Son of the Black Stallion Read online

  “Decided it would be better taking him to Hancock,” Alec heard his father say. “I figured it wouldn’t take any longer than looking for a vet in New York.”

  Excusing himself, Alec left the kitchen, stopped momentarily in the living room, as though undecided where to go, then turned and walked up the stairs, his hand trailing along the well-polished mahogany banister.

  He went to his bedroom, and for a moment stood at the window looking at the barn, a dim, uncertain shape in the darkness. It would turn out all right, he told himself again. Things which started out badly had a way of righting themselves. The colt would come around in time. He was certain of that.

  He went over to the bed and stretched out upon it, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. He lay there quietly for a few minutes; then his gaze descended to the walls and traveled about the room, dimly lit from the light in the hall. His eyes passed over the Flushing High School banners, stopped at the pictures of the Black, Henry and himself, then went on to the soiled green jockey cap hanging there. Henry’s cap, the same one the old man had worn long ago when he had been riding. And the one which Alec had worn when he had ridden the Black in the match race at Chicago. Finally Alec glanced at the empty wall on the other side of his bed. He was saving that wall for the colt, for pictures of him, for his own jockey cap … his own colors. His silks would be black, coal black … the color of the great stallion and now his son. Somehow he had known Satan would be black. Alec thought of the white diamond in the center of the colt’s forehead. Maybe he’d add a white diamond to his colors, a white diamond on the right side of his shirt.

  Alec’s gaze left the wall and returned to the ceiling. Perhaps, he thought, he was getting ahead of himself. Perhaps the colt would never have the speed of the Black. Or they might have trouble with him. Maybe everything wouldn’t turn out the way he and Henry thought. Maybe the bad beginning was just an indication of much worse to come. And how well he remembered the words Henry had uttered angrily in the barn, as the colt had attempted to savage old Napoleon: “It’s going to be like trying to raise the devil himself.…” Could it be that Henry actually felt that way about Satan? Alec wondered about it as he lay there. That, and other things. How would his father react when he asked him to register the horse in his name? What would his father say when he told him he didn’t want to go back to school? Tomorrow, he decided, would be a better time to talk to him than tonight. Tomorrow, Saturday, when his father didn’t have to go to work, and might not have such a vivid recollection of all that had happened today. Tomorrow …

  Alec didn’t know how long he had lain there when he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He recognized them as his father’s. They were steady and quick, as compared to his mother’s soft, faltering ones.

  He heard his father reach the top of the stairs, walk toward his own room, hesitate, go on again, and then stop. It was still enough for Alec to hear the crickets chirping in the field across the street; then he heard the closing of the refrigerator door in the kitchen and the sound of his mother moving about downstairs.

  His father’s footsteps reached him again; this time they were coming toward his room! They came to a stop before his half-open door.

  “You up, Alec?”

  “Yes, Dad.” Alec rose to a sitting position on the bed as his father entered the room, switching on the light.

  “Just thinking?” his father asked.

  Nodding, Alec watched his father’s tall frame as the older man walked slowly over to the window and, bending, looked out. Then straightening again, he turned and looked about the room, glancing over the banners, the pictures, and the soiled jockey cap, finally letting his eyes come to rest on Alec. “What are you and Henry up to?” he asked quietly.

  It had come much too fast and unexpectedly for Alec. He looked down; but quickly, as though ashamed of his faltering gaze, he looked his father in the eyes again. “We want to race the colt,” he replied, “… eventually.” And the sound of his own voice seemed strange to him.

  “Thought it might be something like that,” Alec heard his father say slowly.

  He wished that he knew his father better … wished that he could read his eyes as well as he could Henry’s. It would have helped now.

  His father walked over to the bed, sat down beside him, and asked, “Do you think he’ll have the Black’s speed?”

  More startled than ever, Alec looked at him. His father’s face was still tense, his eyes somber. Yet his voice had been almost casual. “I—I think … hope so, Dad,” he replied unsteadily.

  Bending down, his father picked off a long thread from the legs of his brown trousers. “I read somewhere that most Arabian horses, while long on endurance, were short on speed. And I’ve heard, too, that they’ve been very much outbred by the American and English thoroughbred.”

  “Have you forgotten the Black?”

  “No, Alec. I haven’t forgotten,” he answered in the same tone, his face unchanging. “Strange, too. He was fast and big. Nothing like him in what I’ve read. They usually mention the small Arabian horses.”

  Alec smiled as he thought of Abu Ishak’s hidden stronghold in the land east of the Rub‘ al Khali. “Abu never thought much of publicity,” he said. Then he continued more seriously, “Besides, Dad, the Black wasn’t pure Arabian. His dam was pure-blooded, but his sire wasn’t.”

  “What was he then?”

  “Abu never told us. But Henry heard that soon after he was weaned he escaped and ran wild in the desert and mountains before Abu’s men caught up with him more than a year later. Then a few months after he sired the Black, he escaped again, this time taking the Black with him. It was almost another year before they tracked them down, and then they only managed to catch the young colt, the Black.”

  “An interesting story,” Alec’s father said, “… very interesting.”

  Alec looked at him. It was strange to be talking this way to his dad. It was almost like talking to Henry. All his life he had thought of his father as someone to admire, to respect … but this was the first time he had looked upon him as a person, a real person who was interested in the same things he was.

  “And now you and Henry are going to train the son of the Black for the track. But how about Henry’s job out west?”

  “He’s quitting,” Alec told his father. “He’s leaving for California tomorrow morning, but he’ll be back in ten days, he says.”

  There was a long silence before his father said, “I’d hoped there wouldn’t be any more of this, as I told you this morning.” Pausing, he added, “But I guess we knew all the time, Mother and I.”

  “Dad, it’s …” Alec began, only to have his father interrupt him.

  “I know, Alec. I know exactly how you feel, and that it’s your life … the life you’ve chosen.” Then he concluded, his voice a little strained, “Your mother and I have talked it over. We won’t stand in your way if it’s what you really want. And I guess you do.”

  “It’s what I want, Dad,” Alec said seriously, “more than anything else in the world. To ride, to train … to be around horses all my life.”

  “Don’t know where you get it from, Alec.” His father smiled. “It’s not from your mother’s side, nor mine. City people, all of us.”

  “People in the city can love horses, Dad.”

  “Yes, Alec, I suppose so.” Mr. Ramsay rose to his feet before adding resignedly, “Well, go to it. You’re on your own again.” He was near the door when Alec’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “Dad … this time would you go into it with me?” Alec heard his own voice fade into the stillness of the room. And he saw his father’s back straighten as he came to a stiff halt. “I need your help,” he added slowly.

  When his father turned to him, Alec saw the bewilderment in his eyes. Then the look disappeared to be replaced by a forced smile. “You’re kidding, Alec,” he said. “You don’t need any help with that colt, and if you do, what help could I, a cost accountant, possibly giv
e you?” He paused. “Or is it money you need?”

  Alec’s words were slow in coming. “I want to sell my colt to you.”

  “For one hundred thousand or so?” Then Mr. Ramsay saw the white, drawn look on his son’s face and stopped smiling.

  “No … for a dollar,” Alec replied. “Just to make it an official sale.”

  His father walked across the room and sat down beside him.

  “I have to,” Alec said quietly. “I can’t own him and ride him.”

  “You can’t do both, you mean? Why?”

  “It’s in the rules of racing. Henry told me.”

  “Then you want me to own him, so you can ride him. Is that it?”

  Nodding, Alec turned eagerly to his father. “Then he’ll be running in our name, Dad. Running in our silks. I want them to be black, all black, except for a white diamond on the shirt, the same diamond the colt has in the center of his forehead. You won’t have to do anything, Dad. Just sign the registration papers, which I’m getting tomorrow … just register the colt in your name. Will you do it?”

  His father was silent a long time, his lined face strained and his eyes somber again. Finally he stood up, walked to the window, and looked out. Then he turned and Alec knew his reply before he uttered a word.

  “I’m sorry, Alec, but I can’t do it. You say that I’d only have to register the colt in my name and that’s all there would be to it. You know better, and I do, too. One thing will lead to another … it always has.”

  Alec watched him without saying anything. He was talking like a father again, and the intimacy and mutual interest Alec had thought they shared for a little while had gone.

  “There will be complications all along the way,” his father was saying. “There couldn’t help but be. The training and racing of a horse is no different from any other business. And I have too much on my mind now, Alec. Too much work at the office.” He paused again before going on. “Then there’s your mother. It’ll be enough that you’re mixed up in this without my being in it, too. No, Alec,” he concluded, “I can’t possibly do it. I’m certain that you and Henry can figure out some other way.”

  Alec said nothing when his father had finished. He only raised his eyes when the older man sat down beside him again, as though reluctant to leave.

  “You’ll try to understand, won’t you, Alec?”

  “Yes, Dad. I understand,” Alec replied slowly and with effort.

  “You’re the horseman of the family.” His father grinned sheepishly. “I’m surely not. Wouldn’t know how to act as the owner of a race horse.”

  “But you wouldn’t …” Alec began, only to be interrupted again by his father.

  “I know I truly wouldn’t own the horse, Alec. He’d always be yours. Still, it would worry me,” he said, rising to his feet.

  Alec watched his father walk toward the door. He didn’t want to argue with him or attempt to talk him into it. No, he didn’t want it that way. His dad would have to go into it of his own volition or not at all. He saw his father stop as he came abreast of the textbooks on top of Alec’s desk.

  “Everything set for school?” his father asked. “Only about ten days left now before you go back.” His brow furrowed. “What about the colt?” And then, without waiting for Alec’s reply, he said, “Oh, yes, you told me Henry would be back by that time. He’ll take care of him, I suppose.”

  It might as well be now as later, Alec decided. His voice faltered a bit at the beginning, then steadied. “I—I don’t want to go back, Dad,” he said. “I want to stay here and help Henry.”

  His father didn’t speak for a long time, and when Alec raised his eyes he found him looking out the window again.

  “For the past few years your mother and I have allowed you to make your own decisions, Alec,” he said quietly, and his voice, although strained, was without anger. “We did it knowing you had good judgment and figuring, I suppose, you’d be a better man for it. Our confidence in your ability to do the right thing has never been shaken. In fact, we’re both mighty proud of you, even though your experiences have caused us great concern and worry at times.”

  He stopped, and Alec thought he’d finished—until his father turned around and looked at him. “But, Alec, you’re going off on the wrong road this time. I know it, and you know it,” he added quietly. “You love horses, and I thoroughly understand,” he continued. “You want to be a trainer, learning all there is to know about horses. You want to be able to take care of their ailments and a lot of other things. And the courses you’re taking in college will enable you to do just that,” he concluded.

  “Henry never went to college,” Alec managed to say defensively.

  “Ask him some time if, despite his practical experience, he might not have been able to do a better job if he had gone,” his father returned.

  Alec’s gaze fell. Henry had already answered that question when he’d put it to him earlier in the day. “But it’s only right that I be here to help Henry, Dad. Don’t you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand, Alec. But even I know you and Henry can’t do much with that colt until he grows up some.”

  After a few minutes Alec looked up from the floor. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, meeting his father’s eyes, “I could transfer to a college here in New York; then I could live at home and be around the colt.”

  “Yes, you could do that, Alec, if I had the money to pay your tuition. But I don’t at this time. You’re forgetting, aren’t you, that you’ve a two-year scholarship up at school? And that I’ll only have enough money to pay your tuition for the last couple of years?”

  “Yes, Dad. I’d forgotten.”

  His father walked slowly across the room, speaking at the same time. “But it’s your scholarship, and your decision to make, Alec.” He stood there at the door for a long time, and the room was quiet again. Finally he turned and walked back to the bed.

  “I’d like you to go back to school, Alec,” he said. His eyes narrowed, and the tiny specks of light in them were cold and gray. “I’ll make an agreement with you,” he continued. “A few minutes ago you wanted me to register the colt in my name … to own him, while you rode him.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll do it, Alec, provided you go back to school this year. Next year, if you and Henry feel the colt is ready for the track and it would be more advantageous to his training to have you around, you can transfer to a New York college and I’ll pay the tuition. You’ll be living at home and that will save dormitory expenses. What do you say to that, Alec?”

  There it was, right in his lap, Alec thought. And his father was standing there, awaiting his reply. Any way you looked at it, the proposition was a fair one. Everything was as he had wanted it … except that he would have to leave his colt. And he knew that his father and Henry were right about his going back to school. For in the end he’d probably be a better trainer. And, he reminded himself, it wouldn’t be a full year away from Satan. There would be Christmas vacation coming up within a couple of months, and a short time later June would have arrived, and he’d have the whole summer to spend with his colt. And the following fall Satan would be nearly a two-year-old and ready for real training; then he’d transfer to a New York school and be around all the time. “Okay, Dad,” he said. “It’s a deal.”

  His father held out his hand and Alec grasped it, saying, “Guess we’re in business, Dad.”

  “Yes,” his father replied gravely, “I guess we are.” He had started to leave the room after mumbling something about seeing Alec’s mother, when Alec stopped him.

  “There’s just one other thing, Dad.” Alec walked quickly over to his desk, sat down, and began writing. Moving over behind him, his father read what Alec wrote:

  TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

  I, Alexander William Ramsay, upon this date do sell my black colt, Satan, to William Augustus Ramsay, my father, for the sum of one dollar ($1.00).

  Mr. Ramsay saw his son hesitate as he neared the end of the note, look out the
window toward the barn, then turn back to the paper. Quickly Alec signed and dated it before blotting the wet ink.

  “I’m dating it tomorrow,” Alec said slowly, “… we can go downtown tomorrow and have it notarized.”

  “Pretty official, isn’t it?” his father asked, smiling. Then he saw Alec’s drawn face and added seriously, “You’re sure you want to handle it this way, Alec? He’ll always be your horse, you know.”

  Nodding, Alec answered, “It’s the only way, Dad.” And handing the note over to his father, he said, “You keep it.”

  His father read the note again and then placed his hand in his pocket, withdrawing a dollar bill, which he gave to Alec. Then he left the room.

  And after his father had gone Alec stood looking out the window toward the barn, the dollar bill clenched in his fist.

  SATAN RUNS FREE

  6

  A week had passed since the colt’s arrival, and the days had sped by quickly for Alec, too quickly … for on the following morning he was to leave for school. He had just finished building the wooden fence extending across the lower end of the hollow to keep Satan from the heavy underbrush and thistles, and now he sat down in the grass and wondered if Henry would arrive before nightfall.

  Sebastian, who had been sitting in the shade of the tall oak tree on the rim of the hollow, pulled himself lazily to his feet and trotted slowly down the embankment. When he reached Alec, the dog slumped down in the grass beside him.

  Alec stroked the puppy’s wet coat. At least Sebastian was as good as ever, he thought, and that was something to be thankful for. His thoughts turned again to Henry. The old man hadn’t written, but perhaps it was better that way. If anything had gone wrong, Alec felt certain that he would have heard from Henry. But what if he didn’t show up? What if Boldt made him fulfill his contract, and kept him out there for two more months? What about the colt?