The Black Stallion (17 page)

“As soon as I received Mr. Hurst’s letter, I phoned Mr. Volence in Los Angeles and read it to him. I asked him if he felt the same way about it, and he said, ‘Yes, definitely.’ He went on to say that, with the country talking so much about this mystery horse, it would save them running another match race next month. ‘Might
as well kill two birds with one stone—’ he said, ‘Cyclone and Neville’s Folly!’

“Neville’s Folly, heh, Mr. Volence—just wait’ll you see him in action!” the article finished.

Alec looked up from the paper at Henry. Slowly a grin spread over his face. Instead of feeling delirious with excitement as he had expected, he felt cool and composed.

“He’s in, Henry,” he said. “He’s in!” The man and the boy looked at each other, and then turned and walked toward the stallion, who had stuck his black head out the stall door and was looking at them curiously.

Alec never knew how he got through the rest of that day in school. All that he could think of was that a week from today he’d be racing the Black against Cyclone and Sun Raider! Somehow, he still couldn’t believe that all this was happening to him—Alec Ramsay.

That night after dinner, he walked into the living room where his father was reading. He sat down in a chair and nervously turned the pages of a magazine. His father looked up from his paper.

“Received a letter from Mother today, Alec. She’s getting a big kick out of Chicago and seeing your aunt again. Says if everything is okay here, she’ll stay three weeks. That all right with you?”

“Sure, Dad.” Alec smiled. “You’re a good cook!”

His father laughed. “Exams at school will be starting pretty soon now, won’t they, son?”

“Monday.”

His father lit his pipe and then picked up the paper
again. He turned to the sports section. “Ready for ’em?” he asked.

“Guess so.”

The room became silent. Alec turned more pages of his magazine, and then looked up at his father whose face was hidden behind the spread newspaper. Thick smoke curled upward toward the ceiling. Alec cleared his throat and was just about to speak when his father’s voice broke the silence.

“All anybody can read in the sports section these days is news about that horse race out in Chicago next Saturday. Wonder who the devil this mystery horse is that Jim Neville’s got into the race?”

Alec’s pulses raced. “Dad—”

“Yes, son?”

“Dad, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You see—”

His father once again let the paper fall on his lap and looked at him.

Alec couldn’t keep his voice from faltering. “The mystery horse—the mystery horse,” he stammered, “is the Black.”

His father looked at his son in amazement. The room was still. “You mean, Alec, that the Black is the horse everyone’s been talking about—he’s the mystery horse?”

“That’s right, Dad.” Alec rose from his chair and went to the window; he drew the curtain to the side and then let it fall again.

“But who’s going to ride him in a race like that?” Mr. Ramsay asked.

Alec tried to swallow, but nothing seemed to go down. “I am,” he answered softly.

The doorbell rang. “I’ll answer it, Dad,” Alec said with relief. He knew it would be Henry answering his signal from the window.

Henry came in and removed his old brown hat. He gave Alec a knowing glance. “Evening, Mr. Ramsay,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Hello, Henry,” Alec’s father answered. “Glad you’re here. You must be in on this, too. Now tell me what the devil’s been going on between you two and the Black? I had a hunch something was up but I never dreamed it was anything as stupendous as this!”

“It’s quite a long story,” Henry said. Then for the next half-hour he told about the training of the Black, and Alec’s midnight rides at Belmont. Alec watched his father as he listened intently to Henry. How would he take it—he loved horses himself, but would he let him ride? It was a good thing Mom wasn’t here!

When Henry finished, his father turned to him. “Leave us alone a few minutes, will you, Alec, please?”

Alec nodded and climbed the stairs to his room. Henry looked at Mr. Ramsay. “You’ve got to let him ride in that race,” he said. “His heart and soul are wrapped up in it! Alec isn’t the same boy that you sent to India last summer. You know that as well as I do. But he’s a better man for it!”

“But, Henry, it’s such a dangerous race for him to go into—and on that wild horse!”

“Not any more dangerous than what he’s faced many times since that boat went down in the ocean. I’ve grown to know your boy pretty well within the last
few months, and I can honestly say that he’s different from any of us. He’s found something that we never will, because we’ll never go through the experiences that he’s had to.” Henry paused a few seconds. “Besides,” he continued, “I’d be mighty proud to have a boy that could ride that black stallion—something, I’m certain, no one else in the world can do!”

Mr. Ramsay rose and walked across the room. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes; then he walked toward the stairs. “Okay, Henry,” he said. “I’ll tell Alec he can ride!”

Jim Neville telephoned Henry the next day to tell him that everything was all set for the Black. The shipping charges to Chicago for the three horses would be taken care of from the proceeds of the race, as would all the rest of the charges to and from the track. Cyclone and Sun Raider were leaving Monday or Tuesday, so they could get in a couple of workouts before the race.

Henry couldn’t tell him when the Black would be ready to leave; he had to ask Alec first.

“Whatever you do,” Jim said, “don’t run him over at Belmont any more. I’m trying to keep the mystery horse’s identity a secret, because if it ever got out you’d be swarmed with reporters and it would only make the last few days all the more hectic. The Black is going to have enough excitement as it is!” Jim paused. “You’re sure he’s in good condition, Henry?” he asked. “Boy, I’ve gone way out on a limb with him. Got to wondering whether I’d been dreaming about that night—that’s why I keep looking at this stopwatch in my desk drawer; it’s the only thing that restores my confidence.”

Henry laughed. “Sure,” he said, “he’s in tiptop shape!”

A few minutes after he had hung up, Alec came into the barn.

“Jim just called,” Henry said. “Everything’s all set for shipping the Black and stabling him out there—not going to be any expenses at all!” Henry looked out at the stallion in the field. “When can we shove off, Alec? Cyclone and Sun Raider are leaving tomorrow at the latest; that means they’ll have a few days to get accustomed to the track.”

“Just got through talking with Dad again,” answered Alec. “He’s letting me ride under one condition—that I stay until I finish my exams.”

“How long is that?”

“I start ’em tomorrow and have my last one Thursday morning.”

“Whew! And the race is Saturday,” said Henry.

“Yes, and Dad insists we go out there by train. He called the station and found out there’s a train that leaves Thursday afternoon that’ll get us into Chicago early Friday morning. It’s the only fair thing to do, Henry, and he has been swell about the whole thing.”

“You’re right, son. And that isn’t so bad—gets us there a day ahead of time. Maybe it’s just as well we aren’t getting there too early, seeing it’s the Black we’re racin’.”

Alec laid down his pen. There, his last exam was over! He blotted his paper carefully and looked up at the clock. Almost noon. He’d have to hurry if they were
going to make the three o’clock train. He handed his paper to the teacher and walked out of the room.

In the hall he met Whiff and Bill. “How was it?” Bill asked.

“Not so bad,” Alec replied, going right ahead. They fell into step with him.

“What’s the hurry?” Whiff asked.

“Have to get home—some work to do,” Alec answered. There was going to be plenty of work before they got the Black on the train.

“How’re you comin’ with the Black?” Whiff asked.

“Okay. Why don’t you guys come around any more?”

“No, thanks,” Whiff answered. “Not any more of that horse for me—he looks too dangerous!”

“Me, either,” agreed Bill. “Talkin’ about horses, how’d you like to be ridin’ in that big race—day after tomorrow?”

Alec shrugged his shoulders.

“Should be a corker!” Bill went on. “Wonder who the mystery horse is going to turn out to be?”

“Probably some ham-and-egger,” chirped up Whiff. “Cyclone will walk away with it.”

“Not with Sun Raider in the race,” Bill said. “Who do you think’s going to win, Alec?”

Alec smiled. “Well, the only one you fellows leave me is the mystery horse—so I guess I’ll take him.”

“You’re stuck,” Bill laughed.

“We’ll see,” grinned Alec. He turned as he went out the door. “So long, fellas,” he said.

“So long.”

When he reached home, he found his father waiting for him. They didn’t talk about the race while eating lunch. Then they went over to the barn. Alec wasn’t nervous. Instead he was calm and eager to match the Black’s speed against Cyclone and Sun Raider.

In front of the barn Alec saw Henry and Jim Neville. Both of them were going to Chicago with Alec and the Black. Then there was Joe Russo and another man with a camera. Just to the side of them stood a large horse van. Alec and his father greeted the small group.

“Everything all set, Alec?” Henry asked.

“I suppose you took that exam in your stride today,” Jim Neville kidded.

“Hope so,” Alec answered. But his thoughts were turning forward. He nodded toward the van. “Guess we’re going to the train in style, heh, Henry?”

“Sure!” Henry said. “And we’re going out to Chicago in style, too. Jim tells me we have our own private car waiting for us at the station!”

“No!” Alec exclaimed.

“Yep. Isn’t that so, Jim?”

“Yes,” Jim replied. “Cyclone and Sun Raider got out to Chicago in special cars; there’s no reason why the Black shouldn’t. Besides, a lot of people are coming from far and wide to see these three horses, so they have to be at their best.”

“That’s fine with me,” Alec said.

“Look what Jim gave us,” Henry said. He held out a heavy, black horse blanket with a white border around it and white letters in the middle spelling
THE BLACK
.

“Gee, Jim, that’s great,” Alec said.

“Can’t let ’em have anything on the Black.” Jim smiled.

The stallion whinnied when Alec entered the barn. Alec took a soft cloth and wiped it over his large body. “Well, fella,” he said, “we’re off to the races.” Henry tossed him the new blanket and Alec snapped it around the stallion. “There,” he said proudly, “that’ll keep you nice and warm.”

“Sure makes him look like the real stuff,” Henry said.

“He is the real stuff.” Alec stroked the stallion’s neck.

Then he led him out of the barn. The Black reared when he saw the small crowd. Then he lifted his legs high and stepped gingerly in a circle.

“Let us take some pictures for the paper, will you, Alec?” Joe Russo asked.

“Sure,” Alec answered. “Come on, Henry, you get into it, too.”

Ten minutes passed while the photographer snapped pictures. Even Alec’s father got into them. “Hope you’ll be able to use these photos,” Alec smiled, “after Saturday.”

The Black reared again as the boy started to lead him up into the van. He neighed loudly and his head turned toward the barn; his ears pricked forward and his eyes shifted from Alec to the barn.

“What’s the matter, fella?” Alec asked.

“I know,” Henry said. “Every time we’ve put him into the truck, he’s had Napoleon with him. Now he’s wondering where he is!”

“You’re right!” Alec said. “But we just have to get him in anyway. Come on, Black.” But the stallion reared again, and when he came down he pushed his head into Alec’s chest, shoving him back toward the barn.

“Napoleon isn’t in there, fella,” Alec said. “He’s out working with Tony.” But the Black only pushed harder.

Fifteen minutes later Alec was still trying to get him into the van. “I’m afraid it’s no use,” he said. “When he gets his mind set on something, nobody’s going to change it!”

Jim Neville glanced at his watch. “Getting late,” he warned. “If we don’t start within a few minutes, we’ll never make the train—and there isn’t another until tomorrow!”

“Black,” Alec pleaded, “come on!” But the stallion only pranced around him, his nostrils quivering and his eyes looking for Napoleon. Suddenly his ears pricked forward. From far down the street came a familiar voice, “Apples, carrots, string beans, potatoes, cabbages, peas.”

“It’s Tony and Napoleon,” Alec exclaimed. “They’re on our street!”

“I’ll get ’em,” yelled Henry as he made a dash for the gate.

A few minutes later Napoleon loped down the street at his fastest trot. Tony and Henry sat in the seat of the wagon gripping the sides desperately as Napoleon dashed into the driveway.

The Black neighed loudly; his head turned toward
them. Napoleon’s old legs made the gravel fly. He rushed to the Black and shoved his nose up at him.

Tony and Henry jumped off the seat.
“Dio mio,”
exclaimed Tony, “what’s-a da matta with heem?”

Henry told Tony how they had taken Napoleon with them when they trained the Black at Belmont and how now the Black was going to run in the big match race in Chicago. “And now, Tony,” Henry finished, “we can’t get him in the van because we’re not taking Napoleon.”

Jim Neville spoke up. “Tony,” he said, “would it be all right with you if we took Napoleon with us to the race?”

Alec began to feel more hopeful. “Do you think we could, Jim?” he asked.

“Sure, if Tony’ll let us. There’s plenty of room on the train, and we’re sure to find a stable for him out there. What do you say, Tony? We’ll have him back to you by Sunday night, or Monday at the latest. And to make everything square, we’ll pay you for Napoleon’s time!”

Tony looked at Napoleon standing with his head beside the Black’s. He was silent a minute; then his dark face creased into a grin. “Sure,” he said, “why not? But no money, thanks please. He’s been-a da good horse for fifteen years—now he’s gonna have da vacation.”