The Black Stallion Mystery (3 page)

“Do they always stand like that?” he asked. “Pull ’em up a little, Alec.”

It was then that John Hudson laughed out loud. “Who are you trying to kid, Henry? You never saw better legged colts. And you also know what they’ll bring in the ring!”

Henry shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t give me that offhanded stuff either,” the agent said. “You’re as surprised as I was when I first saw them. They’re carbon copies of the Black and worth their weight in gold. I figured I’d be seein’ you the moment you heard about them. But I didn’t expect it to be so soon.”

Henry moved from behind the horses. “Okay, John, you win. I don’t know what I was tryin’ to prove
anyway. Matter of habit, I guess. Now, these colts. Where’d you get ’em?”

“Spain.”

“That’s a big country, John. We’re old friends, remember?”

“Sure, Henry.”

“I’m lucky to be the first here.”

“I know that, Henry.”

“Who sent them to you?”

The agent ran his hand down the long neck of the chestnut colt. “A gentleman by the name of Don Angel Rafael González,” he answered.

“A friend of yours?”

“Nope. Never even heard of him before.”

“Did he contact you himself?”

John Hudson nodded. “By letter first. Then he flew them in. His own plane, too, a big cargo job with a private crew. There was money in it. For me, too, when I saw the yearlings come out of it.” The agent smiled.

“John …”

“Yes, Henry?”

“Of course he turned over the necessary registration papers to you.”

“Of course. How else could I sell them?”

“May I see them?”

“They’re in the house.”

“All three sired by the same stallion?” Henry asked anxiously.

“You didn’t have to ask that, but the answer is yes. His name is El Dorado.”

“Does this González fellow have him?”

“He said so.” John Hudson smiled. “I believe you’d
like González, Henry. He seemed to know all about you an’ the Black an’ Alec.”

“Did he give you the impression he might part with this El Dorado?”

“No, but I don’t think he’d turn a good price down. He seems to live pretty high and was interested in last year’s Sales figures. I guess he’s something of a playboy although you’d hardly know it to look at him. He’s very big and rather ugly—except for his eyes, that is. They’re black and piercing like an eagle’s. They never seem to leave you. But somehow they don’t make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not interested,” Henry said, walking toward the horses. “But I would like to see those papers if you don’t mind, John.”

Later, on the way back to their barn, Henry said to Alec, “If we’re smart we’ll do something.”

“About El Dorado?”

“Of course. I don’t know if his colts will run the way they look but they could. We ought to try to buy El Dorado before another breeder does.”

“But that isn’t all you’re thinking about, is it, Henry?” Alec asked quietly.

“No.”

“Maybe the Black’s sire isn’t dead after all. Isn’t that it? Desert Arabs don’t always keep written pedigrees, and names can be changed.”

Henry nodded. “We’d better find out before somebody else does,” he said. “Since we were thinkin’ of goin’ to Europe anyway, we’d better make Spain our first stop.”

The Trans-Ocean cargo plane crossed the Atlantic at altitudes of fifteen to twenty thousand feet but because of the pressurized cabin its occupants felt no discomfort. Even the occasional bump that marred a flight’s smoothness was no different from the ones they had felt a few hours before on the ground. The cargo was mixed—eighteen dogs, four calves, three goats and one horse. The horse was the Black and with him was Alec Ramsay.

The tall stallion stood in a specially built traveling stall furnished by the airline. It was very strong, the stout wood being reinforced by metal. Inside, it was lined with straw and sack padding so there was no danger of the horse’s hurting himself if he kicked or pawed.

Alec had been watchful for any signs of restlessness during the trip but the Black had been quiet. His main interest was watching the other animals in their boxes. Even the almost incessant barking of the dogs hadn’t seemed to bother him. So Henry had been right, Alec
mused … the Black’s unfamiliar traveling companions had been more of a comfort to him than a trial. It was a good thing, for they’d had no choice but to take the first air freighter they could get if they wanted to reach Angel Rafael González before other breeders did so.

Three days had passed since Alec and Henry had seen the yearlings at John Hudson’s. Within two more days the colts would be taken to Saratoga, where almost every horseman in the country would see them.

Henry hadn’t dawdled. He’d used every connection and pulled every string he knew. Passports had been secured within a day. The Spanish Consul in New York was only too happy to cooperate in every way possible, hoping they’d see fit “to race the great Black at the
Hipodromo de Madrid.
” There had also been a series of cables between Henry and Angel González, with the trainer requesting that they be shown El Dorado.

González had been most gracious and eager to welcome “such famous horsemen whose interest in El Dorado and his colts was very gratifying.” He would be happy to have them as his guests for as long as they cared to stay in Spain.

Everything had worked out very well, Alec thought, almost
too
well. He was always wary when pieces fell into a pattern with so little trouble. He shrugged his shoulders and stood up. “That’s only because Henry and I have had to work hard for everything we have. We’ll never get used to people doing favors for us. How about
you
?” he asked the Black aloud.

The horse glanced his way but turned quickly back
to the dogs. He snorted at them and for a moment their barking stopped, only to begin again louder than ever. The attendant in charge tried unsuccessfully to quiet them and then went back to reading his pocketbook.

Alec reached over the high sides of the stall to rub the Black’s neck. His coat had a rich glow, almost as if it had been rubbed with olive oil as was often done with show horses before they entered the ring. No need to do that to the Black. His shining coat reflected his good condition and health.

Alec glanced at the cabin door leading into the pilots’ compartment, and wondered how much longer Henry would remain up there. He was hoping to get more information about González from the crew, one of whom was Spanish.

A little later Henry returned, taking a seat beside Alec. “Not much,” he said. “This González is a gentleman rancher, raisin’ fighting bulls mostly. The Spaniard up there was surprised to learn he had race horses. Said his countrymen never have been very much interested in horse racin’ even though there’s a track in Madrid. Their taste runs more to the bulls. Racin’ one horse against another is too tame for them.” Henry chuckled. “That’s a laugh,” he added.

Alec said, “It’s a cinch they’ve never stood on the rail near the first turn.”

“No,” Henry agreed quietly, “they haven’t.” His tone tightened. “Anyway, no one up there knew anything about El Dorado.”

“And we’re crossing an ocean to see him,” Alec said. “It’s a long jump just to get a look at a stallion.”

“Not so long. Think of Abu Ishak going halfway around the world to look at the Black when he learned you had a horse that might be the one he’d lost.”

Alec nodded his head, thinking again of the Arab chieftain who had befriended him and changed the course of his life by bequeathing the Black to him.

Henry stood up. “Say, don’t these dogs ever shut up?”

“It doesn’t seem to be bothering him any.”

“It better not or there’d be trouble.”

Alec nodded. He had been watching the Black’s eyes and he knew there was nothing to be concerned about. The light that flickered and blazed in those eyes when his horse became excited or angry wasn’t pleasant to see, for then there was nothing fine and noble about the Black. He fought with fury, knowing no master, no love. At such times nothing remained but his wild desert instinct to kill.

The plane dropped suddenly and sickeningly. The air remained rough and Henry said, “We must be coming in. They said it’d be no more than another hour before landing.”

Alec looked out the window into the grayness of a heavy cloud bank. It was mid-afternoon and he hoped it would be clear below.

The big plane dropped into sunlight and Alec could see mountains and swift-flowing white streams tumbling down green hills. Just beyond, however, the landscape changed dramatically from lushness to brown, thirsty plains as golden and tawny as the desert. The treeless land stretched for miles upon miles in the
bright sunlight. But soon this, too, passed beneath the swift wings of the plane.

The waterless landscape gave way to more streams and deep, dark rivers. Villages appeared, dominated by great churches and cathedrals whose towers rose mast-like into the sky. Rows upon rows of tall poplars and silver birches separated cultivated fields and small cottages of gray stone. Then this dropped behind and the plane was flying over what seemed to be an endless plain. But it was green and lush like the earlier hills. Great walnut trees grew everywhere and in their shade grazed large herds of goats and cattle. Many wide streams split the great plain and in them could be seen, splashing, the bodies of young swimmers.

Lower and lower they flew, the plane braking like a giant sled. Just beyond, the land rose in brown ridges and here, on the bank of a river, was the city. It climbed the hills in every direction, sprawling and white against the khaki-colored landscape.

The big plane banked sharply and for the first time during the trip the Black kicked the padding of his stall. Alec spoke to him and rubbed his muzzle.

The brown hills rose on either side of the plane and Alec could see men at work on the sharply tilted patches of cultivated land. Then they fell behind and the landing strip came up to meet the wheels of the plane. There was a hollow thud of rubber grasping the concrete runway and the big plane rolled past the airport buildings.

The dogs barked louder than ever and the Black snorted repeatedly. All the animals seemed to know
that the plane had landed. Henry went to the window as the plane turned off the runway and taxied toward the largest building.

“There’s a flashy yellow convertible out there with a horse trailer attached to it,” he said. “That could be our Spanish playboy, all right.”

“John Hudson said we’d like him,” Alec said, snapping on the Black’s lead shank.

“Don’t jump to any conclusions,” Henry grunted.

A few minutes later Alec led the Black from the plane quietly and without fanfare. A man who apparently had been waiting for them said, “It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to Spain.”

His accent was more British than Spanish. He was everything John Hudson had said of him, big and burly and ugly. Even more impressive than his tree-trunk build was his face. It was cleaved by a long deep scar across his right cheek. Alec found that he was making a great effort not to offend their host by recoiling before it. To avoid embarrassment he faced the man more squarely than before, observing the pallor of his skin, the heavy jowls and the dark circles beneath his eyes. And such eyes! As John Hudson had said, they appeared to be black and were as piercing as an eagle’s. They alone in this deathlike face were vitally alive. Here, Alec decided, was a sick man despite his tremendous, powerful bulk.

Henry shook the man’s big hand, saying with a rising inflection—as if he didn’t already know who it was—“Señor González?”

“Angel,
por favor,
” the man corrected, laughing—and surprisingly his voice was not only cordial but deep
and strong as well. “Please,” he added, “there must not be formality for I feel we have known one another for years. May I call you Henry? And you Alec?”

They nodded in answer, their eyes never leaving the man.

His black hair was short and crew cut. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old but one wouldn’t have known that from his face. Only the recklessness in his eyes and his wild laugh betrayed his youthfulness.

“Come, my friends,” he said, waving a magnificent sombrero, “I am most anxious to take you home. There is nothing to detain us here. I have already arranged for your entry.”

González moved toward the yellow convertible, striding with the easy grace of a leopard. Alec walked behind with the Black, wondering what this man in the well-worn, tight leather charro clothes had in store for them.

Suddenly González spoke. “My people, I’m afraid, are not as impressed by the speed of a horse as I am or they would be here to see the Black. But it is just as well for I imagine you have had your fill of such excitement.”

González glanced back at the stallion; then his eyes rested on Alec in a flat stare. Seconds ticked by before he shrugged his shoulders and, turning around, continued walking.

The Black eyed the covered trailer scornfully but did not object when Alec led him inside. He pushed against the padded sides. The stall wasn’t much larger than the one on the plane. Alec made certain the ropes
holding the stallion were tight enough and then went to the back seat of the convertible where he could speak to the Black through the small trailer window.

They drove slowly through the outskirts of the city with its rattle and volley of Castilian Spanish. The language was spoken loudly, rapidly, and his high-school Spanish was of no help to Alec at all. Yet the people on the crowded streets were little different from those he’d left behind on the streets of New York. They were just as well dressed, with the same number wearing dark glasses to shield their eyes from a hot summer sun. They stopped before store windows, too, in much the same way—and Alec guessed that it was no different in modern cities the world over.

Soon, however, they had left the city behind and the convertible and trailer picked up speed. As they rode farther into the country, snatches of the conversation going on in the front seat reached Alec.

“Henry, your picture of Spain is that of a golden legend and a very profitable one—promoted, I might add, by our State Tourist Department in Madrid,” González said, laughing. “Actually, your picture of the Spanish dancer lifting up her arms with castanet in hand and tapping out a
taconeado
with her feet is no more typical of Spain than a glamorous Hollywood movie set is of your country.”