The Black Stallion Mystery

by Walter Farley

  Alec turned to his friend. “But … why?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that,” Henry said, beginning to pace the floor, “but it’s the reason I’m keeping you from riding again.”

  Alec was silent, stunned by Henry’s words. Why would anyone want to kill him? He had no enemies.

  “The whole business of our bein’ here is weird and yet almost as if it was carefully planned,” Henry said, meeting the boy’s eyes. “They figured on our comin’. Abd-al-Rahman told us that.” He paused. “I wonder if it’s the Black he’s after. With you out of the way and then me …”

  “I don’t believe that,” Alec said. “No man would kill for a horse … any horse, even the Black.”

  “You’re mistaken about that,” Henry said. “Remember the stories we’ve heard of Bedouins fightin’ wars for fast horses.”

  “Not Abd-al-Rahman,” Alec said, but like his voice the expression on his face was indecisive.

  “Blood runs deep, especially Bedouin blood when there’s a horse concerned,” Henry reminded him.

  Alec shook his head. “Abd-al-Rahman could have gotten rid of us long before this if he’d wanted to.”

  “Not and have it look accidental,” Henry pointed out, “like a fall from a horse.”

  Alec put on his shoes. He thought of another night, when a lone bull had come out of the darkness to attack him. Had that, too, been accidental? He got up and went to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Henry asked.

  “To feed and rub him down. His leg is all right but needs attention.”

  “I’ll go with you,” the trainer offered.

  “All right,” Alec said. “I wanted to tell you something anyway … something that happened that first night at Angel González’. I went to the big bull pasture …” The padded leather door closed behind them.

  It was six o’clock by the stableyard clock when they reached the stallion barn.

  “Then Angel González could be mixed up in this dirty business more than we figured,” Henry said when Alec had finished his story of the lone bull. “I’m not exactly surprised.”

  The Black reached for the grain as Alec poured it into the feed box. Kneeling in the straw, the boy felt the stallion’s right hind leg and found it cool without any noticeable swelling. Nevertheless he began rubbing it with a leg liniment he’d found in the tack room. It had a strong, sharp smell that smarted his eyes and nose.

  Henry said, “I want you to keep quiet about what happened. Tell them you saw nothing.”

  “Why?”

  “Only one person will know we’re lyin’. Maybe he’ll give himself away.”

  “All right,” Alec agreed. “We’ll try it your way. It’s easier than climbing mountains.”

  “And a lot less dangerous.”

  They went to breakfast totally unprepared for the shock of seeing Don Angel Rafael González sitting at the table. Behind him hovered the old woman María, her heavy body wobbling from side to side as she passed the hot dishes.

  “Good morning! Good morning!” González boomed, rising to greet them. “We meet again under far more pleasant conditions, heh, my friends?”

  “At least the sun’s shining,” Henry said bitterly, recovering before Alec did.

  Abd-al-Rahman sat at the head of the table with Tabari on his right. Behind them stood Homsi.

  Tabari said, “Then you did not hear their plane last evening? Ah, but it was very late and you were sleeping heavily. Tell us, Alec, how was your hunt?”

  Before answering, Alec turned to those sitting at the long table—to Abd-al-Rahman, who had stiffened in his chair, looking every inch the hard desert hunter he was—to Tabari with the arched smile on her lips—to Angel González, who was helping himself to more eggs and meat—to María, who stood behind him, more mother than servant, pouring hot milk into González’ big coffee cup—and finally to Homsi, whose frail body could hardly be seen behind Abd-al-Rahman’s chair.

  “Not very successful,” Alec replied at last in answer to Tabari’s question. As far as he could tell there was absolutely no change of expression on the face of any of his listeners.

  González was the first to speak. He shrugged his big shoulders gracefully and said, “You hear, María? You have been worrying needlessly about our young friend. He goes hunting alone at night! He is very brave.”

  “I know that well,” she said quietly, “and so should you. Did he not save your life?”

  “And I shall be forever grateful!” González said, turning to Alec and smiling.

  “A nice way you had of showing it,” Henry interjected. “Leaving us like you did.”

  The big man shrugged his shoulders again. “I did not think it so bad at the time. I was eager to return home and thought your wait would be but a short one. It was María who took me to task for leaving you as I did. She was furious. She insisted upon our coming back and finally I consented.” He turned toward Abd-al-Rahman. “We are here,” he concluded, “to make sure they arrived safely in your home.”

  The young Sheikh smiled graciously. “We can still conduct business,” he said. “Your trip has not been for nothing.”

  “Yes, there is always business,” González agreed.

  “Perhaps when it’s done we can fly back with you,” Henry suggested, trying to conceal his eagerness.

  The big man’s scowl deepened the long scar across his cheek. “Of course,” he said, “it is perfectly all right with me.” He turned to Abd-al-Rahman, his eyes questioning.

  Homsi’s face was a mask of cold scorn. Tabari’s sandaled feet scraped the bare floor. María’s heavy lids lifted, disclosing the keen interest she, too, had in the Sheikh’s answer.

  “Alec and Henry are free to go whenever they please,” Abd-al-Rahman said kindly although his eyes belied his gracious manner. “It is they who have given up the search for Ziyadah, not I!”

  Henry pretended to eat, while speaking softly to Alec. “Keep your eyes down and keep still. All he’s got to do is to look at you to know you’ve got the wind up about something. Let me handle it.”

  González had sat back in his chair and was patting his big stomach. He said with feigned casualness, hoping to relieve the tension that had descended upon the room, “It is all muscle, like a bull’s.”

  Henry turned to Abd-al-Rahman again. “Will your business with González take long?” It was impossible for him to read anything in the Sheikh’s set face.

  “Only a few hours,” Abd-al-Rahman answered finally.

  “Then …” Henry turned back to González and found that the big man’s cheek had begun twitching.

  “We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” González said.

  María shifted her big bulk and nodded her gray head approvingly. She poured more scalding milk into González’ cup.

  Abd-al-Rahman’s face darkened despite Tabari’s quick movement of a hand on his arm. He fixed piercing eyes upon Alec as he said scornfully, “fferin! You came here crowing like a young cock. Now you run like a jackal! Go home and take your black stud who knows nothing but soft tracks that are kind to his feet!”

  The Sheikh rose from his chair, shaking off Tabari’s hand. Taking his brass key ring from his pocket, he flung it across the table and it slid into Alec’s lap. “Play everything safe, my young friend. Lock up your black treasure so he will not disappear like Ziyadah! Close yourself up within these fortress walls! Flee tomorrow to your safe, soft, and comfortable world! Leave me to find Ziyadah alone. You are not worthy of such a chase!”

  “Easy, Alec,” Henry said aloud, for the boy’s face was pinched and white. “Keep your eyes down.”

  The Sheikh angrily left the room.

  Tabari was the first to break the silence that followed. She tried to make light of her husband’s furious outburst. “He’s like a little boy sometimes,” she said. “He wants to play Follow the Leader and always be the leader. You, Alec, have spoiled the game for him. He wanted you to follow him after Ziyadah.”

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nbsp; Alec looked at her and said, “I can’t agree with you, Tabari. I don’t think he’s ever been the little boy you claim him to be. He’s rough and tough and hard beneath all the polish you’ve tried to give him. He’ll get what he wants, even Ziyadah.”

  She didn’t answer but fear showed in her eyes as she left the room.

  BLACK ROOM

  18

  That evening Alec and Henry were the only ones at dinner. Afterward they went to the living room, where they found Tabari standing in front of the roaring flames in the fireplace.

  “Where’s everybody?” Henry asked, trying to appear casual.

  She turned around and appraised him. Finally she smiled as if deciding that she too would pretend nothing had happened that morning. “I believe they’re still talking business,” she said lightly. “Angel is very anxious, it seems, to get more yearlings to sell in the United States.”

  “They brought good prices, then?” Henry asked.

  “Very good, I understand. But I’m afraid he won’t get any more like the ones he had. Not unless Ziyadah is caught.”

  “I thought you believed Ziyadah to be a ghost horse,” Alec said quietly.

  “Isn’t he?” she asked, smiling as she lowered herself into a chair.

  “Not if you believe he sired the Sales yearlings.”

  “I’m only guessing,” she answered. “Really, Alec, you never joke at all.”

  Henry had begun pacing the large living room, winding his way around furniture that was beautiful and polished with age. “The point is, do you think he’s goin’ to let us go tomorrow?” he asked, coming to a stop before Tabari.

  “Of course. Why not? He is a man of his word.”

  Her gaze shifted to Alec, who was nervously toying with the key ring Abd-al-Rahman had given him that morning. “Did you lock your horse’s stall?” she asked, her brows arched.

  Alec nodded in embarrassment. “Not that I was afraid anything would happen to him,” he said lamely.

  She looked at him as if they were the only two persons in the room. “I know,” she said evenly, “and you’d better leave him there for the night. No more hunting.”

  Henry bumped into a couch. “He’s goin’ nowhere but to bed,” he promised.

  Tabari rose from her chair and went to the fireplace. Her walk and manner were casual but she said with sudden coldness, “You have made my husband more determined than ever to capture Ziyadah. He is a fool running after folly!”

  Henry said, “You’d better not let him hear you say that because first of all he’s a horseman.”

  She whirled upon him, her eyes still cold and steady. “You men are all alike,” she said evenly. “And the more I watch you work with horses the less I believe you know anything about the treatment of them under heavy strain. Only my father …” Suddenly all the vitality left her and she appeared tired and lonely as she went on, “… he could put iron in their bodies and fire in their spirits.”

  “A big order,” Henry said. He didn’t like the contemptuous, half-pitying look she had for him. “I’ve found a horse either has it or doesn’t have it. A good trainer simply tries to get the best out of him.”

  She stamped a small foot on the floor to add emphasis to her words. “You race your horses on flat tracks with well rounded turns!” she said in a loud, clear voice. “Only great trainers and great horses know what it is to race over rough, uneven ground where jumps are hard and landings harder. Those are the kind of horses my father raised!”

  Henry’s face was flaming red and he didn’t try to keep the anger out of his voice. “There are easier ways to ruin a horse than to rip its muscles and split its bones by racin’ over that kind of going!”

  Alec stepped between them, sorry for Tabari because he realized more than Henry how much she had adored her father. It was her deep grief for his loss that made her say things she didn’t really mean. Actually, Abu Ishak had been more interested in speed than jumping ability—and Tabari knew that as well as he did.

  The door to the room opened and Abd-al-Rahman walked in followed by Angel González. Tabari glanced swiftly at her husband and the somber, grief-stricken look disappeared from her eyes. In its place appeared a radiance that filled the room. She laughed lightly and clapped her hands with all the gaiety of a little girl. With easy grace she moved toward her husband saying, “I’m glad your work is done for now my evening begins.”

  Abd-al-Rahman put his arm around her but his gaze remained on Alec and Henry. González said jokingly, “You have only one rival, Tabari, and that is Ziyadah.”

  She pouted coquettishly. “I know,” she said sweetly, “and isn’t it silly to be jealous of a ghost?”

  Henry told Alec, “I want to get out of here.”

  As they excused themselves and moved toward the door Abd-al-Rahman said quietly, “I would like my keys, please.”

  Alec turned quickly, fearful for his horse’s safety.

  The Sheikh laughed loudly. “Oh, you may keep the one to his stall,” he said with sarcasm. “It is only the other keys that I need.”

  When Alec followed Henry from the room he was conscious of Tabari’s perfume. He thought of the mares waiting for her in the corner of the field and of her being content only to watch them.

  “Have a good night,” Abd-al-Rahman called as they shut the door.

  Much later Alec stood by his bedroom window. It was partly open and there was a hint of rain in the cold night air.

  From somewhere behind him Henry said, “You ought to go to bed.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “I’m waiting for tomorrow.”

  “So am I,” Alec said.

  “I’m not closin’ my eyes until you do.”

  “He’s got the house bolted front and back. I couldn’t get out if I wanted to—which I don’t,” Alec added hastily.

  “Then what’re you starin’ into the night for?”

  “I’m looking at the gardens. They’re pretty all lighted up as they are. If he lets us go, we won’t be seeing them any more.”

  “Humph!” snorted Henry.

  Alec shrugged his shoulders. Henry needn’t be suspicious. What reason would he have for trying to leave this house and trailing Ziyadah? Especially since everybody knew they were leaving tomorrow. It would be too dangerous. If Henry was right, someone was just waiting for a last chance at him and his horse. It was far better and safer to stay indoors.

  Turning away from the window, he found Henry standing at the fireplace. Red-and-orange flames licked greedily at the big logs, casting ragged shadows in the semi-darkened room. “Go to bed,” Alec repeated. “You’re beat.”

  Henry didn’t answer and Alec turned back to the window. He liked the coldness of the night air. He even wished it would rain so he could feel it on his face. Like Henry, he was mixed up and a little scared. They hadn’t found what they’d come after but he was glad to be leaving. He stared into the darkness without actually seeing anything.

  Were they prisoners in this fortress or would Abd-al-Rahman let them go tomorrow as he’d promised? Only morning would provide the answer, for that was when González was prepared to leave.

  Suddenly he felt a horrible net of gloom descend upon him. He tried to shake it off by concentrating on the play of the fountains below. It didn’t help. He found himself listening for strange sounds in the night and occasionally he would start at the sudden crackling of wood in the fire. He looked down into the darkness of the courtyard. There was a sheer drop of three high stories, making him feel more than ever like a prisoner.

  A long while later he turned away from the window. Henry was asleep in a chair beside the fire. “I’m going to Abd-al-Rahman,” he said aloud, as if doing so made it easier for him to leave the room. “I can’t let him think of me as a coward. I couldn’t live with myself if I did. I want to tell him where Ziyadah went. He can follow the trail himself. I don’t want Ziyadah. I’ve got the Black. All I want is to keep him.”

  Henry snored in reply.r />
  Leaving the room, Alec walked down the long gallery until he came to Abd-al-Rahman’s bedroom. He knocked on the door. There was no answer. For a moment he stood there undecided, then he turned the knob. The door was unlocked and the room empty. A small fire burned in the fireplace, casting its flickering light upon the elaborately carved wardrobe cabinet in the corner of the room. The door to Tabari’s adjoining bedroom was open but there was no light or sound from within. Abd-al-Rahman was perhaps still downstairs with his wife and González.

  A few minutes later Alec looked into the great living room and saw Tabari and Angel González sitting before the fire. They didn’t see him and he closed the door again, deciding to go to the strange, bare room in which he’d found Abd-al-Rahman once before. As he passed through the silent corridors and halls he was aware only of the loud creaking made by his own hurried steps. When he came to the room he sought he knocked softly upon the door.

  There was no answer and he entered, surprised at finding the door unlocked and the room empty. A dim light shone from the small desk lamp. Alec decided this must mean that Abd-al-Rahman would return at any moment, so he sat down on one of the hard, straight-backed chairs and waited.

  The room was damp and cold. Alec looked at the empty fireplace, recalling vividly the big logs burning everywhere else. The old wire screen was rusty, as was the gate. Evidently there hadn’t been a fire there in many years.

  Outside he could hear someone locking up the house. He couldn’t be mistaken because the great bolts and chains made a lot of noise. A chill ran through him and he rose from the chair, stamping his feet as if to warm them. What was the matter with him anyway?

  He recalled how the dust and closeness of this small room had almost stifled him on his first visit. Now he was terribly cold. The night and the dampness accounted for it, he told himself. He reached for a book on the desk and blew the dust from it. It was printed in English so he decided to pass a few minutes reading it.

  The book was about the Bedouin and his horse, written by an authority on desert tribes. Most of the history Alec had read before so he skipped lightly that section. As he went on, he moved the desk lamp closer so he might have more light. He concentrated on the text in front of him: “The pure Arabian horse has been so intensely inbred through centuries that very often he is not a prolific breeding animal.”