The Black Stallion Returns (17 page)

The Black broke into a fast trot, his head up and ears pricked. Realizing that they were again nearing the corral, Alec attempted to bring the stallion to a stop, but to no avail. He moved forward on the horse’s back and placed a hand between the pricked ears. He had to stop him or soon it would be too late.

Suddenly the Black came to an abrupt halt and half-reared. Alec grasped the long mane and held on. The stallion snorted and turned up the canyon. He ran a short way, then stopped again and stood still. His head turned up the canyon, then down. Once again he moved, this time in the direction of the east wall; he stopped when he could go no farther. He stood there against the high cliff, his giant body trembling.

Alec was certain there was danger both up and down the canyon, even though he had not seen or heard anything. He stroked the neck of his horse. If they were still perhaps in the darkness they would not be discovered.

The stallion moved uneasily and occasionally there would be a sharp ring as his hoofs kicked a stone. Minutes passed, then the Black suddenly began pawing the ground with his foreleg. Alec thought he heard the sound of hoofs in the darkness. The stallion broke, ran a few yards to the north, then whirled, swept back, and again stood still.

Then the sound of hoofs closing in on them was unmistakable. They came from directly ahead, from the north, and from the south. Alec peered in the darkness, certain that the horses were less than fifty yards away.

Alec hesitated until he saw the mounted figures. There were three of them coming toward him. The Black snorted and reared. When he came down, Alec gave him his head. Bolting, the stallion headed for the men. They would have to break through! Where they would turn after that Alec did not know.

The horsemen moved in on them from three sides. Alec swung the Black around to the south. In a few seconds the stallion, now gathering himself, would be in full gallop.

One of the riders bore down on them, his spurs deep in the girth of his mount. He drove the Black back toward the wall of the canyon, the others closing in from behind. Coming to an abrupt stop, the stallion twirled and headed north. Before he could gather speed, Alec heard the swish of a rope and saw the long, whirling loop fall over the head of his horse. He reached for it, but by the time his hands were on it, it had tightened. A few seconds later, the stallion was flung back on his haunches, throwing Alec to the ground.

He lay stunned for a few minutes, then he was jerked to his feet. Dazed, he looked around. The Black was held securely between the mounts of two men. The other horseman was standing in front of him, and Alec looked into the leering face of Ibn al Khaldun, who said softly, “Once again we meet, my young friend. Although I did not expect the pleasure so soon … nor here.” His thick neck turned as he jerked his head over his shoulder. “Still, it is most unfortunate that you had to choose this time to visit me.” He smiled, disclosing the toothless gums, then continued. “For now I must do
away with you as well as the horse you call the Black. Most unfortunate … for you … that you, too, now stand in my way. It is a pity that one so young had to be so inquisitive.” He sighed and his powerful chest rose and fell.

Alec was silent. This man was mad. He could not kill him! Or could he? Ibn al Khaldun was capable of anything, he knew. If he thought Alec stood in his way, he would murder him as easily as he had the others.

Ibn al Khaldun had him by the arm and his thick fingers dug deep as he said, “You followed me from the meeting with Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak, that much is obvious. Yes, I saw you there. But did you come alone? Perhaps your young friend accompanied you? The one who sat beside you on the roan. It is best that you speak now.”

“You mean Abd-al-Rahman’s brother?” Alec asked tauntingly, raising his head to meet the beady stare of the Bedouin. “No, I came alone.” He grimaced in pain as Ibn al Khaldun’s fingers tightened on his arm.

“
Ê
 … yes, you know.” The Bedouin smiled. “But in knowing you have answered my question. You overheard me talking to my men. You have seen too much, my young friend. And do you wish me to believe that in such a short time in our land you have learned Arabic so well you understood what I told my men? Obvious, is it not, that you were accompanied by another … by your young Bedouin friend?” Ibn al Khaldun smiled as he slowly twisted Alec’s arm. “There are many other things still to be learned,” he added, “if you will not tell me where he is hiding. Let
me show you how simple it is for one who is strong enough to tear another’s arm from its socket. This was shown to me when I was just a little older than you. It is the reason I have but one arm. Speak, my young friend, for we shall find him regardless, and it is not pleasant to lose an arm this way.” His grip tightened and sharp, stabbing pains contorted Alec’s face. Ibn al Khaldun’s fingers loosened slightly. “It is odd,” he said, “that once before I have sought information concerning the young brother of Abd-al-Rahman by this, shall we say, severe and, unfortunately, painful method. She was the nurse of the newborn son, whom we found alone in the desert many days after we had disposed of his father and mother. She, like you, would not tell us where she had left her young charge. Unfortunately, she died too soon for she was an old woman and could not stand much pain.”

Ibn al Khaldun paused, then continued, “You are wondering how I recognized the brother of Abd-al-Rahman on the plain, are you not? I will tell you, although it will serve no purpose other than to show you that I am not without mercy.” He paused again, and then went on, “In Haribwan several years ago, I saw a youth who resembled Abd-al-Rahman. And upon making inquiries I learned that which I had guessed to be true. This youth was his brother, for he had been found in the desert a few weeks after the time we had made our raid and, also, he bore the birthmark with which I, alone, was familiar … a small mole behind the lobe of the left ear. I decided that if he did not return to the desert I would leave him alone … for it was not necessary to do away with him so long as he was not recognized
by those who knew his brother. But now that he is back, he will die … and we shall find him, my young friend, for he cannot escape us in this canyon.”

With his free right hand, Alec swung and buried his fist in Ibn al Khaldun’s fat stomach. The Bedouin winced and with lips drawn back twisted Alec’s arm until his legs collapsed under him. He felt his strength going. The fall from the Black had weakened him. Bending, Ibn al Khaldun applied more pressure until everything began blotting out. Alec looked into the beady pig-eyes. Smiling, Ibn al Khaldun said hoarsely, “You will talk now, my young friend, or by Allah, I shall make you a present of your own arm!”

Alec was silent. He heard Ibn al Khaldun’s voice, felt him breathing heavily on his neck. Everything was swimming about. His eyes, sunk deep in their sockets, rolled back. Vaguely, he made out the head of the Black, his long neck spotted with curds of white foam. Then he could see nothing.

He was suspended. It was light, then dark. Circles of revolving light sped through the heavens. He looked for the moon. Raj had said that when the moon rose above the mountains he would return with many men. He was being hunted. Somewhere in the darkness was Ibn al Khaldun. The Black knew and pulled at his bit. He wanted his head. Give it to him. He must get on. Time was passing, and things were happening. He struggled to get up, but was pushed back. The desert … the burning sand scorching his feet. Water! He had to have water. Raj had water … water from the chambers of the camel’s stomach. He drank and it was good.

Alec opened his eyes. Overhead was the star-studded
sky. Turning his head, he saw a figure holding a water canteen; behind him were two others and between them … the Black. Suddenly it all came back to him. Ibn al Khaldun! His arm … he turned his eyes to look for it. It was there but he could not raise it.

Ibn al Khaldun bent down and spoke to him. “It is a pity you cannot stand much pain,” he whispered. “Yes, you still have your arm. I have wasted enough time on you and have thought of a better, a more appropriate way for you to die … one which will leave no evidence of, shall we say, foul play?” He grasped Alec by the arm and roughly pulled him to his feet.

At first Alec could not stand by himself, and leaned heavily upon Ibn al Khaldun. Then, slowly, strength began returning to his limbs. He was dragged over to the mounted Bedouins and there boosted onto the back of the Black. The stallion shook his head furiously, trying to free it from the grip of the mounted horsemen, but their hands were strong and the rope tight.

Ibn al Khaldun mounted his horse, then said, “This love you have for Shêtân has brought you many thousands of miles; now it is only fitting that you should accompany him in death.”

Alec grasped the Black’s mane with his good hand; the other arm hung limply at his side. His head was clearing in the cool night air. Silently, he looked at Ibn al Khaldun’s evil face. What did he intend to do?

“You are wondering, aren’t you?” Ibn al Khaldun asked. “It is simple and you are fortunate, for death will be quick. It is a pity that I can’t take longer, but it will, I suppose, take a little time to find your friend in the
canyon, and all must be done before morning for we have other work then.” He paused and grinned. “Just a short distance up the canyon there is a cliff with a perpendicular drop of three hundred feet or so to the rocks below. You and your Black shall be driven over it. It is a pleasant way to die, is it not? The two of you inseparable even in death?”

He turned to his men, spoke tersely in Arabic, and then led the way up the canyon.

They moved slowly, for the mounts of the Bedouins were terrified of the Black, and only the sharp spurs dug deep in their girths kept them going.

Alec’s body was tense, his head cool. Astride the Black, confidence and new strength were flowing back into his tired body. There had to be some way out. He and the Black were not going to die as Ibn al Khaldun planned! His injured arm tingled as the blood again began circulating through it. Moving it slightly, he smiled grimly. Ibn al Khaldun would pay and pay well. He turned in his saddle toward the mountains in the rear. There was a slight glow and he knew that soon the moon would rise above them. If only he had more time!

Alec rubbed his legs gently but firmly along the stallion’s girth. Snorting, the Black reared, pulling the startled Bedouins out of their saddles, their mounts screaming. Ibn al Khaldun, swearing and shouting to his men, drove his horse in on the Black. His mount shrilled painfully as the stallion’s forelegs tore into him.

For a moment, as Ibn al Khaldun’s mount staggered back under the weight of the stallion’s hoofs, Alec thought the Black would break free. Then the
Bedouins, fearing the fury of their leader more than they did the violent stallion, spurred their terrified mounts close to the Black until they again had him under control.

Enraged, Ibn al Khaldun glared and swore at Alec, then ordered his men to proceed.

They had not gone far when Ibn al Khaldun dropped back behind Alec. Tersely he gave orders to his men, and then said to Alec, “Ahead lies eternity, my young friend.”

In the dim light, Alec could see the cliff which came to an abrupt drop about fifty yards beyond. And behind Ibn al Khaldun the moon appeared above the rim of the mountains.

The Bedouins pressed their mounts closer to the Black. Ibn al Khaldun moved in from behind. Slowly the stallion was maneuvered toward the cliff.

Alec, his eyes on his horse’s head, heard Ibn al Khaldun say, “The time has come to pray to your God, my friend. It is but a matter of seconds.”

The sweating bodies of the Bedouins and their horses pressed closer; long, heavy crops dangled from the men’s wrists. Alec knew that in just a second … a few more yards … they would bring their whips down upon the hindquarters of the Black and beat him until they drove him over the cliff.

He had to think fast.

Another few yards. Alec watched the hands of the Bedouins upon the rope around the stallion’s neck. When they grabbed their crops there would be a fraction of a second in which only the pressure of their horses would hold the Black before they struck. It was
then that he would have to act. It was his one chance of breaking free. The black mane was wet with perspiration from his clammy hands, his mouth dry and fuzzy.

The men’s hands were still on the rope when there was a dull thud of leather biting deep into flesh. Screaming in pain, the Black bolted forward. Ibn al Khaldun had struck first!

As the Black bolted forward, the Bedouins holding his head released their grips on the rope, grabbed their crops, and brought them down on the stallion.

Screaming in rage, the Black suddenly turned upon the horse to his left and descended upon it, his forelegs striking unmercifully. Alec clung like a burr to the great mane, as the Bedouin’s horse went down under the hoofs of the Black, his rider pinned beneath him. Up and down the giant stallion pounded his forelegs into the pulpy mass of flesh at his feet. Desperately, Alec tried to pull him away but could not. The Black was again a savage, ruthless killer.

Alec turned his head and saw Ibn al Khaldun; in his hand was a gun. Unsteadily, he pointed it at the Black. He cursed as his mount, crazed by the smell of blood, lurched, almost throwing him from the saddle.

Suddenly the canyon echoed with the sharp cracks of rifle fire. It rolled up the canyon in an ever increasing crescendo. Alec saw the moon high above the
mountains. Raj and the warriors of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak and Abd-al-Rahman had arrived! His gaze swept back to Ibn al Khaldun. Startled, the Bedouin had turned in his saddle toward the lower canyon.

And now the Black stood still, his nostrils quivering and his ears cocked.

Alec knew that this was his chance to get away. Burying his head in the stallion’s mane and sliding low on the huge body, he touched him with his heels.

The Black, as though released from a giant spring, swept past Ibn al Khaldun. Alec saw him jerk his head toward them, then raise his gun. His legs firm against the stallion’s girth, he bent low. A few seconds later a bullet screamed above his head, then another. Alec jerked the Black’s head and he swerved abruptly to the left. Ibn al Khaldun’s next shot was wild. There were no others.