Son of the Black Stallion

by Walter Farley

  Harrity took it up again. “This black stallion was aboard, picked up at … Addis.” His eyes swept back up the stairs, and he muttered, “That was Addis back there.”

  “The horse saved the kid’s life, didn’t he? Dragged him to one of those islands off the coast. And about a month later, after all hope had been given up, they were picked up and brought to New York.”

  “And then to Flushing,” Harrity added. “Alec Ramsay, Flushing, New York.” He jerked his head in the direction of the hold. “And that’s just where this little devil is goin’.”

  Morgan began walking down the steps again, followed by Harrity. “Y’remember hearin’ anything more about the Black and this Alec Ramsay?” Morgan asked without looking back. “After the race, I mean.”

  “You know as well as I do how long we were out on that South Africa trip right after,” Harrity said. “Of course I didn’t hear nothin’.”

  “I was just thinkin’ about that black stallion we just saw,” Morgan muttered. “He sure looked like what I imagined the Black should look like. From everything I’ve read about him, anyway.”

  Harrity said, thoughtfully, “I was thinkin’ about that, too.” Shrugging his shoulders, he added, “But he sure can’t be in Flushing and Arabia at the same time, that’s certain. And I still can’t figure out that black baby in the hold. Wonder where he comes in on it?”

  “Forget it,” Morgan said. “We’ve got enough to do from here to New York without wastin’ our time on puzzles. I’m just glad my name’s Morgan instead of Alec Ramsay, and that I live in Brooklyn an’ not Flushing. I wouldn’t want any part of that horse.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Harrity. “You’re right. I’ll take my horses just by watchin’ ’em from the grandstand at a race track. Nope, I sure don’t envy this Alec Ramsay none, either.”

  THE LETTER

  2

  “Alec Ramsay live here, ma’am?” the man asked of the small, plump woman who had made her way down the porch steps of the house in Flushing.

  “Why, yes,” she replied, slipping a shopping bag lightly over one arm. “Although he isn’t in just now,” she added.

  “I’ve a special delivery for him,” the man explained, extending a large manila envelope.

  “I’ll sign for it,” the woman said.

  “You his wife, ma’am?”

  “No, his mother.” She smiled.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” He grinned, holding out his book for her to sign. “But I had to make sure, y’know. No sense losing this thing now, not after it’s come all the way from …” He stopped and drew the envelope closer to his eyes. “From Arabia,” he concluded. “From some guy by the name of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak. What a monicker that is!”

  The smile left the woman’s face at the man’s words. And as she took the envelope, he asked, “Anything wrong, ma’am?”

  “No,” she said, her gaze still on the envelope, “… nothing at all.” Turning back to the house, she added, “Thank you for bringing it. Thank you very much.”

  She walked slowly, without looking again at the envelope in her hand. After going up the porch steps, she moved across to the small table beside the hammock and carefully placed the envelope upon it. She stood there quietly for a few moments, then turned and again started to leave the porch.

  As she passed the screened front door, a small dog with long, shaggy brown hair peered out. Whimpering, he shoved his nose against the corner of the door and pushed, his short legs rigid.

  A slight smile lightened the woman’s face as she opened the door for the dog. And as he leapt outside, she said, “All right, Sebastian, you find Alec and tell him it’s here. He’s been waiting for it a long time.”

  She watched the dog run down the steps and across the yard, and then set out to do her shopping.

  Sebastian traveled fast, his short legs covering the ground with great speed. Crossing the street, he slid to a stop before a high iron-barred fence which kept him from the field on the other side. Then he retracked a few yards, and went to a bar which was bent slightly at the base. His head went through easily, but the bars closed in upon his round body. He stopped for a minute, half in, half out. His soft brown eyes turned in the direction of the old barn a few hundred yards away in the field. Panting, he squirmed his way through. With a short bark, he ran down the graveled driveway and bounded into the barn.

  But once there, he came to a dead stop, his ears cocked. The short whinny of a horse came from one of the box stalls, and the dog ran forward, his paws pattering softly upon the wood floor. Reaching the door, he found it ajar, and without hesitating went into the stall.

  The old gray horse with the low sway back removed his muzzle from the feed box and, lowering his head, sniffed suspiciously.

  Moving across the soft straw, the dog ran between the horse’s hind legs and underneath the low-hanging girth as though he were treading on familiar ground. He moved up to the large head and shoved his nose against the horse’s muzzle. The old gray whinnied and then drew back to his feed box, munching his oats.

  The dog stood there listening quietly for a few seconds. Then he was out of the stall and running past the row of empty stalls toward the rear of the barn. Finally he came to a room and sprang inside, sniffing and with his eyes alert.

  A voice came from the end of the room. “It’s a Sebastian. Here, come to Tony.”

  The dog ran toward the man, who sat on a chair holding long leather straps across his lap. Sebastian threw his front paws upon the man’s knee and let him rub his head.

  “Heesa feelin’ good, no?” Tony laughed. “Heesa feelin’ like the wan young fella he is. Sì, Sebastian!” His hands rubbed the back of the dog’s ears. “Where sucha small puppy like you get so longa ears, Sebastian? Maybe just a leetle bit of whatya call da bloodhound in you, no?”

  The dog barked, his gaze leaving Tony, moving to the far corner of the room, and then back again. With a burst of speed he was out of the room, running past the stalls and through the door.

  Outside in the bright sunlight he stopped, as though undecided which way to go. He turned his head, looking across the street at the brown house which he had left. Then he looked in the opposite direction, at the green field adjacent to the barn. His eyes followed the wooden fence that encircled the field until they came to the hollow at the south end. Without further hesitation, he ran to the wooden barred-gate entrance to the field, dashed underneath the lowest crossbar, and went tearing across the long grass toward the hollow.

  As he reached the top of the hollow, he barked and his hooked tail wagged furiously. Then he ran down toward the boy who was sitting in the grass, and swarmed all over him.

  Alec Ramsay grabbed the dog as he leapt into his lap, and Sebastian’s long tongue sought the boy’s face. Alec’s hands moved underneath the dog’s shoulders and he turned him over on his back, holding him between his knees. The dog wriggled at first, but then relaxed as the boy’s fingers found his chest. “Hey, Seb,” and Alec smiled. “You’re not supposed to be out. It’s too hot for you. Do you want to get sick again?” But there was no sound from Sebastian as he stretched his head back, allowing Alec to scratch his neck.

  They stayed there for some time, the dog content to be in the boy’s arms. And as Alec stroked Sebastian, his gaze very often would leave the dog, move across the high, uncropped grass, and come to rest upon the heavy underbrush at the low end of the hollow. There were thistles growing there now, plenty of them. He’d have to fence it off before his horse could graze in the field as the Black had once done. Alec’s brow wrinkled. Would he ever see his horse running around in this field? Would Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak keep his promise to send him the first foal of the Black, or Shêtân, as the sheikh called him? Shêtân. It meant devil in Arabic. The Black was no devil … not to him, anyway.

  But it had been many months since Alec had left Arabia and the black stallion, and during that time there had been no word from Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak. Yet the sheikh had promised, and Alec
couldn’t believe the Arab chieftain would go back on his word.

  The dog stirred as Alec moved his knees. “C’mon, Seb,” the boy said. “I guess we’d better get going.” He lifted the dog and placed him upon his feet before standing up himself.

  What weight Alec Ramsay carried was all in his broad shoulders, chest and arms. From there he tapered down to a small waist, slender thighs and legs.

  As he walked across the field, Sebastian following closely at his heels, his keen blue eyes sought the barn. He wanted to say hello to Tony, not having seen the huckster for some time, and he knew that very often Tony and his aged horse, Napoleon, would have completed their neighborhood rounds by this time of day.

  The hot August sun overhead caused the perspiration to drop slowly from Alec’s forehead and run down the sides of his face and across the high cheekbones. He swept it away with his hand and then brushed an arm across his forehead, pushing his red, tousled hair back from his eyes.

  When he reached the barn and went inside, he saw Napoleon. The gray horse shoved his head over the stall door and neighed. Alec stroked the soft muzzle, took several lumps of sugar from the pocket of his corduroy trousers, and gave them to the horse. Suddenly the quiet of the barn was blasted by Tony’s booming voice, and Alec heard him sing, “To-re-a-dor-e … dada … dada … DA. Toreador! Toreador!”

  Alec smiled. Tony was here, all right. With a final pat on Napoleon’s nose Alec went to the tack room in the rear, Sebastian padding softly behind him.

  “Hi, Tony,” he greeted. “Doing some polishing?”

  “Allo, Aleec. Sì, I maka nice an’ clean for my Napoleon. But it’sa all finish now.” Tony rose from his chair and hung the harness he had been polishing upon its wooden peg. That done, he turned his bright, black eyes toward the light racing bridle hanging close beside the harness. His hand touched the soft, well-polished leather. “You keepa in good condition, Aleec, no?” he said, without looking at his friend.

  “No sense letting it go to rot,” Alec replied. “It’s a good bridle.”

  There was a short pause before Tony spoke again. “You heard from thata man … what you call heem … Ab …”

  “Abu Ishak?” Alec said.

  “Sì, that’sa heem,” Tony said, nodding his head.

  “No,” Alec answered. “I haven’t heard from him.”

  “You theenk he will send you da horse like he promise when you leave hees country?”

  Alec sat down in Tony’s vacated chair and ran his hand over Sebastian before answering. “I think so, Tony,” he said quietly.

  “If he doesn’t, heesa one big liar,” Tony said angrily. “You tooka good care of da beeg Black when theesa man thought he wasa drowned, no? Then thees Abu comes along much time later and says to da Black, ‘We go,’ and offa they go.”

  “But the Black belonged to him, Tony.”

  The little huckster rose to his feet, his black eyes upon Alec. “Da beeg Black belonga to you always, Aleec. Hees heart belonga to you. It’sa that that’sa decides, and not papers!”

  “Okay, Tony,” Alec said resignedly. “He belongs to me, and I loved him. I guess that’s why, even if I could have had him, I’d rather see him in Arabia. It’s his home. He’s happier there.” Alec’s eyes met Tony’s. “Abu Ishak is a good man, Tony,” he said. “He loves the Black as much as I do. And with him he’ll bring into the world other fine horses like the Black. I couldn’t have done that, Tony.… It costs a lot to breed horses.” Alec paused a few seconds, and then concluded, “It’s better this way … I know it is.”

  There were several minutes of silence before Tony said, “And Abu, he promise you wan of these fine horses after you follow him to hees country and ween big race for him on da Black, no?”

  “Yes,” Alec admitted, his eyes still on Sebastian. “He said that he would send me the Black’s first foal.” Then, half to himself, he added, “A colt or a filly … I wonder which it will be?”

  Tony said, “Did Henree hear heem say this thing?”

  “No, but I told him about it on our way back from Arabia.” Smiling, Alec added, “No witnesses, Tony, if that’s what you’re driving at. Besides, there’s no way in the world to compel Abu Ishak to give me the first foal. It’s up to him … his word.” Then as though to change the subject Alec said, “Henry and I have been writing to each other. He seems to like his job.”

  “I’ma glad,” Tony returned. “Heesa training race horses again, no?”

  “He’s working in California for Peter Boldt, who has one of the finest racing stables in the country,” Alec told him. “Boldt offered Henry the job soon after we got back from Arabia. It was a swell break!”

  “I’ma glad he’s happy, Aleec.” Laughing, Tony added, “When old men lik’a Henree an’ me are happy we can keepa up with you younga fellas.” Tony picked up his black battered hat and moved toward the door. “You will be happy, too, Aleec, when the new one arrives. Sì, he will come like you say. Now I feel it strong lik’a you.”

  “Thanks, Tony.” Alec smiled at his friend’s words of encouragement. Then they left the barn together.

  They parted outside the iron gate. Alec watched Tony shuffling up the tree-lined street, and then followed Sebastian as the dog ran toward home. He wished that he was as certain that Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak would keep his word as he had implied in his conversation with Tony. It was true that he thought of the sheikh as his friend, and had believed him that day in Arabia when the chieftain had said, “The Black’s first foal will be yours, Alec, and I shall send him to you.” How well he remembered those words of the sheikh! How many dreams, hopes and plans he had built upon them! They had made his leaving the Black in Arabia much easier, for he had known that before too long there would come to him a horse through whose veins would run the blood of the great black stallion. And this horse would be his, his very own, to love, to raise and to train for the track. He had raced him a million times in his dreams, had driven him thundering past the turf kings of the day as they stretched for the wire.

  And only Henry knew of his dreams and plans. For together they had discussed them on their way back from Arabia and for many months in their letters to each other. And the old trainer’s eyes had glowed as bright as his when they talked about this horse to be. But, lately, Henry’s letters had arrived less and less frequently. Alec realized that Henry was busy, for Boldt had the largest string of racers in the country and with them had won the top races last year. Yes, Alec decided as he reached the porch steps, Henry had plenty to do besides writing him, even if Henry was “only one of Boldt’s four trainers,” as he had so often written in his letters. It had been a wonderful opportunity for Henry, getting this job with Boldt. Anyone would have jumped at it. But Alec did miss him.

  When he reached the porch Alec flung himself on the hammock, and Sebastian jumped up beside him. Alec knew that his mother was out shopping, and that his father would not be home from work for at least an hour. This would be a good time to think about his horse again, to plan.…

  Then he saw the envelope propped against the flower vase on the small table. It hadn’t been there when he’d left the house. Rising from the hammock, he went over to the table and picked up the envelope. For several seconds the writing upon it seemed to become blurred and then he read again his name and the return address.

  Slowly, he walked back to the hammock and sat down. Sebastian moved over to his lap and whimpered. Alec pushed the dog’s head to one side and then hastily ripped the envelope open, removing several papers. On top, in Abu Ishak’s familiar handwriting, was a short note:

  Arabia

  July 15th

  DEAR ALEC,

  As I promised, the firstborn of Shêtân, or your Black, will be shipped to you aboard the steamer Queen of India, due to leave Addis on the thirtieth of this month, and arriving in New York on the twenty-eighth of August. I’m enclosing all necessary papers, the transfer of ownership, his registration in the Stud Book of Arabia, and papers to claim him u
pon arrival in New York. Yes, Alec, it is a colt, and he’s coal black like his sire except for a small white diamond in the center of his forehead.

  May the great Allah be with you, and may the colt love you as does his sire.

  Affectionately,

  ABU JA‘ KUB BEN ISHAK

  Alec’s eyes were moist as he finished reading the note. And to think that there had been times when he doubted the promise of the sheikh! As he read the other papers enclosed, Sebastian whimpered for attention and Alec automatically patted the dog. Yes, everything was there, just as Abu Ishak had written. Everything that was necessary to claim the colt as his colt. Everything, just as he and Henry had planned. This was the beginning!

  Alec suddenly jumped from the hammock and shouted so loudly that Sebastian growled, looking for an intruder. Finding none, the dog leapt to the floor and followed Alec as he ran across the porch.

  As Alec flung open the screen door, he turned to the dog and playfully slapped him on the back. “You’re going to have a pal, Seb!” he shouted. “… A real pal!”

  With Sebastian at his heels he ran into the house, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and entered the large front bedroom. Rushing to his desk, Alec seized pen and paper. Before writing, he glanced out the window, and his gaze rested on the old barn and the green flowing field. It wouldn’t be long now before his colt would be grazing out there, and old Napoleon would again have a neighbor in the stall next to his! Abu Ishak had said the ship would arrive on the twenty-eighth. The twenty-eighth! And today was the twenty-third!

  Eagerly, Alec turned to the notepaper in front of him and began his letter. “Dear Henry …”

  SINISTER EYES

  3

  Alec’s mother stood quietly on the porch as her son and husband walked to the small, dark sedan parked by the curb. Her gaze wavered from the car a moment and took in the old barn and green field across the street, then returned as the sedan’s motor caught.

  She was afraid. Afraid of what this new horse would bring. Twice before a horse, his horse, had led Alec to undertakings few men had ever experienced. Undertakings which for him had been adventurous, exciting. But for her and her husband, they had meant months of anguish and concern.