The Black Stallion Returns (6 page)

“Yeah, he’s not what you’d call sociable,” agreed Henry. “Tried to make conversation with him back there, but he wouldn’t have much of it.” He paused for a moment, pondered and then continued, “Funny, though, come to think of it. He knew an awful lot about
me and the horses I’ve trained; he opened up a little when I mentioned Chang and the Derby back in ’32. He said he thought Prince Pat, the young colt I told you about who fell in his second race and had to be done away with, was a better horse than Chang and the fastest horse I’d ever had. Funny thing about that is I thought so, too, but never mentioned it; furthermore, very few people ever heard of Prince Pat as I hadn’t had him ready for big racing at the time of his accident. These Arabs are sure peculiar people.”

Early the next morning they were on their way again. Ibn al Khaldun, who the steward told them was also going to Arabia, had changed his seat for one nearer the front of the plane, claiming that riding near the tail made him ill. “Good riddance,” muttered Alec to himself.

Hour after hour the silver plane bucked the strong head winds which swept north up the coast of South America. They flew over dense green jungle country and Alec, looking down, wondered how they’d ever be found if the engines failed and they had to land. It was dark, unexplored country, alive with many terrors.

The sun passed overhead and descended rapidly in the west. Glancing at his watch, Alec found that it was after seven and realized that soon it would be dark. He looked ahead, hoping to see Natal, although he realized that they were not scheduled to arrive until after nine o’clock. Only a greenish-black carpet extended to the horizon. He let his head fall back on his seat and thought about Ibn al Khaldun. Funny he should know so much about Henry and American racehorses. Still,
since he was an Arab, it was in all probability only natural that he should take an interest in American racing. He was an odd guy. Repulsive-looking, too, with his bald head and swarthy, fat face. Alec’s conscience bothered him as he remembered Ibn al Khaldun’s empty sleeve. It was tough to go through life handicapped that way. Perhaps he was mistaken about him. Perhaps it was just a case of not knowing him well enough. Still, there was something.…

The plane flew on, and eventually Alec’s thoughts turned from Ibn al Khaldun to the Black and the search ahead. Would they be lucky enough to locate the kingdom of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak? He repeated the name of the Black’s owner again … Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak. It was important that he remember that name; he had said it over and over again since Abu had departed with the Black. That was the only clue they had to the stallion’s whereabouts; that, and the knowledge that Abu lived in the least explored district of Arabia, the Kharj district, far to the east across the Great Central Desert. It wasn’t much. Alec closed his eyes and thought about his horse.

The steward awakened Alec sometime later. “You were interested in night landings yesterday,” he said. “It’ll only be a few minutes. You can see the lights of Natal just ahead.”

Sleepily, Alec flattened his nose against the window. It was very dark and they were quite low. Below he could just make out a long, winding river which they were following. He turned toward Henry and Mr. Volence and noticed that they were fastening their seat belts. Drawing his own tightly about him, he said, “This
is going to be good. How in the devil will he be able to see? That’s a river, isn’t it? Is he going to land in it?”

“That’s the Rio Grande do Norte,” Mr. Volence explained. “The base is on it, and if you look a few miles ahead you’ll be able to see the landing lights which will guide the pilot in making his landing.”

Alec again turned to the window. Ahead, as Mr. Volence had said, was a string of lights on the river. There were seven groups of them and each group was a small, circular glowing ring. The one nearest the plane was red, but all the others were green. “The pilot will land alongside them,” Mr. Volence explained, “just to the right. Watch.”

The plane was now nearing the group of red lights. Alec peered into the inky darkness of the jungle on the other side of the river. They were coming in fast and just over the river. Sweeping past the red lights, the silver bird struck the water and proceeded swiftly up the line.

Henry sat back in his seat and relaxed. “Nothin’ to it,” he mumbled.

At the base they went through the same procedure as at Port of Spain, and then were sped away to Natal to spend the night. “Tomorrow,” Alec reminded Henry, “it’s Africa!” They were well on their way to the home of the Black!

The following days proved monotonous to all the passengers except Alec and Henry. Together they shared the thrill of flying the Atlantic for the first time. Before nightfall they were on the African continent and based at Fish Lake, Liberia. Their next hop took them to Lagos, Nigeria, and then came Leopoldville, deep in
the heart of the Belgian Congo. The following day they took off for their final destination, Aden, Arabia.

As they flew over a barren African plain, Alec’s thoughts turned to the trip ahead. According to Mr. Volence they were to take a train from Aden to Haribwan, which was located just southwest of the Great Central Desert. It was there that they would meet Mr. Volence’s friend, who had assured them that he would be able to acquire a caravan and a guide to take them across the desert.

It was late afternoon when the steward touched Alec on the shoulder. “There’s the Bab el Mandeb,” he said, pointing to a large expanse of water ahead. “It’s just a short hop across to Arabia, so we’ll be in Aden in less than a half-hour.”

“Are we the only ones getting off there?” Alec asked, nodding toward his friends.

“On the contrary, practically all the passengers are bound for Aden. We’ll take on some more there tomorrow, and then it’s Cairo and across the northern coast of Africa to Morocco. We’ll be back at La Guardia inside of six days with any luck at all.”

“That’s certainly getting around to a lot of places,” Alec said.

Soon they had left Africa behind and were crossing the channel of Bab el Mandeb. “It connects the Gulf of Aden and the Red Sea,” Alec explained to Henry. He had been through it twice, as his ships had taken that route to and from Bombay, India, when he had visited his Uncle Ralph. As Alec’s thoughts turned to the
Drake
and that disastrous home voyage, he became depressed. To think that only he and a few others
had been rescued of all the passengers and crew. And little had they known what was ahead of them when they had docked at Aden.

He could see the white buildings of the city ahead. His gaze turned northward, for it would be that direction in which they would go.

The plane circled slowly above its base. “Well, here we are,” mumbled Henry.

Mr. Volence, winking at Alec, said, “Only the beginning, Henry. We won’t waste much time in Aden … try to catch the first train to Haribwan that we can get. After just sitting all this time, I’m itching to pick up the trail.”

“The trail of the Black,” added Alec. He paused, then added confidently, “We’ll find him.”

“I wish I could share your optimism, Alec,” Mr. Volence said. “However, I can assure you that we won’t leave Arabia until we’ve made a thorough search.”

They were coming in now, and the plane glided smoothly toward the water. The silver hull cut the channel and the water streamed up and covered the window. A few minutes later they were taxiing to the dock. As the plane was cabled, the passengers rose from their seats, each concerned with his own business. For days they had lived in a small confined world of their own, but now it had ended and they were eager to get along.

After passing through customs, Alec and his companions awaited the car which would take them to their hotel. Ibn al Khaldun came out of the building and headed for a black sedan. He was wearing a white suit and shirt, open at the neck. His bald head was bare.
Stopping, he withdrew a white silk handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped the rivulets of perspiration from his face. His gaze turned toward them, and then he walked slowly in their direction.

“Wonder what the devil he wants?” Alec said softly.

“Probably going to bid us a fond farewell,” muttered Henry.

Ibn al Khaldun stopped in front of them, but didn’t speak. Finally Mr. Volence, to break the silence, said, “Is your home in Aden, Mr. Khaldun?”

The Arab’s gaze shifted from Alec to Mr. Volence. A few seconds passed before he replied, “No. My home is far to the north.”

Alec asked, “Anywhere near the Great Central Desert?”

Ibn al Khaldun’s beady eyes shifted again to Alec. A slight smile was on his lips, disclosing the toothless gums. He nodded but did not say a word.

Mr. Volence and Henry watched Alec, for they knew the next question the boy would ask.

“Have you by any chance ever heard of a man named Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak?” Alec asked.

Ibn al Khaldun ran the silk handkerchief across his face and then wiped the top of his skull before shaking his head negatively. “Arabia is a large and most complex country,” he replied softly, his words heavily accented. “One does not have many acquaintances in the north.” He had left the handkerchief on the top of his head and Alec was thinking how ridiculous it looked, when a slight breeze blew it to the ground in front of him. Alec bent to pick it up.

Ibn al Khaldun had also bent down to retrieve his handkerchief. Alec had his hand on the silk cloth, when he stopped short. In front of him, dangling from the Arab’s bare neck, was a gold chain on which hung a medallion … that of a bird with wings outstretched in flight.

It was not until a few minutes later, after Ibn al Khaldun had left, that Alec told Henry and Mr. Volence what he had seen.

“Are you sure it was the same medallion?” Henry asked, his voice tense.

Alec dug a hand into his coat pocket and withdrew the gold chain. “It was the very same, Henry … just like this one. I couldn’t be mistaken!”

Mr. Volence’s eyes swept to the black limousine into which Ibn al Khaldun had disappeared. “Come on! Let’s trail him.” He hailed a cab and the three climbed into it just as the car ahead pulled away from the curb.

Mr. Volence instructed the driver to keep about a hundred yards behind. “All we want to do,” he explained to Alec, “is to find out where he’s staying, then we’ll inform the police.”

“But we really haven’t any case,” Alec said. “It’ll just be his word against ours.”

“Yes, I know. We might be able to learn something, though, that’ll help us. I have a few friends in the government here who might be able to throw a scare into him. I’m sure we couldn’t get any satisfaction out of Ibn al Khaldun ourselves. It’s our only chance.”

They were near the outskirts of the city when Alec noticed that the distance between the two cars was increasing. “We’ll have to step on it,” he said, “or we’ll lose him.”

The black car suddenly turned from the main road down a narrow side street. It had slowed down a bit, and the taxi driver had no trouble keeping behind. They went around the block and then arrived back on the main road.

“That’s funny,” Henry mused.

“Not so funny,” Alec said. “He wanted to find out whether or not he was being followed, and we walked right into it.”

Bending forward, Mr. Volence told the driver to increase his speed. “I’m afraid you’re right, Alec. He’s stepping on it, and we’ll be lucky if we can keep up with him.”

Ibn al Khaldun’s car swept along the highway, and in a few minutes it was obvious to all that the broken-down cab in which they were riding could not possibly keep up with the car ahead.

Ibn al Khaldun was out of sight when they reached the city limits.

“Anyway,” Alec said, “that proves he had something to do with the attack on the Black, and knew that we were suspicious of him, or he would have stopped instead of running away.”

“Not necessarily,” Mr. Volence suggested. “It might be something else.…”

Alec was unconvinced. “I have his car’s license number, anyway,” he told them. “We can check at the police station.”

“Good boy!” Mr. Volence said.

A few minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of the station and Mr. Volence went inside while Alec and Henry waited in the cab. He returned shortly afterward. “Not much luck, unfortunately,” he told them. “The car belongs to a rental agency and the driver was ordered to report at the airport to meet Ibn al Khaldun. I’m going to call them again a little later and they’ll let me know the address to which the driver took our friend. We still may be able to learn something.”

After they had checked in at their hotel, Mr. Volence called the car rental agency only to find that Ibn al Khaldun had dismissed the car and driver soon after they had reached the city limits. The driver had informed the agency that his fare had hailed a cab immediately after dismissing him.

The following day Mr. Volence talked to some business associates about Ibn al Khaldun, but learned little. “They told me,” he informed Alec and Henry later back at the hotel, “that there are many families by the name of Khaldun in the central and north country, and that it would be a waste of time attempting to track him down.”

Henry rubbed a large hand over his two-day beard. “Guess the only thing we can do is to trek on, keepin’ our eyes open for him.”

“I have a feeling he’ll turn up again,” Alec mused.

*  *  *

The next day they set out for Haribwan. As they awaited their train at the station, Mr. Volence told them that he had telephoned his friend in Haribwan, and that he was expecting them.

“Has he been able to get us a guide?” Alec asked.

“No, unfortunately. He said it wouldn’t be any trouble to get a guide to take us across the desert, but going into the mountains is another story. Seems it’s dangerous country, as there are many hostile tribes and few men have ventured into it.”

Henry grimaced. “You don’t make it sound too good,” he said.

The train, with antiquated engine and wooden cars, pulled laboriously into the station. They found their seats and settled back for the ride.

“How long a trip is it?” Alec asked.