The Black Stallion Mystery

by Walter Farley

  “No one knew horses better than your father. If he said Ziyadah is dead, he’s dead. But …”

  Alec was aware of her sudden receptiveness. As she crossed the room toward him, her eyes held a faraway look. For the first time since the plane had landed him in this wild country Alec felt close to her, and he was reminded of the friendship they’d shared in the desert.

  She said in a low voice, her face flushed, “My father came to me one day in this very room and said, ‘Daughter, mark this hour well for the colt of colts has been foaled!’ ”

  “And it was Ziyadah?”

  She nodded. “Oh, Alec, this foal was no different from the others in the beginning. His way of going was the same, his legs were no longer, his bones no stronger. But as a yearling he became everything my father had foretold. Ziyadah was not a big colt, which was a surprise even to my father, but he was a very fountain of speed and vitality! He was all fire and none of the other horses would dare play with him for fear of incurring his wrath!”

  For a few seconds she paused. Then she went on. “Has my husband told you that Ziyadah’s coat was of burnished copper, so highly polished that it returned the sun’s rays as would a mirror?”

  Alec shook his head.

  “It was the color of the ancient stones used by my ancestors to build this fortress,” she said, her eyes suddenly clouding. “My father believed that this too proclaimed Ziyadah as the brightest star of the desert, the one who had been sought by our people for so many generations. He looked forward to the day when Ziyadah would prove that he could pass on his speed, stamina and heart to his first colt.”

  Her back suddenly stiffened and she turned abruptly away from him. “You know the rest,” she concluded bitterly. “It was this colt—now your Black—who killed him.”

  For many minutes a heavy silence filled the room broken only by the flapping of wings against the upper panes of the window.

  Tabari said, “Probably a pigeon.” She tried to assume an air of lightness but there was fear in her eyes.

  Their gazes met and Alec for some reason felt cold. But all that Tabari said was, “Since Ziyadah is truly dead you and my husband are only wasting your time.”

  “I wish you’d tell him that,” Alec said.

  “You cannot catch a ghost.”

  Alec attempted a smile but it faded fast. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said.

  “But I do.” She spoke with intensity, in a voice barely above a whisper. “For I have found a hoofprint made by no earthly horse.”

  BLACK HUNTER

  16

  Alec, sitting in the tub, allowed the water to rise until it had almost reached his neck before he turned it off. His muscles were sore, for he wasn’t used to riding over such rough terrain as he had encountered here. The water felt good and he closed his eyes, trying not to listen to Henry’s long tirade coming from the next room.

  “I tell you, Alec, we’re goin’ to get out of here someway! It’s not the Black I’m worried about, but you. This guy will kill you off for sure. You’re no judge of this kind of riding. You make one mistake in these mountains and you’re done. I told that to Abd an’ I’m goin’ to tell him again! Either he quits this night-and-day search for Ziyadah or we clear out of here—and make no bones about it!

  “I’ve been talkin’ to some of these gardeners. Not that we understand each other’s lingo but they have an idea what I’m after. They hold up the fingers of both hands five times when I ask them how far it is to their village. An’ they point to the south, past the field where we landed. I figure they mean it’s fifty miles that way. All we got to do is to get a few cans of grub, give the Black his head to the south an’ go. With his keen scent we’ll find our way all right. We’re no fools. Why, from the way this fellow’s driving you …”

  Tabari had said the hoofprint she had found was stubby rather than oval-shaped; it was thick and short but unquestionably that of a horse’s hoof. More ghostly still, there was only one. She had seen it when Jason had stopped the carriage horses for a breather coming home. It was in the soft bank of a mountain stream and fresh, made no longer ago than last night!

  A little later Alec dressed in fresh clothes loaned to him by Abd-al-Rahman.

  Tabari had said she wasn’t going to tell her husband of the strange hoofprint. She wanted him to stay home with her.

  Henry joined Alec and began striding up and down the room making plans for their departure.

  Alec thought only of the hoofprint. His bath had refreshed him and he believed in ghost horses less than ever. If there was a hoofprint it had been made by a real horse. If there was one track there had to be others. They would be fresh, made only last night, and easy to follow.

  Alec and Henry left the room for dinner and walked down the long hall, their steps echoing the full length of it. Near the stairs they came to a halt for Abd-al-Rahman’s bedroom door was open and he called them inside.

  “We’ll go down together,” he said, while waiting for Homsi to bring his coat from a large wardrobe cabinet. His appearance was out of keeping with the herd rider they had come to know. He wore a white linen suit and his black patent-leather shoes were brilliantly polished. His beard, too, had been trimmed. He smiled at them while glancing toward the open door of the adjoining room.

  “I’ll tell Tabari we’ll meet her downstairs,” he said. “Like most women she’ll be a little late, I’m afraid.”

  They saw Tabari sitting before the mirror of a dressing table, brushing her black hair. Abd-al-Rahman went to her and said something, taking one of her hands and enclosing it in his. When he turned around his eyes could not conceal his sheer adoration for his wife.

  Alec had no doubt that Abd-al-Rahman would call off the search temporarily just as Tabari wanted. He noted the bright Arabian blankets on the bed and the yellow-and-black tanned skins of mountain lion and bear which covered the floor. It was a man’s room, the room of a hunter, in contrast to the adjoining room, which was as soft and feminine as Tabari.

  He heard his hostess call his name.

  “Alec,” she said, “he has promised not to ride tonight. Now you will have your rest.” She was leaning back in her chair, her eyes bright and dancing.

  “We’ll leave that up to Alec, my dear,” Abd-al-Rahman corrected her gently.

  Alec glanced at the Sheikh questioningly. From the young and powerful hunter he had become a schoolboy who was very eager to please.

  Tabari’s face darkened. “But you promised,” she said in a peevish tone.

  “I said only that I planned to stay home with you. Alec can do as he wishes. He might like to ride alone.” Abd-al-Rahman turned from his wife to Alec, his expression one of slight annoyance. “I didn’t realize I was pressing you so hard. Tabari seems to think—”

  “I told her only that I was tired,” Alec said.

  “And he has every right to be!” Henry interjected angrily. “What mad plans do you have for him anyway?”

  The blood rushed to the Shiekh’s face. “I plan nothing for Alec that he doesn’t want to do himself!” he said in a clipped voice. “Now enough of this!” Picking up his key ring from the dresser, he shoved it angrily into his pants’ pocket.

  Alec said, “I guess I will ride tonight. I’d sort of figured on it.” Actually, he hadn’t decided until that very moment.

  They all turned upon him and Henry was the first to speak. “Say that again, Alec.”

  “I’m riding. There’s something I’ve got to find out.” Alec paused, refusing to meet Henry’s eyes. “It won’t take long.” He turned to Abd-al-Rahman. “I’ll need the key to the outer gate.”

  “You’re sure you want to go alone? I can send someone with you, perhaps Homsi. There’s no better rider.”

  “I’m the one who’s goin’ along,” Henry said insistently.

  “No, I’d better go alone,” Alec answered. “I’ll work faster that way and get back sooner.”

  The Shiekh handed Alec a large key from the ring.
“Good hunting!” he said, smiling at his wife.

  Tabari shook her head, and in a far corner of the room where it was semi-dark Homsi’s eyes glowed as yellow as a cat’s.

  Later that night Alec rode the Black past the house, the lights looming bright against the mountain. He sent his horse into an easy lope and the four black hoofs beat out a quiet cadence. He watched the stallion’s ears and listened to the wind sighing across the land. He felt as if he owned the world. It was always that way when he was alone, riding the Black.

  A shaft of light split the darkness near by where the mares grazed. The guards were alert. Alec took the Black to the side of the drive, the soft earth muffling the sound of the stallion’s hoofs. Soon they’d leave the pastures and guards behind. The wind, sweeping up from the south, became a little stronger. It rippled the tall grass and made the trees creak as branches scratched against each other. Alec hoped it wouldn’t rain.

  As the Black warmed to his work Alec eased him into a faster, long, swinging lope. The grass was fine for running, not too hard and not too soft, and the stallion wanted to be let out even more. He snorted constantly and shifted into greater speeds whenever Alec relaxed his hold.

  “Not now,” Alec told him. He must save the Black’s speed and stamina. He must watch out for him every minute, especially later on. It was strange to think that such a powerful horse needed protection. But Alec knew the Black would run for him until he died, would work until he dropped … so he needed a champion.

  Despite Alec’s soft words and hands, the Black quickened his strides, his hoofs sounding like thunder. It swelled to a roar and the south wind whistled. Only when they neared the high wall did the stallion’s strides shorten and his speed lessen. He came to a stop readily as if his desire to run free had temporarily been satisfied.

  Alec opened the big gate with the key Abd-al-Rahman had given him. He said to his horse, “I only hope you’ve saved something in case we meet up with Ziyadah. If you haven’t, it won’t be much of a race.”

  He led the Black away from the road. He did not feel fearless or bold, only prepared to do his best. He knew what he and his horse could do. His eyes and ears were alert, his seat balanced. He knew where he was going.

  He sent the Black into a lope and felt the drive of the black legs under him. Swerving into the brush he slowed the stallion to a walk and guided him down a moderate slope, the shortest way to the stream Tabari had mentioned. Suddenly the Black came to an abrupt halt, pricking up his ears and whistling. Alec was startled, for his horse seemed attracted by something on the slope above. Alec, too, looked up. He sensed movement but at first saw nothing. Finally he saw it, a white patch on a fawn-colored rump. “Move on,” he said to the Black. “It’s only a deer. We have more than that to look for.”

  When they were back on the road again Alec saw the fresh tracks of the carriage. He found the exact spot where, as Tabari had said, they’d stopped to rest the horses. The mud was thick beside the stream and he had no trouble finding the strange hoofprint. It was like none he’d ever seen before, too short and thick, too stubby. And yet he had no doubt that it had been made by a horse. He walked up and down the stream, searching for other prints but found none. Was Tabari right? Was this no earthly horse they sought? He found himself listening for the plop-plop of ghostly hoofs in the mud.

  After a while he mounted the Black and rode into the brush. A fine mist was now being borne on the southerly wind. It drifted about him and his horse, making him feel very much alone. Suddenly he raised his hands and the Black came to a stop. Alec slid off the black horse and ran a few feet into the brush. There he bent down to observe some horse droppings. They were warm.

  Looking up into the mist, he whispered, “We’re not alone then, black horse. And it’s no ghost that’s watching us. He’s up there where you can’t catch his scent. Listen for him. He won’t keep quiet long.”

  Alec mounted and the wind swept the black mane into his face. “Go slow,” he told his horse. The long legs moved beneath him. “You won’t need to use all your speed. Remember that. Don’t use it all. Be ready to stop and turn and jump. It’ll be that kind of a race. We want to corner him if we can but we don’t want to kill ourselves doing it.”

  There was a sudden movement to the Black’s ears. Then he whistled a short, sharp blast.

  Alec looked wildly around. Less than a hundred yards above them a small, bright spark glittered in the night, disappeared, then showed again in the same spot. Had it been made by a pawing, plated hoof striking stone?

  Alec felt the Black’s sinewy legs quicken stride. “No,” he whispered to his horse, “not yet. Go slow. Save yourself.”

  Suddenly the whistle of another stallion pierced the silent air. The Black jumped, throwing Alec forward so that his chin was buried in the flying mane. Alec rocked back as the stallion swerved about some brush, closing in rapidly upon the spot from where the sparks had come. Ziyadah!

  The moon had broken through the swift-moving clouds and Alec made out the silhouette of a running horse. He had no doubt that it was Ziyadah for the horse ran with the agility of one who knew every inch of the terrain. Like a flying cloak trailed the shimmering streak of blue and red and orange lights which Alec had seen twice before. It was these weird lights Alec followed, his blood racing in his excitement and the thrill of so close a chase. Their speed was dangerous and he knew that a fall meant certain death, but he had confidence in his horse’s sure strides. Where Ziyadah went the Black could go too!

  The wind whipped the air away from Alec and it became hard for him to breathe. Sight of the other stallion had aroused the Black and he ran wildly, swerving around brush and rocks at lightning speed.

  They were not overtaking Ziyadah but on the other hand he was not drawing away. So long as they didn’t lose him Alec felt confident they’d run him down.

  “Don’t use up all you’ve got,” he kept repeating to the Black. “Save something. He’s afraid or he’d turn and fight. He can’t shake us off. Stay with him.”

  They had only a short distance to go before reaching the vast wall of rock which had stopped Alec and Abd-al-Rahman so often before. Would it halt Ziyadah’s wild run? Would this be the end of the chase?

  They entered the darker-than-night shadows of the mountain and the wall of rock towered precipitously above them. There was no slowing of the trail of sparks nor did the Black’s strides slacken. The tall stallion swerved with the twisting, rocky path and Alec could not tell if this was one of the approaches they had attempted previously or not.

  Suddenly he saw the sparks swing upward as if Ziyadah had swerved and then taken a tremendous bound into the air! Startled and uncertain, Alec reached for the Black’s halter to slow him down. But quickly he let go, giving the stallion his head. Better now to trust the Black’s judgment than his own! He regained his balance as the Black swerved, following the sparks. Alec barely had time to get a good grip with his legs when the stallion jumped.

  The Black took in the situation before Alec did. He was in midair and flying over a low wall when he sensed danger. Suddenly he changed the direction of his leap by twisting his body to one side. Alec bent his head low over the Black’s neck as the wrenching of the great body almost tore his arms out of their sockets. With folded hocks beneath his quarters and extended forelegs the Black landed at an angle on the other side of the wall, his body scraping stone. He lurched forward, regained his balance, but didn’t go on, for his right hind leg had slipped between two cut pieces of hard spruce-wood and was held fast! He made one attempt to break free and when he failed he stood perfectly still, awaiting Alec’s help.

  Alec slid off his shaking horse, fury welling up within him when he saw the man-made trap that had been set for them. He removed the big stones that held down the long slats at both ends. Beneath them was a hole just deep enough to cause serious injury to any horse. Fortunately, except for one hoof the Black had avoided the trap.

  Alec looked up, following Ziyadah’s fie
ry trail as the horse climbed the mountain. He wasn’t going to follow him any longer … at least, not tonight. Furious as he was, he might make a mistake, and he and the Black might not be allowed another chance. His body trembled in his anger and hot tears ran down his cheeks.

  Who had set this deadly trap?

  BLACK EYES

  17

  The light of early morning came through the diamond-paned windows. “You should have woke me,” Henry said. “I slept in the chair, sure I’d hear the racket of those door bolts when they let you in.”

  “What difference would it have made?”

  “We could have found out who was in the house and who wasn’t!” Henry exploded.

  Alec shook his head, tucking in his shirt tail. “The trap could have been set earlier.”

  “Then someone is pretty well acquainted with Ziyadah’s ways,” Henry said.

  “Of course,” Alec answered. He pulled his belt tight and squared his shoulders. “And I aim to find out who it is. I’m going to follow Ziyadah’s trail up the mountain.”

  “No you’re not,” Henry said quietly. There was a new note to his voice that meant business.

  “Why not?”

  Henry went to a chair and sat down. At any other time he would have liked the strong set of Alec’s jaw and shoulders. “Have you considered why somebody should want to set such a trap?”

  “To keep Ziyadah from being caught,” Alec replied.

  “I don’t think so,” Henry said, his face darkening. “Why would anyone in this house want to hide Ziyadah in the mountains? Can you think of an answer?”

  Alec went to the window. “Maybe it isn’t anyone in this house,” he answered quietly.

  “Who else then?” Henry rose from his chair and went to the boy, clamping a hand firmly on his shoulder. “I don’t think Ziyadah’s appearance last night was accidental, Alec. I believe it was all planned, including your chasing him. The trap was set for you.”