The Black Stallion Legend

by Walter Farley

  Outside, the stallion stood quietly while Alec unsnapped the lead shank from the halter ring. Only the Black’s eyes moved as the horse surveyed the seemingly endless miles of open land about him.

  Alec removed the halter, dropping it and the lead shank to the ground; then he wrapped his arms around the stallion’s neck, holding him tight as he had done so long ago on a lonely island. He wondered if this was what he had meant to do since he had left Hopeful Farm. Was this his answer—to go back to the way it had been at the very beginning? But to what end? For what purpose? To forget Pam, as if she had never been part of his life? Was that his answer?

  Despite being free of halter and lead shank, the Black remained still, as quiet as the morning, proud and long-limbed and waiting. Finally Alec withdrew his arms from about the stallion’s neck and looked at the pricked ears. His horse talked with his ears. They flicked east, and Alec knew it was in that direction they should go.

  He felt the stallion’s breath against his face as he stepped back beside the horse’s head. Then he took two short, springy steps forward and swung his legs up while pulling on the mane at the same time. His body rolled and twisted in the air, reaching for seventeen hands of horse. Once astride, his balance secure, he turned the Black free!

  The stallion’s strides came swift and easy, and Alec moved with him as if riding him for the first time. Here he had no other existence. Here he could begin all over again. He cued the Black to greater speed, the horse running beautifully over ground that had known no other hoofs but his, galloping and putting more miles between them and the painful world they had left behind.

  Alec rode with a fervor that he never had displayed on the racetrack, hurling himself and his horse into the vastness of the desert. He did not try to guide the stallion, but let him choose his own way. Swift and light, the Black ran in one direction after another, taking Alec through scrub and in and out of deep gullies. The great horse seemed to gather himself from time to time, changing direction at will, his excitement mounting as he felt no guiding hands, no control.

  Alec’s own excitement grew as he rode on. No machine could give this sense of motion, far greater than anything felt inside the fastest car or fastest plane. He rode a powerful horse whose heart drummed against his own, and he absorbed all the Black’s energy and vitality into his own body, trying to forget his loss of Pam.

  Alec screamed wildly into the wind, urging the Black on to still greater speed, more reckless than he had ever been, and knowing that his very wildness was creating problems he had never before faced with the black stallion.

  Alec wrapped his muscular thighs about the Black, determined to stay on. He knew he would be thrown if he made but one mistake. Not that he cared what happened to him. If he was to be killed, he would be killed riding the Black. He welcomed the danger in order to forget everything he had known. But more than anything else, Alec was a professional horseman, and he adjusted his seat to a horse no longer his, but one gone wild with freedom.

  The Black twisted and bucked. Alec felt the passion of the horse and gave in to his power. Instinct told him what the Black would do next, no matter how fast he did it.

  The Black plunged and pawed for the sky. He ran into gullies, twisting among boulders and jumping over mesquite, his back kinked. He was forked lightning, streaking one way and then another. He stopped only to rear up on his hind legs and pitch straight down with his head between rigid forelegs. Then he bolted like the wind, rushing up gullies while Alec held on by iron knees and superb balance. Once in the open the stallion sprang forward, bucking and kicking and running, as if he had never felt a human on him before. Alec stayed on him, the lower half of his body like a vise about his horse, knowing he must never relax the hold of his legs or he was dead.

  Alec felt as if his head were being jerked from his shoulders as the Black whirled on his hind legs. Then the stallion bolted and was on his way again. Alec tightened his legs on the body of live fire beneath him. His bones rattled and he felt the stinging lashes of the Black’s mane against his face. They were like hot wires, searing his face until he felt he could no longer stand the pain. To escape it, he lowered his head farther down on the foamed neck of his horse.

  Finally the Black ran straight and true, and Alec’s heart beat high from the challenge he had faced and won, staying on the stallion, his stallion, gone wild. His body felt shaken to pieces. He had been frightened but wildly excited. That was the way he had wanted it, and the Black seemed to have known.

  Alec felt the magnificent surge of power as the stallion stretched his long legs to their fullest extent. He lowered his hands on the wet, steaming neck and felt the desert wind sweep over him, furlong after furlong, as it might have on a racetrack. But he did not want to think of the racetrack ever again.

  There was no sound but the rhythm of racing hoofs over the earth. The Black was running at full speed, all fire over the scorched, parched land. And Alec was one with him again, sharing the stallion’s swiftness and strength as he raised and lowered his body to the racing strides of his horse.

  Now that the Black was no longer fighting him, Alec was certain the stallion knew where he was going. His ears were pricked and his wet nostrils blown out. He had scented something. Only once did he stop to change direction, then resume his headlong flight. In another mile he came to a dead stop, head up, eyes surveying the land.

  When the Black moved forward again, it was only at a slow gallop. Within a mile, Alec made out a brown pool in the rock outcroppings of the desert floor. It was a waterhole, and it was water that the Black had scented from far away. Only then did Alec realize how thirsty he was and what the water meant to both of them.

  The stallion went directly to the pool and, lowering his head, swept away the brown scum that floated on top to reach the clearer water below.

  Alec slipped off the stallion’s back, breathing heavily. The wild ride had knocked him about so much that blood was running out of his mouth and nostrils. He fell to his knees, then flat on his stomach in the mud beside the pool. His clothes were torn to shreds. He lay still, in a deep state of exhaustion, his face in the torpid water.

  AS IT IS NOW

  8

  Moments later Alec lifted his head from the water to find the Black standing quietly beside him. The stallion had turned to the east, his ears cocked and wet nostrils blown out. Following his gaze, Alec saw what had attracted his attention. Something was coming from the east, creating a cloud of dust fuming from the earth. The cloud gradually grew larger until, finally, Alec could make out the shadowy figures of a large herd of horses racing toward them!

  The Black’s eyes followed the fast-moving herd, his body arched back against stiffened forelegs, his neck defiantly curved. Sweat poured from his body.

  Rapidly the horses came closer, spread out in a line across the plateau. Alec recognized them as wild mustangs. Were they coming in from the desert to drink at the waterhole?

  The huge herd slowed when they saw the black stallion and sniffed the wind for danger. Finally they halted. Alec saw only beauty in their wildness, their suspicions, their unbounded freedom. But, actually, their bodies were raw, rough, scrawny and knob-headed. Alec realized that it was only their dominant will to be free of all restraint that made them appear so beautiful to him.

  They moved closer to the waterhole, tossing their heads high with nostrils dilated. The bright sun brought out details of prominent eyes, tapered noses, small bodies and slender legs. They came in all shapes and sizes. Their coats were of varied colors—brown, bay, sorrel, roan, dun, gray, white and paint—and covered with scars.

  The mustangs came to an abrupt halt again, eyeing the black stallion and sniffing his scent. Suddenly they broke the stillness with loud snorts, wheeled and dashed away, speeding once more over the desert, an earth-skimming mass of horseflesh.

  When the dust cleared, Alec saw that a few horses had stood their ground without fleeing. There were six mares, all with suckling colts at their side
s. Just behind them were an old stallion, who looked too tired to run anymore, and two yearling colts who ran about as if undecided which to choose, freedom with the large herd or the chance to lead a small band of their own. Alec knew it was the water that had kept the mares behind, for they needed it more than the others if they were to continue nursing their foals.

  They came closer to the waterhole, leaping and stomping, raising a cloud of dust around them as if that would conceal their presence. Alec watched them closely, for they seemed more playful than fearful. But they were cautious of the black stallion, circling downwind, the better to smell his odor.

  One mare was more curious, more adventurous than the others, Alec saw. She was the only black in the small band, but as raw and rough as the others. What set her apart was a long, raven tail that reached to the ground and a foretop that fell to the tip of her nose. In order to see, she constantly tossed her knobby head, throwing the forelock back over her ears. Her interest in the Black set her apart as well.

  She left the other mares, daring to come closer to the waterhole, quivers running along her flanks while she continued to toss her head in a series of impatient and coquettish jerks. Alec wondered if she had an affinity to stallions of her own color, for the foal at her side was black too. It happened sometimes, regardless how one explained it. The other mares were white, bay, roan and dun, and they all stayed put while the black mare moved ever closer to the black stallion. Her snorts were loud and startling, rolling over the desert, but they were not alarming, not the signal for flight.

  The other mares seemed to want her decision as to whether or not it was safe to approach the waterhole. They stood still, waiting, while the two young yearling colts, who coveted the mares for their own, stood with them, too immature to assert themselves. The old stallion was far away and alone, no longer possessive of the mares; he was content to give way to the young stallions, whose vigor and aggressiveness he could no longer match. It was only a question of time before the yearling colts drove him away to become an outcast.

  Alec knew this small group would rejoin the large herd as soon as their suckling foals could keep up with the others. Then the yearling colts would have to withstand combat with other stallions in order to maintain their monopoly on these mares. His eyes returned to the black mare, who was moving ever closer, still sniffing the wind but seemingly sensing no danger.

  Alec rubbed his face, wiping the sweat from him. Perhaps the smell of him, so much a part of the Black, was the reason she scented no danger in his own presence. Perhaps she understood from the smell of him that he had the nature, even the mind, of a horse. It did not seem odd to him at all that he was there, alone with wild horses.

  The Black uttered a soft, muffled neigh and the black mare came forward eagerly at his call, followed quickly by the others. Reaching the water, they all drank deep, ignoring Alec. He watched them without moving so as not to frighten them. Some mares pawed and rolled in the muddy sides of the hole, and when they were done they came out of the water, full and logy, and stood still, waiting. It was as if they welcomed the Black as their new monarch.

  The black mare circled about, tossing her mane and forelock the better to see the black stallion. She uttered raucous neighs, eyes sparkling with fire, implying that he should be well aware of the incredible honor that had befallen him by her attentions.

  The Black tossed his head, sniffing the scent of his new harem. Within his great body was a wild, fierce, almost intolerable longing for a mate. He became more excited and gave a sudden, shrill neigh. Gathering himself, he rocked back on his hindquarters; then he plunged forward, running around the band at a powerful gallop that brought him back to the waterhole, scattering the mares and foals. He wheeled sideways to avoid the black mare, as though to tease her, then he sped off again without slowing his pace. The muffled and thunderous beat of his strides seemed to echo his exaltation, his renewal of life.

  Alec watched him, knowing that this vast land with its wild horses made the Black act as he did because it was his way of life as well as theirs. His memory was fixed to what he had known long ago and now had found again. No longer did the Black have to dream of freedom; it was his for the taking.

  The black mare had not scattered with the others. She stood alone, unafraid and waiting for the tall stallion to stop his vigorous display of leadership. Her eyes were bright and searching as her gaze followed him—and, for whatever reason, Alec saw his Pam in those wild eyes, so intense and curious, questioning and, above all else, unafraid. The mare snorted occasionally, but the sound of it was almost musical—and Alec thought of Pam’s laughter, which meant to one and all the love and joy of life itself.

  Alec lowered his head and wept for the girl he had lost.

  The black stallion returned to stand beside the expectant black mare and continued his courtship of her. He was ardent but without brutality as he nibbled at her sides and neck, infecting her with his own maddened excitement. He rose to his full height, a gigantic figure on his hind legs, striking the air with his forelegs to maintain his balance, his long black mane waving from his efforts. He was the picture of superb power, his head stretched over the mare’s neck, his nostrils dilated, his eyes darting fire.

  It was many moments later when Alec washed away the tears that had racked his body. He went to the Black and told him, “Go where you will. You have done all you can for me.”

  Alec gave the Black a soft clap on his wet neck, and it was the only signal the giant horse needed. He trotted off to gather his small band together; then with a mighty snort he wheeled and led them across the desert.

  In a state of shock over what he had done, Alec watched them go, wild and free. The black mare raced close beside his horse and Alec thought that it, too, was the way it should be. The Black had found a mate, but Alec had lost his. What was a man born for? To find a mate, wasn’t it? To have Pam, to make a home for her, to have children with her, was what Alec had wanted most of all. It didn’t matter what happened to him now.

  THE WILD ONE

  9

  In the distance Alec saw the Black turn the small band and drive it back toward the waterhole. He tried to focus his mind on what he had done in setting the Black free. To what end? he asked himself. Nothing made sense to him. He no longer knew what he was doing and was acting on impulse only.

  The black stallion drove the band across the desert, tolerating the two young stallions for a while by allowing them to race alongside. He punished any mare that lagged behind by ramming his head into her ribs or nipping her ear. Neither did he allow the foals to lag behind, prodding them to stay close to their dams. He turned them just before reaching the waterhole and sent them in the direction he wanted them to go, westward toward the high mountains.

  Alec watched them leave, dazed, his mind drugged by the desert and the solitude of his own making. He was desperate and alone. He knew no yesterdays or tomorrows. He had relinquished all desire to judge or act. His thoughts came only in splintered flashes. He knew he really had come to the end of the line this time.

  The sun’s rays glittered on the sandy gravel before him. He was content to die alone, knowing the Black was free to live as he pleased and no longer needed him. But somewhere in his chest sobs were heaving. There was no reason not to cry if he felt that way, he told himself. He could spend whatever time he had left in any way he chose. No one would know.

  Alec watched the horses as they moved across the desert, more slowly now, for the foals were having a difficult time keeping up with the mares. Finally the black stallion brought them all to a halt to rest the foals.

  Alec’s eyes were fixed on the band as he drew a bare arm across his face, smelling not his own sweat but that of his horse. Ever since he was a small boy he had thought only of horses, even of being a horse. He had acted like a horse, run like a horse, neighed like a horse. “So maybe that’s how it should end,” he told himself.

  Alec’s eyes darkened as he saw himself as a wild and free mustang.
His mind was taking a twisting, curious turn that he could not understand, but accepted.

  Suddenly he began moving in the direction of the band, not knowing exactly what he was doing but not caring either. He felt strength returning with his exultance in a new way of life. A defiant look replaced the dazed redness in his eyes, a look similar to that of a young, unbroken horse. He strode faster over the ground until he had broken into a trot. Throwing back his head, he uttered loud, wavering neighs to the distant horses. Then he broke into a run, his muscular legs moving rhythmically, effortlessly.

  The black stallion moved the band again, now traveling in a more northerly direction. He drove the group rather than led it, still punishing laggards, the young stallions as well as the mares and foals. He seemed to know exactly where he wanted them to go.

  Alec called to him repeatedly from far behind. He felt new strength in his legs and was able to keep the horses in sight while pretending to be one of them. He raised his head high to sniff the wind as they did. He wanted them to see him, smell him, accept him. He wanted to be as wild and free as they were!

  As time passed, Alec found that he could travel in sort of a trotting walk for a long while, breaking into a run whenever necessary to keep the band in view. He was proud of his endurance, his ability not to fall too far behind. And when the horses stopped to graze, he gained on them, wishing he too could live off whatever grass they found. So for a long while he was able to stay within sight of the wild horses and think of himself as one of them.

  Far in the distance, too, Alec saw the dust clouds raised by the larger herd of mustangs and he knew the Black was on his way to join them. For what purpose? To enlarge his band? To make new conquests?

  The Black moved his mares even slower because of the tiring foals. As the sun set behind the western mountains and twilight fell over the desert, Alec ran faster, hoping to reach his horse before the land was in complete darkness. Finally he realized he could not catch up to the Black in time, no more than he could have caught up to his own shadow.