Son of the Black Stallion (16 page)

But Boldt reasoned that Mr. Ramsay was hesitating because of the sum offered for the colt. He said quickly, “I’ll make it thirty-five thousand, Mr. Ramsay, but no more. After all, this colt hasn’t been tried. He may be worth nothing to me.”

Henry saw Mr. Ramsay gasp at the sum now being offered by Boldt for the black colt! Thirty-five thousand dollars for Satan, the horse he’d sworn that he’d sell,
give away
, or
destroy.…
The palms of Henry’s hands were wet with perspiration as he watched the tense scene below. What would Mr. Ramsay do? The colt who had almost taken his son’s life was legally his … sold to him by Alec for
one
dollar!

Mr. Ramsay glanced up the stairway again, and Henry, in his excitement, forgot to slip back from the banister. The old trainer knew that Mr. Ramsay was wondering how Alec now felt about Satan, wondering if he still loved the colt after his tragic experience of a few days ago.

Henry knew the answer, but Mr. Ramsay didn’t.

Mr. Ramsay turned back to Boldt, and when he spoke he had regained full control of his voice. “The sum you have offered for the colt, Mr. Boldt,” he said, “is more than fair.”

Boldt smiled, and his whole attitude was confident as Mr. Ramsay paused.

Then Henry saw Boldt’s body stiffen as Mr.
Ramsay added, “But unfortunately the colt belongs to my son, Alec, and I must discuss the matter with him before coming to any decision.”

“But you registered him,” Boldt said humbly, his calmness momentarily shattered. “You must own him.”

Henry was glad that Mr. Ramsay didn’t give Boldt any explanation as to why he had registered the colt in his name, or admit that Boldt was actually right in saying that he did own Satan. All that Mr. Ramsay said was, “He belongs to Alec.”

Boldt’s thin lips were pulled back in a grim, understanding smile, and there was a reptilian light in his beady eyes as he asked, “You will speak to your son, then?”

“He is upstairs … sick,” Mr. Ramsay replied. “If you will wait in the living room, I will speak to him immediately.”

Henry left the banister and walked quickly into Alec’s room, shutting the door behind him. Alec looked up at him and Sebastian whimpered as he moved closer to the boy.

“You’ve got to make up your mind fast, Alec,” Henry said, his words terse and clipped. “Boldt’s downstairs.… He caught up with an old issue of the Racing Calendar, so he knows about the colt. He’s offered your dad thirty-five thousand bucks for Satan.”

“Thirty-five thousand dollars!” Alec’s eyes were bright as he looked at Henry. “Wow! That’s a lot of money to Dad! I’m sure he was impressed.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Henry said quickly. “You’ve got to make up your mind. Your father’s on his way up.”

Alec’s brow furrowed. “Make up my mind to what, Henry?”

“Thirty-five thousand dollars, Alec! Think what you could do with that money. You could finish school … set yourself up in business … anything.”

When Henry had finished, Alec was looking down at Sebastian. Impatiently Henry said again, “You’ve got to hurry, Alec. Your dad will be here in a minute!”

“But I’ve decided, Henry, if that’s what you want.” Alec’s eyes met Henry’s again. “I wouldn’t sell Satan for thirty-five thousand, one hundred thousand, or any thousand. He’s my horse, Henry … you know that.”

“But, Alec,” Henry said, still arguing, “you may never be able to ride him. He may be worth nothing to you.”

“I’ll ride him,” Alec said quietly, “… and he’ll always be worth more than money to me, Henry.”

The old trainer sat down and ran his hands over his face. “Okay, Alec, okay,” he finally said. “I shoulda known better than to go into all this again.” He paused, then added slowly, “But your father may think differently. It’s actually his horse, you know … and thirty-five thousand bucks is a lot of dough for him.”

Alec smiled and shook his head. “Dad wouldn’t do that,” was all he said.

A few seconds later Mr. Ramsay entered the room, and as he walked over to the bed Henry got up, gave him his chair, and then moved over to the window.

With his back turned toward them, Henry heard Mr. Ramsay say, “Alec, a Mr. Peter Boldt is downstairs, and he’s offered …”

“I know, Dad. Henry told me about it.”

The old trainer sensed that Mr. Ramsay was looking at him, but he continued to gaze out the window. Then Henry heard Alec say, “Satan means more than money to me, Dad.” Alec’s words came faster as he continued, “He’ll be a great horse, just like the Black … and there aren’t any other horses like them in the world.”

There was a long silence before Mr. Ramsay said, “You still feel this way, Alec, after what he did to you? I know, you see. I was in the barn this morning, and he’s …”

“Sure, he’s fire, Dad,” Alec interrupted, and even Henry’s body stiffened at the emotion, the blinding love in Alec’s voice. “But that’s the way he should be. He’s no ordinary horse, nor will he ever be. He’s like the Black … beautiful, savage and noble.” Alec’s words came slower as he concluded, “And soon, Dad, he won’t be so savage, for I’ll win his confidence and trust.”

Once again it was quiet in the room. And Henry knew what Mr. Ramsay’s answer would be to Boldt. For Alec’s words had been no impassioned plea of a boy for an inanimate thing like a new baseball glove or a car. Nor was it the plea of a boy who was intent upon having his own way. No, Alec’s words came from his heart, and they spoke of the strange yet beautiful love this boy had for his horse.

When the old trainer turned back to the bed, he saw that Mr. Ramsay had risen to his feet and was standing beside Alec, looking down at him. Slowly the strained, gaunt look left Mr. Ramsay’s face as he attempted to smile. “He’s your colt, Alec,” he said softly,
“and if you don’t want to take thirty-five thousand dollars for him, you needn’t.” Reaching down, he placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, straightened and then left the room.

As the door closed behind him, Henry fought the impulse to go along, to see Boldt’s face when Mr. Ramsay told him of his son’s decision. Henry knew that Boldt would be livid with rage. Shrugging his shoulders, the old trainer decided to keep away from Boldt for the time being, for he knew they had not seen the last of him.

After Henry left Alec, he walked slowly homeward. He knew what he had to do. But it took the next two days before the old trainer had convinced himself that the responsibility was his, and that in spite of Alec’s intense love for the colt, he should break Satan himself.

It would not be a pretty sight, for what he intended to do was to purge once and for all the viciousness from Satan’s black heart. And it had to be done today, before Alec was up and around.

Henry left the house early in the morning, when the dew was still heavy upon the field and the sky overcast. He walked toward the barn, his face lined, his brow furrowed. As he neared the door he stopped and, opening his clenched fists, gazed intently at the wet palms. It was cool, yet he was perspiring freely, and this bothered him as much as the tense feeling within his chest, a tightness which made his breathing come short and fast. He stood there for a whole minute, telling himself that while he was old and not in the best of condition,
he still was capable of doing what had to be done. “I’ve got to do it,” he muttered. “I’ve got to do it for Alec, or Satan will kill him sure.”

Henry’s hand was upon the barn door when he heard the rhythmic beat of hoofs, and then he saw Satan travel quickly down the runway and gallop into the field. Scowling, Henry watched him go. He’d hoped to catch Satan in his stall.… It would have made things easier. Now he’d have to chase him inside again.

Still scowling, Henry decided it would be best to get the saddle ready before driving Satan back into his stall. He walked into the barn and went to the tack room, ignoring Napoleon’s welcoming neigh. Then he picked up a heavy stock saddle and, groaning a little beneath its weight, carried it from the room to the rack just outside of Satan’s stall. Finally he went back to the tack room and kneeled down beside a large wooden trunk. Opening it, he rummaged around for a few seconds before withdrawing a leather riding crop, the head of which was a large, solid piece of hard leather. Henry stuck it underneath his arm and was closing the trunk when he saw the coiled lasso. Thoughtfully he picked up the rope and uncoiled it, then recoiled it. It had been a long time since he’d had to use one, but in his younger days he’d been swift and sure. It might be a good thing to have along if he had trouble getting Satan in from the field. He threw the coiled lasso over his shoulder, then picked up another one from the trunk, and uncoiling and recoiling the second lasso, he placed that, too, over his shoulder. Then he left the barn to get Satan.

Before entering the field, Henry took hold of
the end of the riding crop. He’d use it today, if he had to.… Both he and Alec had tried kindness with firmness, and they had failed miserably. Now they had to show Satan who was boss. It was regrettable, but necessary. Henry was fully aware of the chance he was taking, and he knew, too, that he could easily be the loser. If it came to that … well, he decided, if Alec learned his lesson that way, it would be worth it. Henry clenched the riding crop between his fists. But Satan would know he’d been in a fight, he’d make sure of that!

A breeze came up and fanned Henry’s cheek as he walked into the field, his shoes squishing softly in the wet grass. He knew that Satan had seen him, for the horse had disappeared into the hollow at the far end.

Then as the hot sun broke through the clouds, brightening the field, Satan reappeared and for a moment stood still on the rim of the hollow, his black body silhouetted against the dense gray mist which had begun to rise from the low, damp land behind him.

Henry stopped in his tracks, startled by the almost unreal, weird sight before him. It was as though Satan, the devil himself, had emerged from the smoldering fires of Hell. And now Satan stood there, bold and proud … and contemptuous of the man who would attempt to make him do as he willed.

Suddenly Henry felt very old and tired. It was impossible to think that he could conquer Satan. He had no right to be here … no right to test his aging mind and body against this wild, untamable horse.

Satan remained there, his head held high, his black
mane whipping in the breeze. He was monstrous, and his black body glistened in the sun.

It was a beautiful but unearthly sight, and Henry was afraid.

A long time elapsed before the old trainer moved forward again, his feet heavy. And now shame had replaced the fear within him—the shame of being afraid of a horse for the first time in his life. And then as he walked along his shame was replaced by anger, and he became furious with himself and with this horse who had made him afraid. When he was but a few paces from Satan he stopped, seeking to control himself.

And it was then that the horse bolted away from him, running easily to the east fence.

Henry followed, his hand still clenching the leather crop. But when he neared Satan, the horse tossed his head and swept around him again, running back to the hollow.

It went on that way for half an hour, with Satan contemptuously ignoring Henry’s attempts to chase him toward the runway and barn.

Finally Henry, his breath coming heavily, decided to use the ropes. He removed both lassoes from his shoulder and nervously uncoiled and recoiled each one several times before slowly moving toward the colt again.

Henry judged that it might take him a little time before he was able to get Satan in a position where he could throw the ropes upon him. But he soon discovered he was wrong, for Satan, as though tired of being chased, turned toward him.

Satan’s black body was quivering as he pounded the earth. Henry saw the colt’s cold, fixed eyes burst into a fiery red, and he knew that the fight would begin now and that he wasn’t going to have the opportunity of throwing the heavy stock saddle upon Satan’s back and riding him, as he’d planned. For no longer was Satan the hunted and Henry the hunter.… Every movement of the horse showed that it would be just the reverse.

“Come on, y’devil,” Henry muttered between clenched teeth. “I’m ready for you.” He shifted the leather crop to his right hand.

And before Henry’s words had died upon the still air, Satan charged toward him. Henry had no time to use his ropes, for Satan was upon him, his mouth open and specked with foam, his teeth gleaming. As Henry brought down the hard leather crop he could see the whites showing in Satan’s wild eyes.

Henry struck Satan a crushing blow on the head; then the horse’s shoulder hit him heavily, and he spun around before falling to the ground. He lay there dazed for a minute; then, his head clearing, he turned quickly toward Satan.

The horse had withdrawn a short distance but had turned around once more and was facing him. Satan glared furiously, but Henry saw surprise, too, in his eyes. Then it was gone, and the wild, hideous look was there again.

Henry struggled to his feet as Satan bore down upon him the second time. Once more Henry waited until the horse, livid with rage, was only a few feet away; then he struck Satan another ponderous blow on
the muzzle. As the black body knocked him to the ground again, he heard Satan’s shattering scream, and it was like a sharp bolt of lightning cracking the heavens. Henry felt the blood rush to his head after he’d hit the ground hard, and he fought desperately to remain conscious. For he knew that if he didn’t, he’d never get up again.

The old man struggled to get one knee off the ground, his head turned in the direction of the horse, who had withdrawn and was snorting in rage and pain. Satan charged again, and Henry stumbled to both feet, yelling at the top of his lungs and waving the leather crop wildly in the air. Satan swerved before reaching him and thundered past, his face hideous to see. He pulled up, twirled, and without hesitation came on again.

The lasso was in Henry’s hand, and Satan’s speed slackened as he caught sight of this new weapon. The horse hesitated before swerving, and Henry saw his chance. Quickly he whirled the rope once above his head. It had to be good … he’d never get another chance. Then the lasso went whistling through the air, and for a fraction of a second Henry thought he had overthrown. But then it settled over Satan’s head and fell down upon the high crest, already lathered with sweat. Shouting, Henry fiercely drew back upon the rope, tightening it about Satan’s neck. Then, using every bit of strength in his body, he suddenly pulled back, hoping to throw the horse.