alec up on the Black’s back and adjusted the stirrups. His knees came up, and he squatted on the small racing saddle like a veteran. The stallion moved uneasily. Henry led him out on the track.

“Okay, son,” he said. “Walk him down and back first.”

The Black stepped quickly over the soft dirt, his head high, his eyes shifting from side to side. Alec reached over and patted his neck. “Take it easy, fella,” he murmured. The stallion wanted to run and Alec had his hands full keeping him to a walk. He went to the first turn and then came back. The night was warm, and as they approached Henry, Alec pulled off his sweater.
“Save this till I come back.” He tossed it to Henry, and walked the Black a few yards past him.

“Here goes,” he said as he whirled the Black around.

The stallion reared. The boy clung to his neck, his white shirt standing out vividly against the Black’s body. Then the stallion bolted forward. Alec tightened the reins and held him in. Down the track they streaked, the stallion’s giant strides swallowing up the yards. Alec, high in his stirrups, hung low beside the Black’s neck. The wind blew in his face and tears streamed down his cheeks. They swung around the first turn and into the backstretch. Alec kept him close to the white fence. He still held the Black in, but never before had he gone so fast, except on the island.

The stallion loved it and fought for his head. Alec tried frantically to hold him but, halfway down the backstretch, he got the bit in his teeth and ripped the reins out of the boy’s control. Once again he was wild and free. Alec pulled on the reins with all his might, but the Black ran faster and faster. Alec couldn’t see any more. The wind whipped him like a gale, tearing at his shirt.

As they rounded the far turn, the boy swayed in the saddle. Instinctively he clutched the Black’s long mane and hung on for dear life. The stallion thundered into the homestretch. His legs were pounding the turf. They flashed past Henry and Jake, and then around the first turn they went again and once more into the backstretch.

Alec was weak from exhaustion. He tried to think. He had to stop the Black. He pulled desperately on the
reins, but the stallion was once again on his own, running as he had been born to run.

It wasn’t until they were halfway down the backstretch again that Alec felt the Black slow up just a little. Alec spoke into his ear; he loosened one hand from the mane and rubbed the stallion’s neck. From then on his speed lessened gradually and, when they whipped by Henry again, Alec had him almost under control. He managed to slow him down after the first turn, and in the backstretch, Alec at last brought him to a stop.

He turned him around. The Black whistled and shook his head. He was breathing heavily, and a white lather covered his black body. He stepped lightly down the track toward Henry. A few minutes later Henry and Jake ran up to them, and Alec weakly climbed down from the saddle. Henry took the reins—they were sticky and wet with blood. He looked at Alec’s bleeding hands, then gave the reins to Jake and put an arm around the boy to steady him. “Take it easy, son,” he said.

“I’m all right, Henry,” Alec said. “Just beat.”

“After that ride you should be,” Henry said.

“No one will ever be able to control this horse,” Jake said. “Once he gets his head—only thing to do is what y’did, hang on and wait until he tires.”

“I’ll control him—one of these days,” Alec said determinedly. He felt better now; strength was returning to his body and the earth was beginning to stand still. The stallion turned his head toward him, his ears pricked forward and he neighed softly. He shoved his nose against the boy.

Alec put a hand wrapped in a handkerchief against
the soft muzzle. “You can’t blame him, Henry,” he said. “It’s the first real fun he’s had in a long, long time. I’ve just got to learn to stay on his back and enjoy the ride with him, that’s all!”

“Yeah,” said Jake, “that’s all.”

They walked off the track, Alec leading the Black. No one spoke again until they reached the truck. Napoleon stood there tied to the side. He raised his old, gray head curiously. Alec led the Black up to him and they put their heads together, the stallion obligingly lowering his.

Henry turned to Jake. “Guess you’ll have to admit there isn’t a horse in the country that can come close to him,” he said.

Jake glanced down at the watch in his hand. “No,” he answered. “No, I’ve never heard of any horse doing the time he did tonight. Sun Raider and Cyclone would give him a race, but he’d beat them—if he ran.”

“What do you mean—if he ran?” asked Henry.

Jake nodded toward the Black. “If he ever got on the same track with those horses, there’d never be any race. That horse would want to fight—not run. He’s as wild as they come. Where’d you get him, son?” he asked.

Alec looked at Henry, who nodded. Alec told Jake briefly how he had acquired the Black.

When he had finished, Jake said, “Quite a story, son.” Then he turned to Henry. “How do you know he’s registered anywhere?” he asked. “You know as well as I do he can’t run in any of the race meetings without bein’ registered.”

“Yeah, I know,” Henry answered. “We’re hoping
he’s listed in the Arabian Stud Book. I’ve been writing to them but they haven’t answered—guess they can’t find anything!”

Jake looked at the Black. “That horse was born wild, Henry. If I’m any judge—you’ll never find him registered.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Jake,” Henry said, “but you never can tell, something might come up. We can race him against time and have him break a few records—then they’ll have to notice him!”

Jake nodded. “Not a bad idea. Lots of people would give their right arm to see what I saw tonight!”

Alec walked the Black up and down for a while and then led him into the truck beside Napoleon. After tying the two horses securely, he jumped off the truck and went around to where Henry and Jake were talking. Henry was saying, “We won’t be around tomorrow night—give the boy a rest, but we’ll make it the following night. Be at the gate by two o’clock.”

“Okay,” Jake answered.

Alec and Henry climbed into the front seat. Jake stood on the running board. Alec glanced at his watch. “Three-thirty,” he said, as the truck started to roll. “Hope my folks haven’t missed me.”

“Yeah,” murmured Henry, “and I hope the Missus hasn’t missed
me
or there’ll be plenty of explaining to do when I get home!”

Jake laughed and stuck his white head in through the window. “So she’s still wearing the pants in the household, heh, Henry?”

“No, ’tain’t that bad.” Henry turned a corner sharply. “It’s just that she’s had enough of horses, and she expects me to be through with ’em, too!”

“Then she still don’t know you, does she?” Jake grinned. “You’re like me, Henry,” he continued, “as long as there’s a breath left in your body, you’ll want to be around horses and nothing in this world will keep you from ’em.”

There was silence until the truck rolled up to the gate. Jake jumped off the running board and opened the gate. As it closed behind them, they waved good-bye to the old man.

“Well, son, you had a tougher time than either of us expected, didn’t you?” Henry asked.

“Guess so, Henry,” Alec answered, “but I’ll be ready for him next time!” He relaxed in the seat and let his head fall back on the cushion behind him.

“Tired?” Henry asked.

“Kinda”—Alec tried to hide the weariness in his voice—“even in spite of that nap I took this afternoon. Mother couldn’t understand it—said it was the first time she’d seen me in bed during the afternoon since I was four!”

“Guess you’ll have to keep doing that for a while, Alec. I’ve fixed it up with Jake to go over there about three nights a week. You see, we have to take advantage of the time that we have now, before the track opens up for the season. There’ll be too many horses and people around then to risk going in. I don’t want to let anyone know about the Black until he races—that is, except Jake; we can trust him.”

“If he
does
race,” Alec said soberly. “We should’ve had a letter by this time if he’s registered at all!”

“Aw, you never can tell,” Henry answered. “They’re pretty slow over there, y’know, and then there’s probably a lot of things they have to look up.”

“Yeah,” Alec agreed sleepily. He curled his legs underneath him. “Anyway,” he continued, “it’s pretty exciting just riding the Black like I did tonight on a track.”

“Yeah, and I must say you and the Black did a pretty good job. Made the track record look like it was made by a hobbyhorse!”

Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of the barn. Alec led the Black into his stall. Henry stabled Napoleon and then followed Alec into the Black’s stall. Together the boy and the man rubbed him down.

A few minutes later they left the darkened barn.

“Good night, Henry,” Alec said. “See you tomorrow.”

“ ’Night, Alec.”

The Ramsay house was still dark. Alec opened the door carefully and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. All was quiet except for an occasional snore from his father.

Wearily he undressed and climbed into bed—his body aching.

A few hours later the alarm clamored in his ear. Half-consciously he reached for it and turned it off. A sharp pain in his hand drove all the sleepiness from him. He sat up and looked at the blood-stained handkerchief still wrapped around his hand. He let his head fall back
against the pillow. Then it hadn’t been a dream! He
had
ridden the Black last night! His eyes rested on the chair beside his bed where he had thrown his clothes. Hanging on the arm was his shirt—ripped by the wind.

His body still ached all over as he threw the blankets off and climbed out of bed. Quickly he dressed and tucked the torn shirt underneath his arm—he would throw it away before his mother saw it. He went into the bathroom, washed and took care of his cut hands. He clenched his teeth as he poured iodine on his hands—but his head was feverish with excitement.

Two nights later Alec once again rode the Black out on the track. The stallion tugged on the reins as Alec walked him. Henry and Jake leaned on the fence; Napoleon stood beside them, his eyes on the Black.

Alec wore a tight, black sweater; leather gloves covered his cut hands. He had his handkerchief tied around his head to keep the hair out of his eyes. The stallion half-reared and pulled on the reins—he wanted to run! Alec hunched closer to the Black’s neck, his heart pounding, for he, too, wanted to feel the wind stream in his face again and feel the mighty stallion in action!

Suddenly he let loose on the reins and the stallion bolted. He gained momentum in mighty leaps. Faster and faster he went until once again the landscape became a blur, and only the endless line of white fence was there to guide them. Alec didn’t attempt to hold the stallion. “Run, run!” he yelled, but the tearing wind blew the words back down his throat.

Around the track they whipped, and Henry and Jake both pushed the stems of their stopwatches down as the Black streaked by. Eagerly they looked at the time and then at each other. “Never thought it possible,” Jake said.

Their eyes turned again to the black blur rounding the turn. “Look at that horse run!” exclaimed Jake.

“Yeah—and look at that boy ride!” Henry shouted.

Jake’s head rested on his hands against the fence. “I never knew a horse could have that much endurance, Henry,” he said.

“Remember he’s an Arabian.”

“Not all Arabian, though, Henry—too big, too much speed. The blood of a good many horses runs in his veins. Yep, and only his love for the boy keeps him on that track now.”

High in the stirrups Alec hung close to the Black’s neck—it was like flying. Tears from the wind raced down his cheeks in an endless stream. Suddenly as they approached Henry and Jake, Alec saw the gray form of Napoleon lope out onto the track. They whipped by him. But the Black had seen Napoleon, too, and his speed slackened.

Alec glanced over his shoulder and saw the old gray horse running toward them. Gradually the Black slowed down, and then without waiting for a signal from Alec, whirled and galloped back toward the plodding Napoleon. The old horse wheezed as they came up to him, but he held his head high. He reached his nose up to the Black’s, and then broke out into a trot and headed for the turn. The stallion whirled—three mighty leaps and he was up alongside him. Napoleon
took three steps to every one of the Black’s. Together they rounded the turn. Napoleon trotted ponderously, his eyes straight on the track ahead of him. The stallion shook his head and playfully nipped the gray horse. Three-quarters of the way around, Napoleon’s pace slackened to a very slow trot.

When they reached Jake and Henry, Napoleon was exhausted, but his eyes were wide with excitement. Alec jumped off the stallion’s back. “Now we’ve got two racers.” He laughed.

“Don’t know what got into him,” said Henry. “Just tore off his halter and loped right out there when he saw the Black coming down!”

Jake rubbed his hand over Napoleon’s body. “Guess he isn’t any the worse for it,” he said.

Henry threw the blanket over the Black. “Tony’ll probably be wondering why he takes it so easy on his rounds tomorrow.”

“He’ll have more pep than ever.” Alec laughed. “Tony will be lucky if he can hold him in!”

Jake threw another blanket over Napoleon. “Here,” he said, “he earned this.”