The Black Stallion Returns, Page 2

  “Mr. Ishak owns the Black, Alec.”

  It was Henry’s voice, low and strained. Alec turned and faced his friend; there was a tightening in his throat. He swallowed; then the heat of anger rushed through his body. “But, Henry …,” he almost shouted. “How do we know? Last night … the hypodermic … the gold chain. Has this nothing to do with it?” His gaze swept to the policemen, then back to Henry again. “Were the contents of the hypodermic poisonous? Were there any fingerprints? Isn’t it strange that this man should turn up now … after last night?”

  They were silent when Alec finished, then Henry said, “Yes, Alec, it’s strange and all pretty hard to believe … especially comin‘ all at once like this.” He paused, then continued. “This morning when the police came they took the hypo and gold chain back to the station. Later on they came back and told me the stuff in the hypo was a deadly poison. No fingerprints were found. An hour ago they showed up again, bringin‘ Mr. Ishak here with ’em. He had papers which proved he owned the Black.”

  “I’d like to see them,” Alec interrupted, turning to Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak.

  The tall man handed the papers to Alec, who read them carefully. After a moment he looked at the policemen. One of them, guessing what was foremost in his mind, said, “We’ve checked Washington and he’s who he says he is. When he showed up at the station this afternoon we were suspicious, too.”

  Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak looked at Alec and his face was grave. “Perhaps,” he said, “it is best that I explain why I went to the station.” He paused, and his voice softened. “It was simply to identify myself, for I knew that it would be necessary before I could claim my horse. You see, he had been stolen from me. It wasn’t until reports reached me in Arabia of a great black stallion beating Sun Raider and Cyclone that I guessed the Black might possibly be my horse, Shêtân. I went to the American consulate and in time learned the story of how you and the stallion had survived the sinking of the Drake. Then there were the news pictures and I was certain that it was Shêtân.”

  Alec looked into the serious black eyes of the Arab. “If all you say is true,” he asked, “how do you account for the attack on the Black last night?”

  Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak was silent.

  Henry said, “We thought the guy who stole the Black might still be alive. Would he have any reason for killin’ him?”

  The Arab’s face was like stone. He took the hypodermic from Henry’s hand and examined it.

  Watching him, Alec said, “Then there was a gold chain left behind. Show it to him, Henry.”

  Henry held the chain out to Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak. There was no change in the Arab’s set face, no sign of recognition. Yet, Alec felt something in the still tenseness of the barn. He was certain that the great bird with outstretched wings was not unfamiliar to Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak.

  Finally, the Arab spoke and his voice was cold and brittle. “It is not known to me,” he said. Alec noticed that he did not ask to see the chain as he had the hypodermic. His whole attitude convinced Alec that there was much that he was keeping to himself. “I’ll return for Shêtân in an hour,” he said curtly. Then he nodded to the policemen, and they left the barn with him.

  Alec and Henry didn’t speak, nor did they look at each other. Silently they walked to the stall door. The Black peered over, his eyes wild and staring. Abu Ishak was no stranger to him. He shifted his feet and flicked his long black tail; his nostrils were red and dilated.

  Alec ran a hand through the stallion’s heavy mane. “Fella, what are we going to do?” His voice was low and strained. Finally, he turned and met Henry’s grave eyes. “Do you think he’d sell him, Henry?”

  “No, Alec. He seems to want him pretty bad. And even if he would he’d ask a mighty high price for him. Where’d we get the money?”

  “I’d get it … somewhere.” Alec was quiet for a moment. The Black nuzzled his neck. “Henry! I’ve got it! Maybe Mr. Volence or Mr. Hurst, owners of Cyclone and Sun Raider, might help us. They could lend us the money!”

  “Yeah, they might at that. They’re both interested enough in him. Worth tryin’ if Abu will sell.”

  The minutes passed. Henry walked awkwardly around the barn rearranging bridles and saddles that didn’t need it. Finally he walked to the doorway and sat down on the step. Better to leave Alec alone with his horse, he didn’t have much time. Henry drew out his pocketknife and began whittling a piece of wood. Funny, the way you could become attached to some horses. It was no new experience for him. There had been Dynamo, the tough little bay that had run away with him in his first workout. He’d just been an exercise boy then—a kid, like Alec. Suppose he would have been fired, too, if Dynamo hadn’t run the fastest quarter mile ever seen on the old Empire track. Yes, they were all good memories. There had been a few others in the years that followed … Chang, who could outsprint the sprinters and outstay the stayers; Me Too, who used to stand as quiet as a pony at the barrier waiting patiently for the race to begin while all the others fought to break out of line, yet was never beaten. Those two were good horses that he’d never forget.

  Then, years after he’d retired and the missus had done all she could to make him forget the track, along had come the Black and Alec, in spite of her. The black stallion was a better horse than he’d ever ridden or trained. Guess he knew that the first night he’d seen him. He had to laugh when he remembered how Alec, the kid from across the street, had talked the missus into letting him keep his horse in their barn. “His horse” … she’d probably visioned some old swayback like Napoleon. Funny, she never rebelled when she found out. Perhaps, Henry mused, there’s more horse in her than she lets on. Or maybe it was because, like everybody else, she felt sorry for Alec after all he’d gone through. He’d read about the Drake going down off the coast of Spain and had been told that Alec was one of the passengers, coming back from India after spending his summer vacation with his uncle.

  He’d never paid much attention to Alec. Saw him coming and going to school, but that was about all … a skinny kid, who gave the impression to anyone who didn’t know him that he was pretty much the studious type. When the report had come through that there were no survivors, he’d gone to see Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay. They had been pretty broken up, but they hadn’t given up hope that Alec was still alive. “He’s a strong youngster,” Mr. Ramsay had said.

  Five months later Alec had returned, and not alone. With him was the Black, unbroken and untamed. Yes, and unapproachable to all but Alec. Between him and the black stallion had grown a friendship that Henry in all his years around men and horses had never seen equaled. The Black was wild and a killer, no doubt about that … even now.

  Henry smiled a bit as he remembered the time they’d had breaking the stallion to bridle and saddle. Then a little later had come the night training sessions at the track. Finally, the big race … and long would racing fans remember and talk about how he’d drubbed Sun Raider and Cyclone, the two fastest horses in America. Perhaps never again would they see a horse like the Black.

  Nor would they see the Black.

  Henry glanced at his watch. Pretty near an hour since Abu Ishak had left. A few minutes later he closed his knife as he saw a horse van coming down the street. He rose slowly to his feet and entered the barn.

  “They’re comin’, Alec,” he said. The boy’s back was toward him, his face hard against the stallion’s neck.

  “He saved my life, Henry,” Alec said. He attempted to go on, but his voice broke. His shoulders swept forward and Henry knew that he was crying.

  “Yeah, I know, Alec …” Henry stopped and turned back toward the door.

  The van was at the gate now and soon would be at the door. Henry walked over to Alec and his long arm descended on the boy’s shoulder. The stallion tossed his head, baring his teeth. “Look, kid … I could tell you about horses that I’ve loved and lost in my time, but it wouldn’t do any good. Guess there’s no love greater than yours for the Black, ’cept maybe his for you
. I’m not goin’ to tell you that you’ll forget him, either, ’cause you won’t. But cryin’s not going to help. You’re a gutsy kid or you wouldn’t be here today, so pull yourself together and let’s try to figure somethin’ out between the two of us.”

  Alec’s hands swept across his eyes, then he turned to Henry. “Sure, Henry.…”

  “We’re up against a pretty high stone wall, Alec. By law and every right, the Black belongs to Abu Ishak. If he’ll sell him, we’ll get the money some place. If he won’t, the Lord only knows what we can do. I’ll talk to him and tell him what’s grown up between you and the Black and hope he understands. Puttin’ our cards on the table, we know that he’s traveled halfway around the world for the Black. You don’t do that unless you want somethin’ pretty bad and have a mighty good reason for wantin’ him that bad. He doesn’t seem like an unreasonable guy, though, so maybe he’ll listen and understand.”

  “You don’t think, Henry, that he had anything to do … with last night?”

  “No. Abu Ishak wants his horse alive. Somebody else wants him done away with. Who it might be, I don’t know. Maybe he knows, but he isn’t tellin’. The medallion didn’t mean anything to him, at any rate.”

  “I think it did, Henry … for some reason I can’t explain.”

  The van had stopped in front of the barn. Henry walked to the door, followed by Alec.

  Abu Ishak and a policeman were coming up the driveway. “I’ll talk to him now. You stay here,” Henry told Alec.

  The stallion neighed and Alec went to him.

  Ten minutes later the Arab entered the barn with Henry close behind. Alec’s eyes swept to Henry’s face and saw what he’d hoped he wouldn’t see.

  “He won’t sell, Alec.” It was Henry’s voice. Alec looked at Abu Ishak.

  “You won’t, sir … not for any price?” he asked.

  The Arab’s eyes met Alec’s. They seemed kind and Alec waited hopefully. “Mr. Dailey has told me how much my horse means to you. But, my son, an Arab’s horse is not for sale; our horses are part of ourselves. At home we have our families, but in the desert our horses are our only company, and men do not sell their friends.” He paused, withdrawing a wallet from his inside coat pocket. “I’d like to repay you for all you have done. Will you take this?”

  Alec shook his head. “No, thanks, sir,” he replied quietly.

  Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak looked at Henry. They both knew that it was useless to attempt to alter Alec’s decision.

  The driver of the van, who had been standing just inside the door, moved toward the stall. In his hand he held a lead rope. Abu Ishak stopped him. “I’ll take him,” he said.

  Alec and Henry watched as Abu approached the stall. He moved quietly and without hesitation. Reaching the door, he opened it. The stallion’s body trembled but he didn’t strike, nor were his teeth bared. If Alec had any doubts about Abu’s being the owner of the Black, they were gone, for no one, with the exception of Henry and himself, had ever approached the stallion without being struck at by hoofs that moved with the speed of a striking cobra.

  Abu Ishak walked up to the stallion, unafraid. He placed a hand gently upon the Black’s glistening neck. He spoke to him softly in Arabic and the stallion’s ears pricked forward. Swiftly Abu Ishak fastened the lead rope to the halter. He ran his hands down the stallion’s legs; then, taking a step backward, he stood staring at him. Many men had looked at the Black, but Alec had never seen one look like this. Finally, he turned to them. “You have been good to Shêtân,” he said slowly. “He has developed into a very fine horse.” He lowered his voice until Alec and Henry could barely make out his words. “It is possible that time has not been wasted.”

  The Black half-reared when Abu Ishak began to lead him from the stall, and for a moment Alec thought he was going to strike. The Arab stood motionless, although his eyes followed the stallion’s ascent. The Black descended and stood still; his head turned in Alec’s direction and he whistled softly.

  Alec stood still, he couldn’t move. His horse … would life be worth living without him? He held out his hand. “Hey, Black” … the words formed in his throat but he could not get them out. The stallion was through the stall door, Abu Ishak beside him. His hoofs rang on the floor as he moved toward Alec. Reaching him, he lowered his small head, the black mane falling down over his bewildered eyes. Alec mechanically pushed it away and rubbed his forehead, as he’d always done. Suddenly he realized that this was the last time he’d hold his horse and his arms fell around the long neck as he pressed his head hard against the stallion’s forehead.

  Minutes passed and it was quiet in the barn. Then Alec looked up and his gaze met Abu Ishak’s. “You’ll be good to him?”

  Abu Ishak nodded.

  Alec’s hand slipped from the Black’s forehead to the mane. Walking slowly, he passed his horse, his fingers trailing along the black coat; then he went to the small tack room in the back of the barn. There he sat on a trunk, knees and fingers pressed together over the bridge of his nose. He tried not to hear the sound of the Black’s hoofs as he left the barn, the shrill whistle. Then came the roar of the van’s engine, the grinding of gears, and the hard rubber wheels on the gravel driveway.

  His horse was gone. Would he ever see him again?

  BLOODLINES

  3

  Alec’s father allowed the evening newspaper to fall to his lap and withdrew his long legs from the footstool in front of him. Through the porch screens he could see the sun setting behind Dailey’s barn. He turned to his wife, who sat sewing beside him. “Gettin’ dark, Belle. You’ll hurt your eyes.”

  She laid Alec’s corduroy pants down on her lap and removed her glasses. “Just patching up his riding pants again. He might want them, you know.”

  “Yes, he might. Hope so.” Mr. Ramsay rose to his feet. “Know where he went, Belle?”

  “He said he was going for a walk.” Mrs. Ramsay picked up her sewing again. “I’m worried about him, Bill. He hasn’t eaten much … nothing appeals to him.”

  “Glad he’s out of his room, anyway. He’s done nothing but coop himself up there for the last two weeks.”

  “But he’s been studying hard, Bill. And he did so well in his final exams.” Then she added proudly, “One of his friends told me today that Alec got the highest marks in his graduating class.”

  “Yes, it’s great, Belle. But it’s still not like Alec to study hard. Of course, we both know the reason was that he wanted to take his mind off the Black. Wonder what he’ll do now, though, with school over for the summer?”

  Mrs. Ramsay looked up from her sewing. “Do you think we could afford to get him a horse to replace the Black? It could be his graduation present.”

  “Guess we could afford it all right, Belle. Don’t know as it’ll do any good, though. No horse could ever replace the Black as far as Alec’s concerned.” Mr. Ramsay sat down in his chair again and put his legs back on the footstool. “Might ask him tonight how he feels about getting another horse,” he continued. “After all there’s a long summer ahead and in his present frame of mind he’ll want to be kept busy.”

  It was after dark when Alec returned. He greeted his parents and then sat down.

  After a few minutes’ silence, Mr. Ramsay said, “You certainly did well in your exams, son. We’re mighty proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Alec’s father filled his pipe, then lighted it carefully before he spoke again. “Anything special you’d like as a graduation present, Alec?”

  “No, Dad, thanks.…”

  “Your mother and I thought you might like a horse—.” He stopped. He had been going to add “to take the place of the Black” but thought better of it.

  Alec didn’t answer for a minute, and when he did speak his voice was low, so low that it was hardly audible. “I don’t think so, Dad … thanks … not now, anyway.” He rose to his feet. “I think I’ll go up to my room, if you don’t mind, there’s a book …” He walked quickly
inside the house.

  The following day Alec visited the old barn for the first time since the Black’s departure. Nearing it, he heard Tony’s voice. “That’sa good-a horse, Napoleon. Tomorrow you feel-a beeg again.” Alec glanced at his watch. It was early in the afternoon for Tony and Napoleon to have completed their rounds.

  When he entered the barn he saw Tony alone with Napoleon. The little Italian huckster had the old gray horse’s head between his hands and was looking at him worriedly. “Anything the matter, Tony?” Alec asked after a moment’s hesitation.

  “ ’Allo, Aleec. It’sa da Nappy, he no feel so good.”

  Walking over to them, Alec ran his hand across the horse’s back. “He’s getting old, Tony. Have you seen a vet?”

  “No. Napoleon, he no need a vet. He still wan young feller. Know what’sa da matta with him? He misses da big Black, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, Tony … guess that’s it. And I’m sure the Black misses him.”

  Tony led Napoleon into his stall, and Alec walked to the barn door. Outside he saw Henry. Calling, he ran toward him.

  Henry smiled as Alec came up. “Missed you,” he said, “but imagined exams were keepin’ you pretty busy. How’d they go?”

  “Okay,” Alec said, “passed ’em all.”

  They walked to the barn and sat down on the bench. Finally, Tony came out. “ ’Allo, Henree,” he said, “what’sa new?”

  “Nothin’, Tony. Same old stuff. Napoleon any better?”

  “He’s-a okay. Just what ya call it … depressed? Anyway, he miss-a da Black.”

  “He’ll be all right in a few days,” Henry assured him.

  “You betch. Time-a heals everythin’.” His black eyes shifted to Alec. “Well-a hafta go home to da wife and bambinos. Addio!”

  A few minutes after Tony had left, Alec and Henry saw a limousine pull up in front of the gate. A tall man got out, pushed his hat to the back of his head, and looked inquiringly in the direction of the barn.