The Black Stallion Returns (11 page)

“Might I suggest,” Raj said quietly, “that we proceed north up the mountain range, keeping close to the desert. It is quite possible that we will find a village, where we might be fortunate enough to find someone who can lead us to the Kharj district.”

Henry slapped his hand against his knee. “That sounds like a good idea,” he said enthusiastically.

The others nodded in agreement.

Early the following morning they departed. Walking in single file, they kept close to the mountains, avoiding the hot sun as much as they possibly could. Their muscles, hardened by the days spent in the desert, made walking on the solid ground easy. Springs and date palms were numerous, and every few hours they would stop to rest.

Two days passed without change. On the morning of the third day Raj, who was leading, raised his hand, signaling them to stop. “
Yashûf.…
look!” he exclaimed, pointing across the desert to the west.

A cloud of sand was moving rapidly toward them. Forms were now taking shape. Not gazelles … not
ostriches. Alec strained his eyes. There could be no mistake. A large group of horsemen was riding out of the desert!

“Raiders?” asked Mr. Volence of Raj.

The Bedouin youth shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps,” he said, his eyes never leaving the desert. “They travel fast.”

“What are we gonna do?” Henry asked. “Attract their attention or hide till they’ve gone? They might be the same bunch that knifed our guide!”

Alec reminded them of Mr. Coggins’ words, “The Bedouin is loyal and generous within the laws of friendship … hospitality is one of his supreme virtues, and he considers it his sacred duty.” He suggested that they go out to meet the rapidly approaching group.

“Perhaps you’re right, Alec,” Mr. Volence said. “We just can’t go on hiding out from Bedouins. I’m also in favor of stopping them.” He turned to the others and they, too, nodded approval.

The horsemen were only a short distance away and the sound of pounding hoofs in sand could be heard easily. Mr. Volence’s party had walked down to the edge of the desert and soon could make out the hard-riding figures. There were about twenty of them, sitting still and straight in their saddles as their steeds moved effortlessly across the sand. Alec grasped Henry by the arm. “Those horses. Look at them, Henry!”

Never in Alec’s life had he seen so magnificent a group of horseflesh. Blacks, bays, chestnuts galloped swiftly with heads held high and hot coats shining in the sun. They were very near now and Alec’s gaze swept to the chestnut in the lead. He was a stallion,
much larger than the others, with flowing golden mane and tail and four white stockings.

“What an animal,” Henry muttered.

“He’s big, Henry,” Alec said softly, “as big as the Black!”

The Bedouins had seen them, and their leader astride the chestnut signaled his band to stop. Then he and one of his men proceeded toward them. His stallion, rebelling against the bit that now held him to a walk, pranced with nervous ankles, eyes wide and staring, nostrils dilated and red. The white-robed figure on his back sat erect and still.

He was tall and big-boned. His smooth face, except for the great black beard, was dark and unlined, his brown eyes gentle. Like Raj he, too, had high cheekbones. It was difficult to guess his age. He was a free young man, a man in the making. Long limbs, wrapped around the chestnut’s girth, made the stallion dance as he stood there. A slight smile played upon the chieftain’s hard-set mouth as he viewed the group. Then he spoke in Arabic, and his voice was soft.

When he had finished, Raj answered. Then they conversed, their words precise but soft-spoken. How alike they were, Alec thought. The same high forehead and cheekbones, the same brown, liquid-soft eyes and set mouth. They talked for some time. Alec heard Raj mention the name of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak, and saw a heavy scowl fall over the face of the young chieftain. In an instant it was gone.

Finishing, Raj turned to his friends. “I have told him our story,” he said, “and he will take us into the mountains.”

“To Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak’s?” Alec asked excitedly. “I heard you mention his name.”

“La
 … no,” replied Raj. “He refuses to take us all the way, but has consented to leave us near enough to the kingdom of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak for us to reach it alone.”

Henry grinned. “Say, that’s good of him,” he bellowed. “I knew they were regular guys when I saw ’em!”

“Think we can trust them?” Mr. Volence asked skeptically.

Raj shrugged his large shoulders. “This is the land of the nomad, sir, where one cannot be certain of anything.”

The hoofs of the stallion clattered on the stones as he danced nervously in the sun, his coat shining like bright gold. The Bedouin on his back was eager to be off. He spoke to Raj again and there was a terseness in his speech that had not been there before.

Raj turned to his friends. “He will not wait any longer,” he said. “If we are going with him, we must go now.”

They followed the chieftain and his aide back to the group of horsemen, who looked at them curiously. Assigned to ride with four of the men, they mounted quickly and were off.

Alec found himself on the back of a dappled gray which, in spite of his double burden, kept up with the others. The Bedouin with whom Alec shared his saddle looked back and grinned.

Soon the desert was behind them and out of sight. The Bedouins slowed their horses down to a trot as
they picked their way through narrow gorges. To the east, the direction in which they were headed, the mountains rose higher and higher against the sky.

Hour after hour passed without a stop. They followed no path, but it was obvious to Alec that each horseman had traveled this route many times. Ever upward they went, slowing down to a walk to spare their steeds when the ascent became too abrupt.

Sometime in the afternoon they came to a wide plateau, where they stopped to rest. While the Bedouins were attending their horses, Alec made his way in the direction of the chestnut stallion. If ever there was a horse whose physical perfection and beauty matched the Black’s this was it. Loyal to the memory of his horse, Alec hoped, frankly, to find the chestnut lacking in some quality.

The young Bedouin chieftain had removed the saddle from the chestnut stallion. The horse walked forward with his head low, sniffing the ground. Finally, finding a depression, he lowered his large body carefully. Then, swinging over on his back, he swung himself from side to side, kicking his free white-stockinged legs in the air and grunting with pleasure as he drove his back into the ground. Pausing, he lay still, then scrambled to his feet, shook himself, snorted about, his head high and ears cocked.

Alec, sensing someone in back of him, turned and met the flashing eyes of the Bedouin chief. He smiled and nodded his head toward the chestnut.

“Sagr!” the chieftain called, and his horse trotted toward him.

He stopped as he neared Alec and the whites of his
eyes showed. His big body trembled and he pawed the ground. The Bedouin moved forward and grabbed him by the gold mane; then he stroked the slender, arched neck and small head, which was so much like the Black’s.

The Black and this chestnut. What a match that would be, thought Alec. And the winner? Alec favored his horse, but only because he knew well the courage and heart that were the Black’s.

A short time later they were on their way again. They crossed the plateau at a slow gallop and then assembled in single file as they began a still higher ascent. Ahead, Alec could see towering peaks, and below and behind, the mountainous gutted country through which they had already passed. Still farther to the west he could still see the white desert, over which they would have to pass again before returning to Haribwan.

That night they slept on the side of the high mountain range. Lying on his back, Alec stared at the stars. Later he rolled over on his side and watched the horses silhouetted against the sky. He listened to them cropping the grass and saw their sudden starts. Grazing only a short distance away was the chestnut stallion; beside him lay the young chieftain. Alec suddenly wondered what the man’s name was. That was something he doubted they would be able to learn. Finally, Alec’s eyes closed and he slept.

All the following morning they continued to climb, reaching the top of the range by noon. Just below them, Alec saw another plateau and ahead more mountains, even higher than those which they had just climbed.

When they reached the plateau the Bedouins
kicked their horses into a fast gallop for over a mile, then suddenly they slowed to a walk. Their chieftain signaled with unswept arm and two of his men spurted to the right flank and another pair to the left.

As they cantered forward once more Alec noticed that the Bedouins had unslung their guns and were riding with them across their thighs. This was not peaceful country through which they were riding so quietly, and the men who rode were not traders, but desert-hardened warriors who knew well their work as raiders and hunters.

For two days they advanced over the same kind of country, in the same formation, at the same speed.

One night as they camped Alec turned to Raj; they sat in a small group apart from the Bedouins. “Raj,” he asked, “how much longer?”

“I do not know, Alec. The man with whom I am riding will not say.”

“Can’t be much farther,” Henry growled, “we been ridin’ four days now. Besides,” he continued, nodding toward the mountains which were closing in on them, “we’ve just about come to the end of this plateau.”

Mr. Volence smiled. “We can always go up, Henry,” he said.

“Not much … or we won’t be able to breathe,” Henry muttered, sniffing the thin air.

They pressed on again as soon as it was light. After cantering for about a mile the Bedouin chieftain led his band up a steep ravine. They traveled swiftly in spite of the rugged country. Precipitous cliffs on which rose great masses of rock that seemed to totter precariously
were on all sides of them. The Bedouins’ skilled hands guided their horses as they zigzagged through hazardous trails, rising and falling with the terrain.

All morning and far into the afternoon they continued their ascent until only towering peaks rose above them. As the sun gradually fell behind the mountain range in back of them they came to an abrupt fork in the ravine, and it was there that they camped for the night.

After they had eaten the dried meat which the Bedouins had given them, Alec and his friends sat in silence upon the hard and stony ground. It was unusually quiet that evening. No fires burned and double sentries had been posted.

It was after dark when the tall, white-robed young chieftain came toward them, his black beard pressed deep against his chest. He called Raj to one side, conversed for a minute, and then walked away.

“We are near the kingdom of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak,” Raj told them when he returned. “Tomorrow morning we separate.”

“In which direction do we go?” Alec asked anxiously.

Raj nodded to the fork northeast of them. “They take the other,” he said. “The chieftain says it is only a day’s journey by foot. He will give us supplies.”

Although physically tired from the day’s long climb, Alec could not get to sleep. He could only think of tomorrow. What would it bring? Would Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak resent their arrival? Again he recalled Mr. Coggins’ words concerning the Bedouin’s hospitality:
“He will never refuse a guest. It would be an offense against his honor … a sin against God.” Alec rolled on the hard ground and lay on his side, watching the dark figures of the Bedouins as they slept. Yes, they were generous. They had proved that by accepting Mr. Volence’s party and taking them this far. There was no reason to fear them or Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak.

But Alec remembered the still, crumpled figure of their guide lying in the sand, the long knife stuck to the hilt in his chest. He recalled how Mr. Coggins had also told them, “To make him your enemy is to die … the law of the desert is that blood calls for blood, and death for death.”

When dawn broke, Alec had not slept, but he was not tired. His body was eager and tense, filled with energy for the journey ahead. The Black was near … another day. He was impatient to be off. Shaking his friends, he awakened them. “Come, it’s time to go!”

Later, as they were eating, the Bedouin chieftain came to them. His horses were still unsaddled; he appeared to be in no hurry.

“Raj,” Alec said, “tell him we’d like to leave. Ask if we may have food for our journey now.” His voice was clipped, excited.

After Raj had finished speaking, the Bedouin chieftain smiled as he replied, his brown eyes on Alec. When he had finished Raj told Alec, “He says you have grown your spurs. It is a good sign to be impatient, and he likes to see it. If we want to go now, we can. The supplies are ready.”

They left as the Bedouins were saddling their
horses; eyes turned momentarily toward the small group and then swept back to their mounts. The chieftain, having finished saddling Sagr, turned toward them. Alec raised his hand. The Bedouin smiled, mounted, and then pulled the stallion back onto his haunches.

As Alec took up the trail behind the others, he wondered if they would ever meet again.

It was late afternoon when the ravine suddenly narrowed and the walls of stone closed about them. Ahead was only a slender chasm in the rocks. As they neared it they saw that it was just large enough for two men to pass through abreast.

Raj led the way and they walked until they came to an abrupt turn.

“Say,” Henry muttered, “this is no place for me with my claustrophobia!”

As they rounded the turn, the cleft in the rocks suddenly ended and they found themselves overlooking a large valley. Trees were numerous and the ground was covered with a luxuriant green grass, the like of which Alec had not seen since they had left home.

“Look!” Alec shouted, pointing to a broad, treeless expanse in the center of the valley below, where a large band of horses was grazing.

“There must be hundreds of them,” Mr. Volence exclaimed. “This must be Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak’s domain.”