The Black Stallion's Ghost (6 page)

He opened the large oak door, allowing the sun's rays to enter the room; then he opened the window shutters for still more light.

The captain's explanation and the brightness of the day helped rid Alec of some of his apprehensions. “Who is Odin?” he asked boldly.

“My great-uncle,” the captain said quickly, as if he had anticipated the question. “He is a descendant of the Carib Indians, not the Seminoles. The Caribs were fierce warriors and knew this land long before the birth of Christ.” He added nothing more, and Alec thought it wise to remain silent.

“Now for lunch,” the captain said graciously. “If you'll excuse me a moment and make yourself at home …” He left the room, moving with the fluid grace of an animal.

Alec went over to the fireplace and sat down in one of the high-backed chairs. He was committed and there would be no leaving until after lunch. He looked around the room, noting the bareness of it. It didn't seem to have been occupied for very long; there were few of the personal things that make a house a home. A portable phonograph was on a table with several records beside it. It was battery-powered, for there was no electricity. Evidently the captain enjoyed music enough to carry a phonograph with him wherever he went.

A large kerosene lamp hung from the ceiling and there were several books on the table below it. Alec picked one up. It was on horsemanship and had been
written by the captain himself. Since it was in French, Alec didn't attempt to read much of it, but he was very impressed.

Had he allowed himself to give way to needless fears? Alec wondered. The captain was a professional horseman like himself and, according to the blurb on the jacket of the book, was the world's foremost authority on dressage.

Never in his life had Alec failed to get along with someone who loved horses. It was too strong a tie to be marred by his apprehensions, let alone
fear
. He had been ridiculous to believe otherwise, he told himself.

Another book Alec found on the table dealt with the Spanish conquest of Florida. It was for the serious student of history, being an English translation of Spanish documents written in the late 1560s. He noted penciled notations in French in the margins and wondered what they meant.

Alec put down the book, a little self-consciously, when the captain appeared carrying a wooden tray, which he placed on the table. There were many kinds of canned meat as well as fresh fruit, and Alec suddenly realized how hungry he was.

The captain motioned Alec to a chair and sat down himself, his back as straight as it had been in the saddle. For several minutes they ate in silence, then Alec asked, “Are you a student of Florida history as well as a professional horseman?” He nodded toward the books.

“Only recently,” the captain answered. “I have learned from Odin that my people lived side by side with white men during the Spanish conquest of Florida.
Of course it was as slaves,” he added. There was no bitterness or hostility in his voice, only acceptance.

Alec waited expectantly, hoping the captain would tell him more of his own accord. He did not think it best to press him.

“In fact, one of my great ancestors was chief guide to the Conquistador Pedro Menéndez de Avilés,” the captain continued after a short pause.

Alec detected the pride in the captain's voice.

“De Avilés was the founder of St. Augustine,” the captain explained. “Unknown to most historians, he also did a considerable amount of exploration here in the Everglades, which could not have been done without the aid of my ancestor, who was a Carib warrior.”

Alec was unable to keep the surprise from showing in his eyes.
Was this why the captain was here then, to retrace the steps of an ancestor dead over four hundred years?
He studied the man's face, noting again the strong blending of African and American Indian features with hints of still other strains.

The captain gazed back, his eyes as intent as Alec's. “You look surprised, Alec,” he said quietly. “I might even say
frightened
. There is no need to think of one of Indian or, for that matter, African ancestry as a villain.”

He paused before going on. “It is true that the Caribs were no less warlike than the Conquistadores. For they, too, were raiders, coming from the interior of the Guianas and as far south as the Amazon jungle. They invaded Haiti and the other islands before becoming slaves themselves. No different,” he added,
“from the Africans brought to the New World by the Spaniards to work the mines.”

The captain stood up and began clearing the table. The conversation seemed to have come to an end. Suddenly he stopped and sat down again.

“So it is that I am of Carib origin as well as African and Portuguese and French and Haitian. Truly a strange mixture,
n'est-ce pas
?” he asked, smiling broadly for the first time.

“
Oui
, Captain,” Alec answered, hoping that the tension between them had come to an end.

“
Comprenez-vous
French, Alec?”

“
Un peu.
”

“
Beaucoup
more than
un peu
, I'll bet,” the captain said warmly.

Alec helped take the dishes into the kitchen. His feeling of apprehension had been greatly relieved by the friendly exchange.

“Your English is perfect,” he said.

“Thank you. Not perfect but passable, I suppose. I have made many trips to England. Circus life makes it easy for one to learn languages.” The captain began rinsing the dishes beneath the hand pump.

“And Odin?” Alec asked, wanting to learn more. “He lives here? You came here to see him?”

The captain's eyes became wary again but he did his best, Alec saw, to be pleasant. “Not quite,” he answered. “Odin lives in Haiti. He knew of this hammock and we came here together.”

There was no further explanation and Alec did not prod him. He was willing to wait. The captain was
no longer the frightening man he had seemed; neither was Odin, whom Alec believed to be demented but harmless.

They finished the dishes and returned to the living room, where the captain motioned Alec to a chair beside him.

“It is good to have a professional horseman for company,” he said. “I have always had great respect for one who rides a racing horse … not so much because of the speed itself, but to ride in the midst of others also fully extended calls for great skill and courage.”

“A jockey has to take the dangers for granted and do the job,” Alec answered. “I enjoy it. I wouldn't want to do anything else.”

“Yes, you would have to enjoy it to live in the shadow of maiming and death with each race. What do you weigh?”

“About a hundred and fifteen.”

“I am almost twice that and I would not enjoy it.”

“You have other talents,” Alec said, smiling. With the talk of horses all tension had left him.

“Yes, I prefer to
make
a horse rather than
break
one. The mouths of all your horses are as hard as the iron you put in them.”

“Not necessarily,” Alec said, surprised at his quick anger. “The Black's mouth has not been made hard. He responds to the slightest touch and I use my hands and legs the same as you … not as well, perhaps, or the same way,” he added more cautiously. “Yet I think we get the same results.”

The captain smiled at his outburst and it seemed to
Alec that the difference in their ages was fast disappearing.

“If what you say is true, Alec, your horse not only serves you as a racehorse but shares his life with you.”

They were interrupted as Odin crossed the room, opened the door without a glance in their direction, and went out. Alec noted that he was no longer wearing the crimson robe with the gold braid, but the black felt hat still covered his head. However, without the robe and the spear-tipped rod, he did not look so ominous.

The captain's gaze left the closed door and returned to Alec. “You are alone with your horse in Florida?” he asked.

“Alone?” Alec repeated. “No, not exactly.” He offered no further explanation, thinking that if the captain was inquisitive enough about him and his horse, he might be able to trade information. He wanted to know why a famous horseman like the captain was living on a remote hammock in the Everglades.

“You said Odin goes where he pleases. Aren't you worried?” he asked.

“No. I also told you he is very capable. He knows the swamp better than I do, and he is familiar with the Seminole tongue, so he has made friends in the nearby Indian village.” The captain paused, as if undecided whether to continue. A light flickered in his dark eyes; then, having made his decision, he went on. “Like the Seminoles, Odin is suspicious of the outside world. Lately, his antagonism seems to be directed toward the white men who are draining the Everglades. It is for
that reason I told him you were my friend and asked you to take his hand.”

“I can understand his feelings,” Alec said. “But I don't believe the engineers will ever conquer the swamp. It's too immense.”

“Perhaps you are right,” the captain said quietly, “but they're making progress. I, too, resent and challenge this conquest by the white man. It will not be long before—”

The captain stopped abruptly as if, perhaps, he had said too much. There was a haunted look in his eyes and Alec wondered what had caused it.

“But enough of such talk, Alec. We must continue with our discussion of you and your horse. You said you were not alone?”

Alec smiled to himself. The trade of information had begun and now it was his turn.

“I'm not alone in that we're staying at Sugarfoot Ranch,” he said. “We've been there a little over a week, resting up after racing at Hialeah Park in Miami. My partner and trainer, Henry Dailey, went up north a few days ago to look after some two-year-olds, but he'll be back within a week. Then we go to New York to prepare for the spring racing season at Aqueduct.”

“I see,” the captain said, his eyes once more becoming hard and cold. “Then you
are
alone with your horse.”

Alec felt his uneasiness return. He didn't know what the captain meant. They'd be expecting him back at the ranch by afternoon, and he certainly wasn't alone. Whatever thoughts the captain had were locked up tightly inside him. Yet Alec found that he no longer
distrusted him as he had earlier. Slowly he was acquiring more and more information and the pieces were fitting together. Soon he'd come up with the whole picture.

“Racing is a rough business,” he told the captain. “We're on the go most of the time. I suppose it's much like circus work.”

“I suppose so. Neither is the work for timid souls.”

“Timid?” Alec repeated. “I hadn't thought of it that way. But you're right. If you're going to race timidly, you might as well stay home.”

“Timidity has no place in the circus either,” the captain said quietly. “Let me show you some old prints I have here.”

He went to a trunk near the fireplace and removed a thick folder. From it he took some pictures and spread them on the table. Alec saw horses and riders leaping through hoops of fire and over the backs of elephants and tigers. The prints dated back to the early 1800s. There was one that intrigued him more than the others. It showed a beautiful white horse wearing simulated wings and flying over four horses standing below.

“This is supposed to be Pegasus?” he asked the captain.

“
Oui
, Alec. It was performed by Antonio Franconi in 1800 in London. The mythical winged horse was very popular with audiences of the time.”

Alec noted that the large wings were attached to a light girth strap. Truly, the horse appeared to be flying, and he could understand why it had been a successful act. The pity of it was that such a mythical figure would not be accepted in today's circus because people did
not accept fantasy as part of their world. The simulated wings on a leaping horse would only evoke laughter, not excitement.

When Alec mentioned this to the captain, the man asked, “But
you
, Alec, do you believe there is some basis of fact to mythology?”

“Perhaps more than most people do,” Alec said honestly. “At least I've thought about it a lot, especially Pegasus. I used to ride a make-believe winged horse as a kid. He took me all over the world.”

“I suspected as much,” the captain said. “And now that you're no longer a child, what do you think of such mythical creatures? Were they only imaginary? Was there no basis of fact for them?”

Alec thought a minute and then said, “I've read that primitive men credited many animals with powers far beyond their own. I think it was even believed that their gods took on animal form when they descended to earth.” He smiled. “I suppose that's how Pegasus came about. Is that what you mean?”

“
Oui
, in part, Alec,” the captain said, his gaze returning to the print before him. “But you must remember that until quite recently mankind continued to believe in a magical world in which animal and human shapes were
interchangeable
.” He picked up the print, studying it. “Not all the animals were as beautiful as Pegasus. Some were so horrible that men would die in terror at the very sight of them.”

The captain's voice was solemn but Alec could not take him seriously. It was part of an act, put on for his benefit, he decided. He laughed and said, “They were fairy tales, Captain, told since the beginning of time.
People don't believe in them any more, not in this day and age.”

“That's part of the trouble,” the captain said.

Alec believed him to mean that for this reason there was no place for a horse with simulated wings in the circus ring.

The captain added, “However, it is possible that some legendary creatures were based on animals which did actually
exist
.”