The Black Stallion Returns Read online

  Sleep did not come soon to Alec that night. Wide awake, he lay in bed listening to the voices of the Bedouins raised high in song and laughter as they feasted. He thought of what winning the race meant to them and to Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak. A smile crossed his face as he remembered Henry’s words when he had told them he was going to ride the Black in the race … “Glory be, Alec, you’re the luckiest kid ever to put foot in a stirrup!”

  But Mr. Volence had not shared Henry’s enthusiasm. “I know it’s what you wanted, Alec,” he had said, his face grave and drawn with concern, “but I wish you weren’t riding. Handling the Black is a big job in itself, and in a race such as this there’s no telling what he’ll do. The terrain is another thing to consider. The Bedouins know it well, probably every inch of it, while it will be new to you. They will watch you closely for they fear Shêtân, and if you make the slightest mistake, I’m sure they will move to their advantage. You are not in America, Alec, and don’t forget it for a second.… In this race there will be no rules.”

  Alec turned on his side. He realized well the dangers ahead, the responsibility he would assume once he mounted the Black. Nor did he underestimate the speed, heart and stamina of the other horses and the skill of their riders. But he had confidence in his horse … confidence in himself. And, like Henry, he felt that he was the luckiest kid ever to put foot in a stirrup. A few minutes later his eyes closed and he slept.

  The long line of horsemen extended halfway down the floor of the valley. In front rode Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak on his gray stallion. Beside him, straight and slim in her saddle, sat Tabari on Jôhar. Alec, astride a bay horse and leading the Black, rode behind him, followed by Henry, Mr. Volence and Abu Ishak’s tribesmen and their families.

  Alec turned in his saddle and looked at the line trailing far behind them. They were all there … the men, the women, even the children; those old enough to hold a rein rode their own ponies, the others were lightly held in their fathers’ arms. Colorful trappings draped the saddles and bridles of their horses. Some of the men carried spears and vari-colored shields. They laughed and shouted as their horses trotted along.

  They rode easily thoughout the day, the well-traveled trail which they were following taking them to the west in the direction of the desert.

  It was still light when Tabari, turning in her saddle, called to Alec, “Ahead is the Plain of Andulla.” Alec saw the broad, brush-covered plain before them, topping a rise in the ground. Long lines of colorful caravans like their own moved across it toward the west, where the plain merged with the white sands of the desert. A wave of excitement passed through Alec and swept down the line to the men, women and children of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak’s tribe. “We’re here!” whispered Alec, as his bay horse moved to a fast trot to keep up with others. The Black ran easily beside him, his ears pricked.

  The traffic became heavier as they converged with other caravans on the plain. Clouds of gray dust rose from beneath the hoofs of dancing horses. Some Bedouins were on foot, their voices raised high in songs and chants as they stamped the ground. One group capered alongside Alec. An old Bedouin with wrinkled face studied the Black, then his brown, flickering eyes under half-closed eyelids turned to Alec. “Shêtân? Shêtân?” he asked in a high crackling voice.

  Alec nodded. The Bedouin stamped his feet until the gray dust all but obliterated his thin figure. He screeched loudly to the others in his group and they ran quickly toward Alec and the Black. However, before they reached the stallion, several of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak’s men rode in among them to keep them from getting too close. Their cries pierced the air as they ran alongside the horses. Finally, as Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak increased the pace of his horsemen, they dropped behind.

  After a short time they came to the main camp on the edge of the desert. Men, women, boys and girls by the thousands were already there. Some were busily pitching their tents, others were standing around their cooking fires … all were excitedly awaiting the coming race.

  Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak led his band away from the others, and as they passed the many groups there came the shrill cries of “Shêtân! … Shêtân!”

  Alec’s blood pounded as he heard them shout and turn eager eyes toward his horse. He marveled at the calmness of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak and Tabari, who rode ahead. A stranger among these people, Alec felt closer to the Black than ever before. He leaned from his saddle and reached out to pat the stallion. What, he wondered, would be the outcome of tomorrow’s race?

  THE RACE

  17

  Alec awakened the next day to find that many more tribes had come in during the night. He saw the Bedouins standing by their cooking fires, their voices raised high and shrill. There was a tenseness in the air, and already many were squatting and standing around the space where the race would start. Alec felt keyed up.… He was anxious for the race to begin.

  Smiling, he shook his head as one of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak’s servants offered him breakfast. He did not feel like eating. A large group was clustered about the Black and he made his way toward them.

  Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak saw Alec and strode up. “It will not be long now,” he said. “We race before the sun becomes too hot.”

  “I’m all set,” Alec told him. “How about the Black? Is he all right?”

  “Yes … my men are keeping the others away from him. He is excited but that is to be expected.” He paused, then added, “Ride Shêtân as you see fit, Alec. I have no instructions … only, remember that the men who ride against you know the terrain well. For that reason it is better that you do not set the pace. You have studied the map of the course which I gave you last night?”

  Alec nodded. “I know it,” he said. It was clear in his mind just how he would ride this race. In the broken mountainous country the others would have the advantage for, as Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak had said, they knew the terrain and were used to it. He would keep the Black close to the leaders until they reached the open country.… Then, across the desert to the brush-covered plain, would come the test. He felt confident that the Black would pick up the lost ground when he called upon him.

  The soft rhythmic beating of drums suddenly resounded across the plain, stilling the voices of the Bedouins. Then the men began to dance while women and girls clapped their hands and chanted. Shouting, whistling, and hissing through their teeth the men stamped their feet upon the ground, the dust rising in soft whirls about their bodies.

  “Come,” Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak said, “it is almost time.”

  Alec followed him as the sheikh walked toward the group still clustered about the Black. They fell away, forming a narrow path as Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak reached them. Alec felt their curious eyes upon him as he walked up to the black stallion, who was already wearing bridle and saddle.

  Running his hand across the stallion’s neck, Alec pulled the small head to him. The Black nuzzled him with mole-soft lips.

  Pushing their way through the crowd, Henry and Mr. Volence entered the circle. “We’ve been lookin’ over the others,” Henry said. “They’re the finest bunch o’ horseflesh I’ve ever set eyes on.”

  Mr. Volence nodded in agreement. “They are, Alec,” he said. “You’ll have to get everything out of the Black today.”

  “I will,” Alec said confidently.

  The shouting of the dancing Bedouins and the booming of the drums rose to a new, high pitch. Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak touched Alec on the shoulder. “It is time,” he said in a low voice.

  Nodding in assent, Alec drew off his head shawl and then stripped to the waist. Finishing, he turned to the sheikh. “Okay, sir, I’m ready,” he said.

  Henry moved alongside him. “Let me boost you up for good luck, Alec,” he offered.

  Smiling, Alec pushed his knee into Henry’s lowered hands. The Black pranced nervously as soon as he was in the saddle. Quieting him, Alec caught Henry’s eye and a look of understanding passed between them. Henry lifted Alec’s feet out of the long stirrups and shortened them
until his knees rested high on the stallion’s withers. The saddle had been weighted to make up for Alec’s light body, and now the Black carried no less than any other horse in the race.

  The white-robed Bedouins standing in a circle around them looked at one another and then conversed in lowered tones. How strange, they were saying, that astride Shêtân, the stallion of Sheikh Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak, should sit this unrobed white-skinned youth who rode with such short stirrups. Ê, by Allah, the Sheikh Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak must have lost his head! What chance had Shêtân now against a great stallion like Sagr with the Sheikh Abd-al-Rahman’s long, powerful limbs pressed about his girth? Dispersing, they ran to seek the tribesmen of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak whose misguided loyalty would prompt them to wager on Shêtân.

  Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak, his hand on Shêtân’s halter, pointed toward a tent set apart from the others, and Alec saw an old man squatting in the shade.

  “That is the Sheikh Abdullah ben Brehim. He has seen more races than any of us, and was a great friend of my father. It is he who will start the race and declare the winner.”

  Alec watched as the old man rose to his feet and with short strides walked past them. He was not more than five feet tall and his face was wrinkled with age. A red shawl covered his head and matched the flowing garment he wore over his slight body. A short way beyond them he raised a thin hand and the chanting and dancing of the Bedouins stopped. Silence reigned across the Plain of Andulla as he strode toward the starting place.

  They waited until the old sheikh had squatted upon the ground, then Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak turned to Alec. “Come … he is ready,” he said. Leading the Black, they went toward the starting line. Ahead of them swarmed the Bedouins, forming a line on both sides of the place where the race would start.

  Tossing his head, the Black kept reaching for his bit, and his ears cocked quickly as he saw the other horses and riders approaching the starting line. Alec counted five of them; the nearest to him was Sagr, his golden mane shining in the early morning sun. He crab-stepped nervously when he saw the Black. Astride him Abd-al-Rahman smiled and lifted his crop; then his legs tightened about Sagr’s girth and he moved ahead down the long passage lined with cheering spectators.

  “That is a horse,” said Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak, turning to Alec. “There will never be a race to equal this one.” Removing his hand from the stallion’s bridle, he added, “Go now, Alec, for the rest is up to you and Shêtân.”

  Turning in his saddle, Alec waved at Henry and Mr. Volence, who were walking behind him. Then he shortened his reins and moved forward in the saddle. Halfway to the starting line, Alec heard his name called and turning, saw Raj.

  “I wish you much luck, Alec,” Raj said, running alongside.

  “Even with your brother and Sagr in the race?” Alec smiled.

  “Ê … yes, for I have a wager with him that your Black will beat Sagr.” Raj’s eyes turned toward the starting line. “They are waiting to begin, Alec.” He waved and left.

  As they neared the other horses, Alec felt the Black’s giant body quiver between his legs. Then the stallion’s wild, shrill whistle shattered the air, silencing the voices of the Bedouins. Eyes turned toward them, and the other horses moved uneasily, their teeth bared beneath curled nostrils.

  The old sheikh on the starting line rose to his feet and motioned Alec forward. As the Black approached, Sagr reared and fought for his head. Abd-al-Rahman pulled him down, and moved a short distance away.

  Alec held a light but firm hand on the reins. Rising in his stirrups, he patted the Black’s neck and talked to him. Turning back an ear, the stallion listened and was quiet.

  Abdullah ben Brehim raised his hand when the Black reached the starting line, and turning his dry, wrinkled face up to Alec, he smiled. Then his gaze passed down the line to see if the others were ready.

  A tenseness gripped Alec’s body and unconsciously he drew back on the reins. Snorting, the stallion plunged over the line. Alec pulled him to a stop and then, turning, made his way back amidst the taunts and laughter of the spectators. He did not mind their laughing. Catching sight of the flashing brown eyes of Abd-al-Rahman, he smiled. The sheikh raised his crop and the pressure of his legs made Sagr rear, his forelegs pawing the air.

  Alec again lined the Black up with the others. The tenseness had left his body and he felt calm and confident. He glanced quickly down the line at the taut faces of the men as they sat lightly on their horses, which had been born and bred for just this race. All possessed bodies of wonderful physical perfection … slanting shoulders, deep broad chests, powerful legs and knees not too high nor too low, all marks of speed and endurance. Yes, as Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak had said, this would be a race … and never would there be another to equal it!

  Alec leaned forward in his saddle. Between the pricked ears of the Black he could see the little old sheikh in the red headdress and gown, his hand still raised high in the air, his half-closed eyes still upon them. The spectators were silent; only the hoofs of the horses moving restlessly in place broke the stillness. Perspiration rolled from Alec’s face and neck and trickled down his back. He pressed his knees hard into the stallion’s black body. Any second now. The Black sensed it from the pressure of Alec’s knees. He stopped prancing, his ears pitched forward. Then the arm of the old man dropped.

  The horses shot forward as one. Alec heard the shouts of the Bedouins as the Black bolted. Then he could hear nothing but the pounding of hoofs; feel nothing but the surge of great muscles between his legs; see nothing but the ground slipping away in long, rolling waves beneath him.

  Sagr, faster at the break, took the lead. Alec, content to let Abd-al-Rahman set the pace, moved the Black over beside the chestnut stallion and held his nose even with the other’s stirrups. Galloping well, the Black fought for his head. Alec held the reins firm and talked to him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the others riding hard a few yards behind.

  In front the course lay open. So far everything had gone as he’d planned. He would cling to Sagr’s heels across the brush-covered flat and into the mountains. Then as they entered the last half of the race, which would take them over the desert and back to the starting place, he would call upon the Black … and he was certain the great stallion would not fail him.

  The Black had hold of his bit, but was not pulling. As he galloped across the plain, swirls of gray dust rose behind them. Abd-al-Rahman, his long black beard whipping in the wind, glanced back as they neared the trail that would lead them through the mountains. Then he sat down to ride, and Sagr leaped forward.

  Alec loosened the reins slightly and kept close behind him. Sagr’s powerful quarters rose and fell in front and Abd-al-Rahman’s back and shoulders swayed as he swung with him.

  They turned into the mountainous trail without slackening their speed. It was a gradual ascent lined with overhanging brush that tore at Alec’s bare flesh. Turning slightly in his saddle, he saw that the others had slowed down, sparing their mounts. Ahead Sagr was galloping as though it were the finish and Alec wondered whether he could possibly keep up this speed. For a second he drew back on the reins and the Black fought for his head. Sagr increased his lead and thundered ahead.

  Finally the trail leveled and they entered a long ravine with towering cliffs on each side. Sagr’s powerful quarters rose and fell fifty yards away. Alec moved far forward in his saddle and gave the Black his head. As the stallion extended himself, his feet scarcely touched the ground and he slowly cut down Sagr’s lead. Alec saw Abd-al-Rahman glance behind at the sound of the Black’s thundering hoofs. Reaching for his crop, he moved it alongside the chestnut and he sprang forward.

  Alec was certain now that it was Abd-al-Rahman’s intention to run the others into the ground early in the race. And with the exception of the Black he was doing it, for the two were far in the lead. Alec wondered whether his horse could keep up with Sagr. The Black was galloping hard, and lather ran from his body.

  The trail le
d up again at the end of the ravine, and Alec felt the Black gather himself and the surge of great muscles. He raised his hands and, responding, the stallion galloped up the trail.

  Sweat ran from Alec’s body and painfully entered the open cuts he had suffered from the brush. Sagr was just ahead and Alec could hear the heaving of his body. They neared the top and Alec knew they had covered half the distance. Two more miles to go. He moved farther forward on the stallion’s neck and placed a hand on the wet coat.

  Abd-al-Rahman’s swaying body disappeared from view as Sagr reached the summit. Alec knew that the trail would now lead down a short distance to the desert. It would be then that he would have to call upon the Black for every last bit of speed and stamina he had in his giant body.

  As he reached the summit, he saw Sagr halfway across the open flat which led down to the desert. Suddenly there was the sharp crack of a gun and the dirt kicked up in front of Sagr! Alec pulled hard on the Black, slackening his speed. There was another shot! It came from the brush to the right of the flat, and Alec, turning quickly in his saddle, saw the outline of a man’s body. Ibn al Khaldun! Alec turned the stallion and bore down upon him.

  The white-robed figure, intent upon bringing Abd-al-Rahman in his gun sights, did not see Alec until the black stallion was a short distance away from him. Then Ibn al Khaldun turned, fear showing in his swarthy face as the stallion swept toward him. Screaming, the Black reared with Alec clinging to his neck. Ibn al Khaldun stumbled on the brush and fell to the ground. Rolling quickly, he turned and pointed his pistol at the Black, who rose high above him with pawing hoofs. His pupils were dilated and blood and sweat ran down the fatty crevices of his face as his finger tightened on the trigger of his wavering gun. Alec jerked the stallion’s head, attempting to pull him to one side. Then the crack of a gun shattered the air.