Son of the Black Stallion (4 page)

“She didn’t want anything,” Alec confessed, “but I thought I’d feel better paying her a little.” He paused, then continued in a lower tone, “It would be different if Henry was around.”

His father turned to him. “Did you write Henry that the pony was arriving?” he asked.

“Yes. The day I got Abu’s letter.” Alec played with Sebastian’s long ears as the dog slept.

“No reply?”

Shaking his head, Alec said with attempted lightness, “I guess he must be pretty busy.” Then his gaze turned to the side window, and he watched the heavy New York traffic. It was strange that Henry hadn’t answered his letter, he thought. Strange, because the arrival of the colt was what they both had been eagerly awaiting … for this was to be the beginning of the long hard grind which they had planned and hoped would lead to the track. And even if Henry was terribly busy, he could have sent a note or telegram. Alec couldn’t believe that Henry had forgotten everything they had planned, even though he was working for Boldt and training some of the finest horses in the country.

They were on the Drive running parallel to the East River, and Alec knew that in a few minutes they’d reach the pier.

Sebastian awoke, raised his head, then left Alec’s lap. Mr. Ramsay pulled the dog close to him, and Sebastian settled down contentedly again.

Sebastian really was Dad’s dog, all right, Alec thought, for it was he whom the puppy had followed home one evening. Smiling, Alec remembered the advertisements they had published in the “Lost and Found” column of the local daily paper, his father hoping all the time that no one would claim Sebastian. No one had, and now Sebastian was theirs for keeps.

Slowing down the car, Mr. Ramsay said, “It should be right about here, Alec. Pier Number Six, wasn’t it?”

Alec nodded as he watched the numbers on the outside of the long, dirty-white sheds which led back to the East River. Pier Nine … Eight … Seven … 
Six
. It was there, just ahead. The car rolled slowly to a stop as Mr. Ramsay pulled over to the curb. Alec had a tight, lumpy feeling in his stomach and his jawbones worked nervously. He was half out the door, with Sebastian at his heels, when he stopped and caught the dog. “Shall we leave him in the car, Dad?”

Shaking his head, Alec’s father said, “No, we’d better not. I can’t lock the door … broke it yesterday. I’d rather take him on the leash. I wouldn’t want anyone to steal Sebastian.”

A few minutes later they walked quickly across the street toward the shed marked Pier Six. Sebastian was pulling on his leash.

As Alec half ran to keep up with his father’s long strides, he felt in his pants pocket for the folded papers which would enable him to claim the colt. Upon reaching the shed, he and his father carefully kept to one side of the large entrance, avoiding the long line of trucks that rumbled past them on their way inside to pick up cargo. “Guess she must be coming in,” Alec said
excitedly, quickening his pace until he passed his father, who now was carrying Sebastian in his arms to keep him out of the way of traffic.

They had almost reached the far end when Alec saw the van he’d hired parked in one of the sidings.

“Well, at least your truck’s here,” his father shouted above the roar of the motors when Alec pointed to the van.

They had a good view of the river at the open end of the shed and saw the
Queen of India
moving slowly toward the pier. Sebastian barked, and Alec’s father put him down on the ground and held him by the leash. “It’ll take quite a little time for the tugboats to get her alongside the shed,” he told Alec. “Tricky currents out there.”

Alec didn’t say anything, and as he watched the small steamer which lay low in the water, its hold laden with the produce of the Far East, he had that tight feeling in his stomach again. In the hold somewhere was his horse,
his
son of the Black!

And then, even above the roar of the trucks and the shouts of the stevedores, came a yell, “Hey, Alec!” which spun him around on his heels. Out of the melee behind him, a short, stocky man was running forward, his bowlegs looking as though they were about to give way from carrying the weight of the heavy chest and shoulders.

Alec’s face broadened into a wide grin. “Henry!” he shouted at the top of his voice, running to meet him.

Holding the leash taut to keep Sebastian from chasing Alec, Mr. Ramsay watched his son throw his arms around Henry. This was the way Alec wanted it,
he thought. The two of them together again. They were so much alike, these two … even down to the same bowed legs. And between them there was a bond, perhaps even stronger than blood itself, their intense love for horses and for one horse especially, the Black. Yes, he thought, they were very much like father and son standing there, their arms around each other. Then they were coming toward him, and the tall, slight man let Sebastian pull him forward.

“Henry”—he smiled, as his hand clasped the other’s—“I’m sure glad you’re here.”

“Wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Mr. Ramsay,” Henry said, grinning back. “I flew in about an hour ago and called the house. Mrs. Ramsay told me you two had taken off for the pier and gave me all the necessary information. So I high-tailed it down.” Henry wiped his sun-blackened face with his handkerchief, removed his battered hat and fanned himself. “Hotter here than it is out west,” he said; then, bending over, he patted Sebastian, who stood close beside Alec. “He yours, Alec?” he asked.

“Dad’s and mine,” Alec replied. “He’s Sebastian.”

“He sure is a cute feller,” Henry said, fondling Sebastian’s long ears. “He’s a cross between a lot of things, ain’t he?” He smiled. Then Henry’s gaze turned to the
Queen of India
as she moved slowly toward the pier, and his eyes met Alec’s. Neither said anything for a few seconds, but each knew what the other was thinking.

“Papers on you?” Henry finally asked. “Got the van?”

Alec nodded. “Everything’s set, Henry.” He
paused, but his eyes never left those of his friend. “And the registration papers are home.” For a second or two after he had finished speaking he wondered if Henry would go through with their plans to raise and train the colt for the track. Henry had a big job now; he was making big money. Alec shifted uneasily on his feet.

Then into Henry’s steady gray eyes came the look which Alec had hoped to see, and the old man said, “I’m glad it’s a colt, Alec. Maybe he’ll be like him.”

“That’s asking almost too much.” The comment came from Alec’s father.

Henry turned to him, then to Alec; and a look born of long association and understanding passed between the trainer and Alec. “I meant, Mr. Ramsay,” Henry said, his gaze returning to the tall man who towered above him, “that I hoped the colt would have the perfect conformation of his sire.”

“I know exactly what you meant, Henry,” Mr. Ramsay replied quietly.

Alec looked at his father. There was a certain tenseness about his face which hadn’t been there before, yet his eyes were without the sternness that they showed when his father was angry. Did he have any idea as to what he and Henry intended to do? Alec planned to tell him in time, but not for many months … not until he was certain that the son of the Black was ready for the track.

Mr. Ramsay spoke again to Henry. “No, I don’t blame you for hoping he’s like his sire.” His gaze included Alec. “Either one of you,” he added. “It’s just that I’m hoping he doesn’t have that wild, untamable spirit of the Black.”

Henry smiled. “No fear of that, Mr. Ramsay. You mustn’t forget that the Black was a full-grown stallion when Alec got hold of him. An’ he never was clear broke … never will be, for that matter. It was just his love for Alec that made him tolerate the rest of us.” Henry paused and nodded his head in the direction of the
Queen of India
as she neared the pier. “Now this one ain’t goin’ to be anything like that, Mr. Ramsay. The schooling and breaking of this colt ain’t goin’ to be like it was with the Black, or like perhaps you’ve seen or heard with broncs in the rodeos and the like. Sure, and I’ve had my share of that in my day, too. Nope, this won’t be any fuss at all, Mr. Ramsay.” Henry grinned reassuringly and went on, “Y’see, a young colt like this one is brought up knowin’ that man is his friend. All y’have to do in most cases is to handle him well with both kindness and firmness, an’ he just builds up confidence in people and does most everything you ask him to do. Why, this man Boldt I’m workin’ for has a flock of youngsters which we’re handlin’. ’Course some of ’em have their quirks and are meaner than others, but they’re all comin’ along fine, and before they’re yearlings they’ll all be well under control.”

When Henry had finished Mr. Ramsay said, “I see what you mean, Henry, and I suppose you’re right. It’s just that I can’t forget the fire and at times the savageness that was in the Black.”

“Fire that was in him while he was runnin’ wild in the desert,” Henry reminded him.

“But fire that could be passed on to his son, born in the desert.”

Henry smiled at Mr. Ramsay’s insistence. “Yes, but his son will be brought up knowin’ that man is his friend, and never knowin’ the freedom of the desert,” he concluded.

Alec’s eyes had shifted from one to the other during the course of the conversation. There was much truth in all that his father had said. Henry knew it, too; yet the old man had probably figured there was no reason to cause undue concern at this point. The young colt with the blood of the Black running through him could conceivably give them a hard time. But Alec knew that with proper handling and kindness the colt would come around, just as Henry had said.

The blunt prow of the
Queen of India
entered the pier siding, and Alec, together with the others, watched her as she slowly drew alongside the shed. They could see the open door of the hold, and a group of men in blue jeans standing around.

“We’d better get inside the shed,” Alec said, his tense voice betraying his emotions. “They’ll bring him out that hold door.”

With Sebastian straining at his leash, Mr. Ramsay and Henry followed Alec inside. About halfway down the shed Alec left the others and hurried toward a pier official who was standing at the unloading gate.

“It’s better to leave him alone now, Henry,” Mr. Ramsay said.

Henry nodded, and they walked slowly between two parked trucks to the pier fence. A few yards away the soot-blackened white hull of the tramp steamer pressed heavily against the wooden pier. The door to the hold slid by and then the ship came to a stop as the
lines holding her fast to the pier were tied securely by the dockhands.

Henry watched as stevedores ran up the plank leading into the hold and then reappeared a few minutes later, wheeling and carrying cargo. It shouldn’t be long now, he thought. Looking along the fence, he saw Alec standing there, his eyes, too, on the door to the hold.

“He’ll be comin’ in a minute, Morgan. You’d better hurry if you wanta see it!” a voice shouted from above.

Glancing up toward the deck of the ship, Henry saw a man standing near the rail, his coveralls and face smeared with the black grease of a tramp’s boiler room. Another man joined him, and together they leaned far over the rail to get a good view of the hold door just below them.

“Harrity,” Henry heard the new arrival say, “from all Sam told me they’ll be havin’ trouble gettin’ anyone to take him off. He’s given them nothin’ but trouble all the way over. He sure is a lot of horse for a youngster. They shoulda kept him in Arabia, I say!”

Henry’s eyes shifted uneasily from the men on the rail to the hold door, then back again. It was probable that they were discussing the colt. He turned to Mr. Ramsay, but either Alec’s father hadn’t heard what the men said, or if he had, its implication had escaped him. “I think I’ll mosey down an’ see how Alec is making out,” Henry said.

“All right, Henry,” Mr. Ramsay replied. “It might be a good idea at that. I’ll stay here with Sebastian and meet you at the van.”

As soon as Henry had made his way around the parked trucks, his pace quickened. If there was going to be any trouble with the colt he wanted to be around to help Alec. It wouldn’t do to have the colt make a bad impression on Mr. Ramsay right at the start. No, that wouldn’t do anyone any good.

Then things happened fast, almost too fast for Henry. For he was still making his way through the heavy truck traffic when he saw Alec dart past the official at the gate and run toward the plank. At the same time he heard a short high-pitched scream, an ominous counterpart of the one he knew so well … the shrill, challenging whistle of the Black! He jerked his head in the direction of the hold door and saw the black colt half in and half out of the ship. A man in blue coveralls, holding the horse, let the lead rope slide through his fingers as, frightened, he backed down the plank attempting to get away from the young colt’s striking hoofs.

“Fool!” muttered Henry. “Why doesn’t he close in on him and get his head? A baby like that ain’t goin’ to hurt him none!”

Henry could see that the young horse was frightened. And as he saw other things, small beads of light flickered in his eyes. The colt was
his
son, all right. Black as the ace of spades, just like his sire except for that white spot in the center of his forehead. It looked like a diamond from here. And he had all the earmarks of a good healthy colt, too. Yep, it was going to be mighty interesting watching this youngster develop.

The man holding the lead rope was standing still now. He was as scared as the colt, and the rope was taut
between them. Shaking his head, the colt bared his teeth and struck the air with thrashing forefeet. Then he screamed again, and as the sound of it resounded throughout the pier shed, stevedores and truck drivers stopped their work to watch.

Then Alec was on the plank and moving quickly toward the frightened man. A slight grin flickered on Henry’s face as he saw Alec take the lead rope from the man. This was Alec’s show, all right, he thought. The kid could do it, too. No doubt about that. Henry’s gaze shifted quickly up the pier shed to where Mr. Ramsay was standing. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe Mr. Ramsay had forgotten that if there was anything in this world Alec was meant to be around, it was horses.