The Black Stallion Returns (2 page)

“Could be, Alec.”

“But the storm, shipwreck … he was drowned. I saw him go down with my own eyes.”

“And his name wasn’t listed among the survivors?” Henry asked.

“No … there were only a few, as you know.”

“The last you saw of him was when he fell overboard … that right, Alec?”

“He didn’t exactly fall, Henry. He jumped for an already filled lifeboat and missed … he didn’t have a life jacket and there was such a sea that I couldn’t see him after that. A few minutes later the
Drake
cracked up and I was in the water, too. I saw the Black and the rope on his halter and grabbed it. The next thing I knew I was on the island. You know the rest.…”

“And after they found you … and during your trip home … you heard nothin’ to indicate that the Black’s owner was alive?”

“No, Henry … nothing. One lifeboat containing
ten people was found, that’s all, and he wasn’t among them. I’m sure he couldn’t have lived in that heavy sea. Another thing, Henry, I don’t think for a moment that he was the owner of the Black.”

“Y’mean you think he had stolen him?”

“Yes. For one thing, he acted as though he had … always kept to himself. Then he was too cruel to the Black. If he owned him, he wouldn’t have done the things that he did.”

“Can’t tell, Alec. I’ve seen some purty hard horse owners in my time. Still, maybe you’re right … he’s a lot of horse and even without seein’ him run some people would pay a mighty handsome price for him.”

As Henry walked across the room, his foot struck a small metallic object. He stooped and picked it up. “What’s this?”

“Looks like a gold neck chain … but what’s that disc in the center, Henry?”

Henry walked over underneath the light and took a closer look at the disc. “Seems to be a bird of some kind,” he muttered. He handed the chain to Alec. “Make it out?” he asked.

A large bird carved in white ivory was embossed upon a gold disc which hung from the chain. Its long, powerful wings were outstretched in flight. Alec noticed the beak, hooked at the point, and long claws on short, strong legs. Two tiny red stones had been used for eyes. “I’m sure it’s a falcon, Henry. My Uncle Ralph had a couple when I was in India and I’ve seen others … although never any white ones like this. They’re usually a dusky color.”

Henry was silent for a few minutes. He took the chain from Alec and rolled it in his hands. “Cinch that this wasn’t made in the States, Alec,” he said.

“Guess not … the work is too fine. Henry, this may mean …”

“… that I may be right. That the guy on the ship is still alive and wants to kill the Black for some reason.”

“Or, Henry, that someone else from Arabia or somewhere in the Middle East wants to kill him.”

“Yeah.” Henry walked over to the Black and placed a hand on the flaring nose.

The sun had risen well above the trees at the east end of the field when Alec left the barn and headed for the gate and home. His feet dragged along the graveled driveway. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but Henry had talked him into it, knowing that this was the week before final exams. Exams! School! What did they matter now! Someone had attempted to kill the Black, his horse. And whoever it was might return to try again.

Henry had assured him that he would guard the stallion until Alec returned later in the day. The police would be notified, for he would stop in at the station on his way to school. Alec was sure his father would see to it that a policeman stayed near the barn at night, and Alec had every intention of sleeping in the barn with the Black. They’d change the locks on the iron gate and barn door. Summer vacation would follow next week’s exams, then he’d spend the next three months, night and day, with his horse.

He reached the high iron gate. The lock wasn’t broken and Alec doubted that anyone had scaled the
fence with all that barbed wire running around the top. Obviously, the intruder had had a key or picked the lock. Still, perhaps Tony had left it open when he and old Napoleon, his gray, sway-backed horse, who shared the barn with the Black, had gone to the market to load the wagon with vegetables for the day’s business. There was a good chance, too, that the prowler, knowing what time Tony left each morning, had slipped inside after Tony had driven Napoleon through the gate without his being aware of it. He’d have to speak to Tony tonight.

Alec closed the gate behind him, locked it, and headed for the large brown house across the street. He walked slowly in spite of the fact that he knew it was getting late and he’d have to hurry if he was going to stop in at the police station and still make his first class.

Someone cruel and vicious wanted to put an end to the Black. Why? What motive could he possibly have? True, Alec knew little of the stallion’s past. Perhaps, as Henry had suggested, the answer lay there … somewhere in Arabia.

Later that afternoon Alec hurried home from school. He had cut his last class and was anxious to find out what Henry had learned from the police. The content of the hypodermic needle … was it poisonous? And the fingerprints … would they furnish a clue to the identity of the Black’s attacker? The police had listened to his story at the station and before Alec left the captain had ordered a patrol car to go to the barn.

As Alec approached his home he saw a black limousine parked in front; behind it was a police car. He broke into a run, and nearing the house saw the plump figure of his mother standing on the porch. “Mom,” Alec shouted, “what’s happened? The police … they’re still here?”

His mother’s voice was unemotional, but Alec noted that her face was taut and tired-looking. “They returned a short while ago,” she said. “A man’s with them, who claims to own the Black.” She paused, then added softly, “Better go over to the stable, Alec.”

Alec turned and without a word ran toward the gate, his legs pounding furiously on the pavement. Reaching the gate, he flung it open. Blood ran from his lower lip, which was held tightly between clenched teeth. A hundred thoughts rushed through his brain. This, on top of what happened last night! Somebody claiming the Black as his! Perhaps this was the man who had attempted to kill the Black and, having failed, was attempting to get him this way! Alec pulled up in front of the door to the barn. Inside he saw Henry talking to a tall, elderly man. Behind them stood two policemen.

Henry was the first to see Alec’s white face. “Alec,” he said, “this is Mr. Abu …” He stopped and turned to the man beside him.

“Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak,” the stranger finished.

Alec’s eyes swept to the Black safely in his stall, then back to the stranger. His skin was the color of old mahogany and was tough and dry. He was tall and slight with sparkling black eyes. A white beard, cut to a point, jutted out when he talked; his hair was steel gray. Alec found it difficult to guess his age. He wore a brown coat of English cloth and an embroidered waistcoat.

“Mr. Ishak owns the Black, Alec.”

It was Henry’s voice, low and strained. Alec turned and faced his friend; there was a tightening in his throat. He swallowed; then the heat of anger rushed through his body. “But, Henry …,” he almost shouted. “How do we know? Last night … the hypodermic … the gold chain. Has this nothing to do with it?” His gaze swept to the policemen, then back to Henry again.
“Were the contents of the hypodermic poisonous? Were there any fingerprints? Isn’t it strange that this man should turn up now … after last night?”

They were silent when Alec finished, then Henry said, “Yes, Alec, it’s strange and all pretty hard to believe … especially comin‘ all at once like this.” He paused, then continued. “This morning when the police came they took the hypo and gold chain back to the station. Later on they came back and told me the stuff in the hypo was a deadly poison. No fingerprints were found. An hour ago they showed up again, bringin‘ Mr. Ishak here with ’em. He had papers which proved he owned the Black.”

“I’d like to see them,” Alec interrupted, turning to Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak.

The tall man handed the papers to Alec, who read them carefully. After a moment he looked at the policemen. One of them, guessing what was foremost in his mind, said, “We’ve checked Washington and he’s who he says he is. When he showed up at the station this afternoon we were suspicious, too.”

Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak looked at Alec and his face was grave. “Perhaps,” he said, “it is best that I explain why I went to the station.” He paused, and his voice softened. “It was simply to identify myself, for I knew that it would be necessary before I could claim my horse. You see, he had been stolen from me. It wasn’t until reports reached me in Arabia of a great black stallion beating Sun Raider and Cyclone that I guessed the Black might possibly be my horse, Shêtân. I went to the American consulate and in time learned the story of how you and the stallion had survived the sinking of
the
Drake
. Then there were the news pictures and I was certain that it was Shêtân.”

Alec looked into the serious black eyes of the Arab. “If all you say is true,” he asked, “how do you account for the attack on the Black last night?”

Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak was silent.

Henry said, “We thought the guy who stole the Black might still be alive. Would he have any reason for killin’ him?”

The Arab’s face was like stone. He took the hypodermic from Henry’s hand and examined it.

Watching him, Alec said, “Then there was a gold chain left behind. Show it to him, Henry.”

Henry held the chain out to Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak. There was no change in the Arab’s set face, no sign of recognition. Yet, Alec felt something in the still tenseness of the barn. He was certain that the great bird with outstretched wings was not unfamiliar to Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak.

Finally, the Arab spoke and his voice was cold and brittle. “It is not known to me,” he said. Alec noticed that he did not ask to see the chain as he had the hypodermic. His whole attitude convinced Alec that there was much that he was keeping to himself. “I’ll return for Shêtân in an hour,” he said curtly. Then he nodded to the policemen, and they left the barn with him.

Alec and Henry didn’t speak, nor did they look at each other. Silently they walked to the stall door. The Black peered over, his eyes wild and staring. Abu Ishak was no stranger to him. He shifted his feet and flicked his long black tail; his nostrils were red and dilated.

Alec ran a hand through the stallion’s heavy mane.
“Fella, what are we going to do?” His voice was low and strained. Finally, he turned and met Henry’s grave eyes. “Do you think he’d sell him, Henry?”

“No, Alec. He seems to want him pretty bad. And even if he would he’d ask a mighty high price for him. Where’d we get the money?”

“I’d get it … somewhere.” Alec was quiet for a moment. The Black nuzzled his neck. “Henry! I’ve got it! Maybe Mr. Volence or Mr. Hurst, owners of Cyclone and Sun Raider, might help us. They could lend us the money!”

“Yeah, they might at that. They’re both interested enough in him. Worth tryin’ if Abu will sell.”

The minutes passed. Henry walked awkwardly around the barn rearranging bridles and saddles that didn’t need it. Finally he walked to the doorway and sat down on the step. Better to leave Alec alone with his horse, he didn’t have much time. Henry drew out his pocketknife and began whittling a piece of wood. Funny, the way you could become attached to some horses. It was no new experience for him. There had been Dynamo, the tough little bay that had run away with him in his first workout. He’d just been an exercise boy then—a kid, like Alec. Suppose he would have been fired, too, if Dynamo hadn’t run the fastest quarter mile ever seen on the old Empire track. Yes, they were all good memories. There had been a few others in the years that followed … Chang, who could outsprint the sprinters and outstay the stayers; Me Too, who used to stand as quiet as a pony at the barrier waiting patiently for the race to begin while all the others
fought to break out of line, yet was never beaten. Those two were good horses that he’d never forget.

Then, years after he’d retired and the missus had done all she could to make him forget the track, along had come the Black and Alec, in spite of her. The black stallion was a better horse than he’d ever ridden or trained. Guess he knew that the first night he’d seen him. He had to laugh when he remembered how Alec, the kid from across the street, had talked the missus into letting him keep his horse in their barn. “His horse” … she’d probably visioned some old swayback like Napoleon. Funny, she never rebelled when she found out. Perhaps, Henry mused, there’s more horse in her than she lets on. Or maybe it was because, like everybody else, she felt sorry for Alec after all he’d gone through. He’d read about the
Drake
going down off the coast of Spain and had been told that Alec was one of the passengers, coming back from India after spending his summer vacation with his uncle.

He’d never paid much attention to Alec. Saw him coming and going to school, but that was about all … a skinny kid, who gave the impression to anyone who didn’t know him that he was pretty much the studious type. When the report had come through that there were no survivors, he’d gone to see Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay. They had been pretty broken up, but they hadn’t given up hope that Alec was still alive. “He’s a strong youngster,” Mr. Ramsay had said.

Five months later Alec had returned, and not alone. With him was the Black, unbroken and untamed. Yes, and unapproachable to all but Alec.
Between him and the black stallion had grown a friendship that Henry in all his years around men and horses had never seen equaled. The Black was wild and a killer, no doubt about that … even now.

Henry smiled a bit as he remembered the time they’d had breaking the stallion to bridle and saddle. Then a little later had come the night training sessions at the track. Finally, the big race … and long would racing fans remember and talk about how he’d drubbed Sun Raider and Cyclone, the two fastest horses in America. Perhaps never again would they see a horse like the Black.

Nor would they see the Black.