Son of the Black Stallion (27 page)

Suddenly the Comet broke out of his stall, drawing two horses on the outside with him. They ran a short
distance down the track before their jockeys were able to pull them up. Then they turned and made their way slowly back to the starting stalls.

The tension was broken momentarily as the starter brought the horses back. They circled behind the starting stalls and came in once again.

As Alec waited he talked to his horse. Lenny called something to him, but he didn’t hear. His eyes were staring at the dirt beside the rail. As Henry had said, it was bumpy there … better to keep away from it. He’d take Satan straight down … straight to the wire.

Ward had the Comet in his stall again. The other two horses were also in theirs. The starter’s eyes swept down the line.… He wanted to get them away fast. It was coming. Alec felt it, and leaned forward, ready. All the months and years he had waited for this race were to be culminated in the next minute. Ahead, six and a half furlongs down the track, was the final answer. He felt Satan’s muscles tighten.… His colt knew it as well as he did.

The barrier shot up! The roar from the packed stands swelled thunderously as it was carried across the infield, then died beneath rolling hoofbeats.

By a stride, Lenny Sansone had the Chief out first. Then came Satan and the Comet right together. Alec felt his colt’s muscles hurtle them forward with the power of a mighty spring unleashed. The shouts of jockeys rang in his ears and sticks were brought down heavily upon sleek, straining bodies. Satan’s head and eyes were set straight ahead in spite of the fanning sticks. “Go, Satan! Go!” Alec shouted to his horse.

For a few seconds Alec was conscious of nothing but the mighty surge of hard bodies and pounding hoofs. Then the Comet moved close beside Satan, and Alec felt Ward’s knee against his own. He caught a glimpse of Ward’s flaying whip, carried in his left hand, as he brought it down upon his gray’s haunches. The stick had come close to Satan. Then it came again, and Alec felt Satan shudder as Ward’s stick glanced off the black colt’s shoulder.

In the close running, Ward’s blow upon Satan could be looked upon by the judges as accidental, but Alec was furious. Then his fury gave way to despair as Satan pulled up and swerved hard toward the inside rail, just behind the Chief. The black colt stumbled as his hoofs hit the bumpy ground, then he recovered, with Alec urging him on. His body still trembled from Ward’s blow, and for a few yards Satan’s giant strides were pulled short.

Repeatedly Alec called to his horse. Gradually, but ever so slowly, Satan’s strides lengthened and quickened until once again he was running like black flame before a strong wind.

“Satan!” Alec called, almost savagely. “It’s come … the race … the race! Run them down!”

And the fury in the boy’s body seemed to flood into the gleaming body beneath him. There was a shrill whistle from the running horse as he swept low, leveling out.

The Chief’s hindquarters rose and fell in front of them; the bay was running as Lenny Sansone had hoped he would run today. Alongside the Chief, running stride for stride with him, was the Comet. The rest
of the field was spread out to the right and a little behind the two hard-running horses in the lead.

As they swept by the half-mile post, Satan’s nose neared the Chief’s haunches. There was space between the Chief and the Comet to ride through, and Alec goaded his black colt on. Satan’s strides quickened still more, and Alec knew his horse’s speed was rising to its swiftest. If Satan could break through the gap in front, he would reach his limit with a clear track in front of him.

Less than a quarter of a mile to go! Sansone went for his stick, fanning it close beside his bay, and the Chief surged ahead. Ward, too, began using his stick and drove the Comet forward with the Chief.

Alec started to drive Satan on, then hesitated at the sight of the swinging sticks in front. There was just room for Satan to go through the gap between the Chief and the Comet, but dared he chance it with those flying whips? If Satan swerved now, so close to the finish, it would be all over for them.

As Satan neared the horses, Alec thought of pulling him around on the outside. And it was then that he saw Desert Storm. The flying chestnut was driving down on the outside and to the right of the Comet with amazing speed.

Alec knew he had no alternative now but to go through the gap. Desert Storm was the horse to beat! Alec had to drive Satan between the Chief and the Comet, or Volence’s chestnut would beat them all to the wire!

Alec goaded his horse, and all of Satan’s savagery and fury went into his tremendous strides as he extended
himself. Alec’s eyes stung and hurt; he was deafened by the sounds around him; and all he could feel was the mighty surge of Satan’s muscles.

Foot by foot, Satan moved between the bay and the gray. Flaying sticks swept by on either side of him, but the giant colt was running wild now, and nothing could stop him. As he moved in front of the Chief and the Comet, Alec saw Desert Storm on the outside, running hard, a length ahead.

One hundred yards to go to the wire!

There was no need to ask Satan for greater speed. He was running down Desert Storm with the fury of a black, whirling tornado. He pricked his heavy ears forward as he swept by the driving chestnut, and then with a final burst of still greater speed, he swept under the wire!

The crowd surged from the stands, breaking the police lines and running toward the winner’s circle where Satan stood.

Alec, his face flushed, sat quietly upon Satan’s back and talked to him as the wreath of roses was placed about the colt’s wet neck. “You did it, Satan,” he whispered. “You did it.”

The shouting crowd pressed heavily into the winner’s circle, and the police formed a tight ring about Satan. Henry jostled his way through the crowd, spoke to a policeman, and then entered the ring. He came up to Alec, nodded his head vigorously, and took hold of Satan’s bridle. The colt shied as Henry placed his hand on his head.

Alec held him, and as the colt quieted down, the
boy saw the hurt look in Henry’s eyes. Tossing his head, Satan pricked his ears forward and began nibbling at the flowers about his neck.

Henry said, “His pappy would be proud of him today, Alec.”

The boy nodded as the news photographers took their pictures. “I know he would, Henry,” he said.

Satan stopped nibbling the roses, and suddenly shoved his head against Henry, nuzzling the old trainer’s shirt. Henry’s eyes brightened; then he raised a gnarled hand and rubbed Satan’s forehead. After a few seconds he looked up at Alec. “We’re friends now,” he said excitedly. “Satan and I are friends,” he repeated, turning back to the black colt.

Alec dismounted and unsaddled Satan while Henry held him by the bridle. Then, carrying his tack, he walked to the scales, stepped on them, and weighed in. The clerk of the scales nodded and he got off. Officially, the race was over.

Walking away from the scales Alec passed Eldridge, who had brought Desert Storm in second. “Good going,” the jockey said. “Y’got a horse.”

Lenny Sansone, carrying his tack, was behind Eldridge. “The Chief ran for me today,” he told Alec, “but he didn’t have enough to beat your boy.” He paused, smiling. “Got in ahead of Boldt’s Comet, Alec.… We set him right back on his rump.”

When Alec reached Satan again, he saw his mother and father standing beside Henry. Then toward them came a tall, slight man, and Alec gasped as he recognized him. Running forward, he grabbed Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak by the shoulder.

The sheikh turned to him. “Alec,” he said in his soft, even voice, “it was a fine race.… He’s the Black all over again.”

They moved over beside Henry and Alec’s parents, while newspaper men crowded around them.

“What do you think of Satan, Abu?” Henry asked after a few minutes.

The sheikh turned to him, smiling. “What do you mean, Henry?”

“How’s he compare with the Black?” the old trainer asked.

“Racing horses is your business as well as mine,” Abu replied, still smiling.

“We’ll know better next year,” Henry grunted. “Next year there’ll be the Derby. Think of it, Alec. Satan in the Kentucky Derby!”

“I am thinking about it,” Alec said, smiling.

Mrs. Ramsay moved forward and placed her hand upon Satan’s neck. “He’s hot, Alec,” she said with great concern. “We should get him away from this crowd.”

“Yes, let’s take him home, Alec,” his father said, “… where he belongs,” he added hastily.

There was a frenzied commotion in the crowd, then a small man burst out from between two policemen, and Alec recognized Tony. The huckster, breathing heavily, came up to them.

“The big flatfoots would no let me come to heem,” Tony said, sidling up beside Satan. Placing a hand on the colt, he looked at him with affectionate eyes. “Heesa my horse too, you know, Aleec.”

A newspaper man came up to Abu, and Alec recognized Jim Neville. “Mr. Ishak,” he began, “I’ve heard
that the Thoroughbred Racing Association has asked you to bring the Black to the United States next year. Is that correct?”

Alec turned quickly to Henry, and then he shifted his gaze to Abu, whose eyes were upon him. The sheikh was still looking at Alec when he replied to Jim Neville’s question. “Yes,” he said, “they would like the Black to run here next year.”

“Will you bring him over?” Neville asked.

Abu’s gray eyes still held Alec’s as he said, “Yes, he’ll run. I’m bringing him to the United States next spring.”

Alec could feel his heart pounding. He turned from Abu to Henry and then to his black colt, standing beside him. He rubbed the long neck, and then pulled Satan’s head down to him. Abu had said the Black would be in the States next spring! And next spring Satan would be a three-year-old, eligible to race for the biggest stakes! It could happen that Satan would race the Black!

Satan pushed his head against him, and Alec rubbed the colt between the eyes. “Your pop is coming,” he whispered. “And he’ll be proud of you, boy. I know he will.”

Then, as the police opened up a path for them through the crowd, Alec led Satan home, the wreath of roses still hanging loosely about his neck.

Walter Farley’s love for horses began when he was a small boy living in Syracuse, New York, and continued as he grew up in New York City, where his family moved. Unlike most city children, he was able to fulfill this love through an uncle who was a professional horseman. Young Walter spent much of his time with this uncle, learning about the different kinds of horse training and the people associated with each.

Walter Farley began to write his first book,
The Black Stallion
, while he was a student at Brooklyn’s Erasmus Hall High School and Mercerburg Academy in Pennsylvania. He finished it and had it published in 1941 while he was still an undergraduate at Columbia University.

The appearance of
The Black Stallion
brought such an enthusiastic response from young readers that Mr. Farley went on to create more stories about the Black, and about other horses as well. In his life he wrote a
total of thirty-four books, including
Man o’ War
, the story of America’s greatest thoroughbred, and two photographic storybooks based on the two Black Stallion movies. His books have been enormously popular in the United States and have been published in twenty-one foreign countries.

Mr. Farley and his wife, Rosemary, had four children, whom they raised on a farm in Pennsylvania and in a beach house in Florida. Horses, dogs, and cats were always part of the household.

In 1989 Mr. Farley was honored by his hometown library in Venice, Florida, which established the Walter Farley Literary Landmark in its children’s wing. Mr. Farley died in October 1989, shortly before the publication of
The Young Black Stallion
, the twenty-first book in the Black Stallion series.

Alec was leaving the tack room when the barn door opened and Henry came inside. Sebastian barked and ran to meet him.

“I saw the light and figured it was you, Alec. Anything wrong?”

“No. I was just checking up on Napoleon.”

Walking over to the old gray, Henry said, “I’m glad school is about over. Now you’ll be able to get to the track mornings with me.”

Alec stood beside Henry, his hand on Napoleon’s muzzle. “It seems so right to be in this barn, where everything started,” he said quietly. “I know we can’t keep Satan here, but I wish we could.”

Henry turned to him quickly, his face puzzled. But then he smiled and said, “Yeah, it’s different at the track all right. The photographers got me down today, too. But you’ll find it’s not so bad early mornings, Alec. ’Course there are always people around watchin’ every
move we make with Satan. But you’ll get used to it, an’ we got no right to expect anything else now.”