Black Stallion and Satan (5 page)

One moment he was still, but the next he had broken out into furious action! With a snort he bolted, flinging his hindlegs and quarters high in the air. He ran a few yards, then his hindlegs thrashed the air again. Without stopping, he burst into a fast gallop and quickly reached the end of the field. He stopped there and lowered himself to the ground. Rolling over on his back, he shoved his body into the soft earth, grunting with pleasure as his legs moved above him. He was up quickly, once more bursting into full gallop and slowing only when he came to the stone fence; then he turned with amazing swiftness and came up the field again. This time he ran to Alec and stopped before him.

The boy’s hand reached out to touch the disheveled head, to run down the satin neck. The Black was close to him, so close that it was a simple matter to slip lightly from the fence onto the stallion’s back. He was on him before he knew it.… It had come instinctively, naturally, as though each had known it was the way it should be.

The stallion moved forward, without bolting, and his gait was effortless and easy to ride. How different he
was from Satan, Alec thought. For only when the Black’s burly son was in full gallop was he easy to ride; only then did Satan lose the ponderousness that was so much in evidence at any other gait.

The Black broke into a gallop and Alec slid forward, pressing his hands close to the sides of the stallion’s neck. He had forgotten, too, how high the Black carried his head even in full gallop. Satan always pushed his head forward and his ears would lie back, flat and heavy against his head. The two horses were so different in many ways, yet beneath Alec’s knees worked the same giant muscles that helped provide each horse with his tremendous power and speed.

The Black’s strides swallowed the ground and he swerved abruptly to avoid the hollow. Alec moved with him, glorying in the strength of the stallion as he leveled out again and went back up the field.

Half-asleep, Henry heard the rhythmic beat of running hoofs. He turned uneasily in his bed, his back to the open window that looked out upon the field. His eyes remained closed as he mumbled, “I’m hearing things. It’s Sunday. I don’t have to go to the track today. Satan is taking a rest. No horse within miles … only Napoleon, and he’s not working today, either. Must be early … very early.”

He opened his eyes to look at the clock on his bureau. It was only a little past six o’clock. He was closing his eyes when the pounding beat of hoofs came again. He sat straight up in bed. The Black! Alec!

He ran to the window, carrying his bed covers with him in his haste. He saw the fast-moving black
figure coming up the field. But he didn’t see Alec, for the boy was stuck like a burr high on the Black’s withers and half-hidden by the whipping mane. Henry glanced at the barn, then back at the running stallion before he saw the boy.

“That crazy kid!” he said. “He shoulda waited for me.”

Henry reached for his clothes on a nearby chair and pulled them on hurriedly, but his eyes never left Alec and the racing Black.

The stallion’s strides shortened as he neared the fence, slowing to turn across the field. Henry saw then that he wore neither bridle nor saddle and that Alec was guiding him by pressing his hands hard against the Black’s neck.

“Alec can’t see anythin’ bad in that horse,” Henry said, shaking his head. “He never will, an’ maybe that’s why he gets away with it.” Henry drew on his shirt more slowly. “No sense in my gettin’ excited now. He’s up and havin’ no trouble.”

Henry marveled at the Black’s bursts of speed in the short field. There was a wildness to his every move, yet it seemed the stallion was ready to obey Alec’s slightest command. Now the great strides slowed as Alec moved his body back and away from the long neck. Henry saw the Black paw the air at a bird which rose a few feet in front of him, but he did it without breaking stride.

A short distance from the hollow Alec brought him to a stop, and the stallion lowered his head to graze.

Henry turned away from the window, looking for his shoes. When he found them, he sat down.

“If I could only keep it this way for him,” he said aloud. “If it was just him and the Black, I don’t think he’d have trouble with him. But just let the press get wise he’s here and they’ll raise such a clamor Alec will have to race him. It’ll be a different story then.… Put that devil on a track with the wind of other stallions in his nostrils an’ he’ll forget all about Alec’s bein’ up there on his back. I don’t want to see that. I aim to do all I can to keep it from happenin’.”

Henry bent down, and long after he had his shoes on he remained hunched over, his eyes focused on the floor. When he straightened, his face was a brilliant red from the blood that had rushed to his head. But tiny flecks of light pinpointed his eyes as he said excitedly, “I’ve got it. I think I have the answer.” He rushed from the room.

Alec and the Black were still at the far end of the field when Henry reached the fence. He called, but the boy didn’t hear him. Henry turned away from the field at the creaking of the iron gate and saw Mr. Ramsay walking hurriedly up the driveway. It was obvious that Alec’s father had dressed as hastily as Henry, for his shirt was unbuttoned, his hair was uncombed and he wore slippers instead of shoes.

When Mr. Ramsay reached him, Henry saw the concern in the man’s eyes. “Alec’s all right,” he said assuredly.

“I suppose he is.” Mr. Ramsay’s gaze remained on Alec and the Black for some time before he turned to Henry. “He’s certainly not having any trouble with him,” he added. “But what do you think, Henry? How dangerous is the Black?”

Henry avoided Mr. Ramsay’s eyes. “You got to have respect for what any horse might do,” he said. “An’ Alec has plenty of respect for the Black.”

“I know that, Henry,” Mr. Ramsay paused. “Then you don’t think Alec will have any trouble with him?”

Henry turned to him. “There are some things you can’t explain,” he replied slowly. “The Black’s willingness to do what Alec wants him to do is one of ’em. Under normal circumstances I think Alec will always be able to control him.”

“ ‘Under normal circumstances,’ ” Mr. Ramsay repeated. “What do you mean by that, Henry?”

Nodding his head toward Alec and the Black, Henry said, “The two of ’em alone just like they are now.”

“But that’s the way it’s going to be,” Mr. Ramsay returned quickly.

“Not if people find out the Black’s here,” Henry said. “They’ll have Alec racin’ him before he knows it. All the kid is thinkin’ about now is to keep the Black for himself, but once the press start building up interest in a race between the Black and some of the other champs, especially Satan, he’ll race him just to find out for himself which is the fastest horse. It’s in him to find out one way or another, and if a race is more or less forced on him, he’ll go through with it.”

“And you don’t think the Black should race. Is that it, Henry?”

“I know he’d cause a lot of trouble on a track, what with all the excitement and other stallions around. An’ I doubt that his love for Alec would be strong enough
to overcome his natural instinct to fight. I may be wrong … but I’d sooner not find out by watching it.”

“I suppose you’re right, Henry,” Mr. Ramsay said gravely. “But there’s a chance no one will know he’s here.”

“You can’t keep a horse like the Black where everyone can see him without somebody gettin’ wise,” Henry returned quickly. “But I got an idea, Mr. Ramsay. You know that farm upstate that Alec and I had in mind to buy when Satan was through racin’?”

Nodding, Mr. Ramsay said, “You two were going to start your own stud farm.”

“Well, now we don’t have to wait for Satan,” Henry said. “We got the Black. An’ I’m goin’ to suggest to Alec we buy that farm right now an’ take the Black there.”

“Henry! That’s a great idea!” Mr. Ramsay half-shouted. “We’ve got the money for it. He’ll do it. I’m sure he will.”

Together they turned to the field, and Henry was about to call Alec when he saw a tractor-trailer coming down the boulevard. He decided to wait until it had passed before attracting Alec’s attention. Suddenly there was a sharp, shattering retort from the truck as it backfired. The Black bolted. Alec lurched backward as the stallion’s swift move caught him unprepared. The boy’s hands reached behind him to find the Black’s quarters, then his right leg swung over the stallion and he slid off the Black, his feet landing lightly on the ground.

The Black slowed to a trot when he neared the
fence and saw the two men standing on the other side. Snorting, he shook his head, then turned in Alec’s direction. For a few minutes he looked at the boy walking up the field, then he lowered his head to graze again.

When Alec neared them Henry said, “You weren’t ready for him. That’s the way you get hurt.”

Alec stopped beside the stallion, his hand upon him; then he went over to the fence. “I know,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

“There’s too much noise around here for him, Alec,” his father said.

“Yeah,” Henry agreed quickly. “Not enough room, either. Why don’t you take him outa here?”

The boy turned from his father to Henry, his eyes puzzled. “Take him where?”

“Your father and I were just talkin’ about that farm we were goin’ to buy, where we could breed and raise our own colts. I’m ready to start right now, Alec. We got more than enough money with what Satan has won.”

“And I’m ready, too,” Mr. Ramsay added hastily. “That is … if you’ll hire me as your accountant.”

Bewildered, Alec turned from them to the Black, then back to Henry. “You mean with the Black?”

“Why not? We’ve got our stallion. We don’t have to wait for Satan.”

Alec’s face was brilliant with eagerness, but then his eyes clouded as he asked, “But what about you, Henry? You couldn’t come now … not with Satan racing.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Henry admitted. “But that’s not stoppin’ you from goin’ ahead and setting things up for us. Get the farm in working order an’ even start thinkin’ about the mares we oughta buy to breed to the Black. You’ll have plenty to do, Alec.”

“And I’ll help you,” his father said.

Henry saw the doubt in Alec’s eyes and he added hurriedly, “Meanwhile, I’ll be moving along with Satan this summer. My business is training horses, Alec. You belong at the other end of this partnership deal. You’ll be top man in raising our colts and fillies, teaching ’em to get along with people and”—Henry smiled—“making it easy for me like you did with Satan.”

“But it wouldn’t be the same without you around, Henry.”

“I’ll be around, Alec, an’ don’t you think I won’t be. I expect to set up a training track in that upper pasture an’ we can work the horses there.”

“If it could only be that way,” Alec said eagerly.

“No reason why it can’t. Not if we go at it the right way by buying the farm now, like I said, and working toward it.”

“But,” Alec asked, “if we do this, Henry, and I stay at the farm with the Black, who will ride Satan?”

“A lot of good jocks would give anything to be up on him. Lenny Sansone worked him all winter and spring, so I guess he’d be the one.” Henry paused. “But you could get away from the farm to ride him in his races just like you’ve been doin’, unless …”

“I want to make a clean break,” Alec finished for him. “Is that what you mean, Henry?”

The man nodded. “It’s up to you, Alec,” he said. “No reason why you can’t do both.”

The Black cropped the grass close beside Alec and the boy put his hand on him. “I’ll stay with him, Henry,” he said slowly. “I do belong at the other end.…”

Four weeks later, Alec sat close to his bedroom radio, awaiting the results of the Arlington Handicap being raced in Chicago. Satan was running and any moment the race would be over and the results announcing the winner would come.

He turned to the open window through which he could see the Black grazing in shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. He was glad that he had made the swift, clean break from the track. He belonged with the Black, and now they’d be together always.

Yet this was not the end, but rather the beginning … the beginning of everything for both of them. No longer was he a jockey. He had become a breeder of horses. And for his stallion he had the Black, the fastest horse in the world! In two weeks’ time they’d be at the new farm. Hopeful Farm he had decided to call it, for they were going there with great hopes for the future. He would be the breeder and have charge of the
raising and breaking of the colts; Henry would be the trainer, and Dad, the business manager.

Why shouldn’t they make a go of it? Weren’t Satan’s great triumphs on the track positive proof that the Black could pass on his speed to his get? And what better way could they spend Satan’s winnings than by investing the money in this farm, where other sons and daughters of the Black would be bred and raised? Even now, he could see the foals running close beside their mothers, timid and a little afraid; while in another pasture would stand the Black, watching them and knowing they were his.

None of them would ever take the Black’s place, no more than Satan had done. But they would have
his
blood, and they would go forth to the track, sounding the name of their great sire, to establish forever the stamina and speed of the Black.

Unable to sit still at the prospect of what lay ahead, Alec rose from his chair and went to the window. He stood there, watching the Black. Just a few more weeks to go, he told the stallion, then you’ll have acres and acres of pasture over which to run as far and as fast as you like.
Just two more weeks!

His thoughts turned to Henry as he remembered how disappointed his friend had been when they learned that they couldn’t have possession of the farm until the middle of August. Henry had wanted to see the Black and Alec at the farm before he left with Satan for Chicago. But a few weeks’ delay wasn’t very long to wait for something they meant to share the rest of their lives. And that’s what Alec had told Henry before the trainer had taken his reluctant but necessary departure.