And it went on that way for all of five minutes, until most of the people who had been watching went back to work. Then Henry saw Alec move forward slowly, still keeping the lead rope taut and his lips moving.
The colt shook his small head savagely, and his ears lay back as Alec approached. And all eyes on the dock turned again to the two of them.
The tight ball in Alec’s stomach had gone. He knew what he had to do. And he knew, too, that this was the way he’d wanted his colt to be. Still looking at the blazing eyes, he said softly, “You’re fire, boy. You’re full of it, just like him. You’re mine, boy. We’re going places together … you and I. We’re going to use that fire to burn the tracks. We’re going to make him proud of you. He’ll hear about you, boy. Hear the pounding of your hoofs, even though he’s way back in the desert. It’s going to be the way he wants it, boy.”
There was a shrill scream from the colt as he rose on his slim hind legs. Alec, his face suddenly tense, let him rear, the rope sliding between his fingers as the colt went up. Balanced lightly on the balls of his feet and ready, Alec waited until the colt started downward, his hoofs pawing the air. And just before the colt’s forelegs struck the wooden gangplank again, Alec sprang forward and came in close to the colt’s head until the white lather from the black neck was flung upon him. Quickly, he grabbed the halter and closed in hard upon the small head.
Henry chuckled. And when the pier official who stood next to him looked his way, he said, “It’s just as easy as that, mister. Just as easy as that.”
“He hasn’t got him down yet,” the man replied.
“Nothin’ to it,” Henry said, his eyes still on Alec and the colt. No, he could tell Alec wasn’t going to have trouble now. Look at him. Just holding that wild baby’s head and talking a mile a minute. It didn’t matter what Alec was saying, just so long as he kept talking in that smooth, soothing way of his. There! He had the colt’s hind legs on the plank and had him moving, too. Henry could see that Alec was holding him well. The colt had to come down; there was no other place to go. “See,” Henry said to the pier official as Alec and the colt came down the plank. “See. What’d I tell you?”
“Yep,” the man returned, glancing down at the folded paper in his hand. “Well it’s his horse, ain’t it? So I guess he oughta know how to handle him. Alec Ramsay’s his name, huh?”
Nodding, Henry kept his eyes upon the colt and Alec as they came toward him. The colt was kicking his hind legs back and making as big a fuss as he could. Occasionally he would throw his forelegs out, but Henry knew that they were no danger to Alec so long as he stuck close to the side of the colt’s head.
When they had reached the gate, the pier official said to Alec, “Take him through, kid, and get goin’. Lots of other stuff comin’ off that tub.”
Winking at Alec, Henry moved over beside him.
“He’s it, Henry!” Alec almost shouted. “He’s everything we hoped for. I know he is. I can feel it right here in his muzzle even!”
“Y’keep a good hold of it,” Henry cautioned. “There’s enough noise and commotion around here to drive any horse loco, let alone this one. Keep over here, Alec, away from those trucks.”
The colt tried to rear, and dragged Alec a short way; then the boy had him under control again. But the colt’s ears still lay back, and his eyes continued to blaze.
And it was his eyes that Henry looked at more and more often as they walked along. They were smaller than his sire’s, and the glare from them was fixed and stony. They bothered Henry. For throughout his life the old trainer had prided himself on being able to tell much about a horse from his eyes. And he didn’t like what he saw in the black colt’s. Too much lurked there … craftiness, cunning, viciousness, yes … and something else, too. Something which Henry couldn’t figure out. Something which he could only feel … and it was sinister. He’d never seen it in the eyes of any horse before, even the Black. And he wondered if, possibly, this colt could be a throwback to his wild forebears … horses who had roamed the desert and the little-known lands beyond the Rub‘ al Khali, arrogant and ruthless, fearing neither man nor beast and harboring a savage, smoldering hatred of both.
Alec was talking half to himself, half to Henry. “Every inch of him is the Black,” he muttered. “Every last inch of him. He’s going to have the same broad chest and long, slender neck.” Turning to Henry, he said excitedly, “Look at the arch on that neck, Henry. And the small head! And he’s going to be big! You can tell that by his frame, Henry. Big! Like the Black!”
Henry didn’t say anything. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t going to be so easy after all … as easy as he’d told Mr. Ramsay it was going to be. Those eyes did something to the colt.
Tearing his gaze from the black colt, Alec looked at Henry quizzically. His friend’s face was sober, thoughtful. It was strange that Henry was so quiet. This is the son of the Black! he almost shouted. His horse! The beginning of everything! Alec found himself wondering again. Had Henry changed, now that he was a big-time trainer again? Had he seen too many of Boldt’s fine colts to become excited over any other colt? But this was not just another colt. Certainly Henry knew that!
Alec studied Henry’s face as the old man walked beside him, his square jaw shoved out like a toy bulldog’s, the furrows in his wrinkled brow deeper than Alec had ever seen them. Something was wrong, Alec knew. Was it that Henry wanted to continue working for Boldt rather than go through with their plans? Did he regret having signed only a year’s contract with Boldt, instead of the three-year contract the wealthy race horse owner had offered? Alec knew his present contract would terminate in two months; they’d planned it that way so Henry would be free just in case the horse did arrive. Was that what was bothering Henry? Did he want to renew his contract with Boldt, and make big money instead of going through with the original plans? Plans that could fail if the colt didn’t have the speed of his sire?
Alec’s face was tense as he turned back to his horse. The colt swerved, attempting to break away, but Alec’s grip was firm and he brought him back. If that’s what Henry wanted, he thought, he wouldn’t stand in his way. But somehow he’d raise and train the colt himself, and the day would come when Boldt, Henry and everyone else would know the speed of his horse.
They neared the van. Alec saw his father standing there, with Sebastian straining at his leash to get to him. His father smiled, but Alec could see that it was forced. The ramp of the van was down, the driver standing alongside. Just lead the colt up the short ramp, and he’d have him inside. Then home, and before long his father would have forgotten all that had happened at the pier.
Henry said, “Want me to help you take him in, Alec?”
“I can manage, Henry. Thanks.” Alec’s voice was clipped. He moved forward with the colt. Sebastian barked, then whimpered, his tail wagging; he wanted to get to Alec. The black colt swerved again, and Alec knew Sebastian wasn’t helping matters any. He was about to ask his father to take Sebastian away from the back of the van when a sudden gust of wind, blowing from the river, swept through the shed. Alec saw his father make a grab at his brown hat as the wind caught it, knocking it from his head. As the hat tumbled down to the ground, his father went after it with both hands, and Sebastian was free. Bounding forward, the puppy ran excitedly to Alec.
Then it all happened very quickly. The colt reared, swerved to the right, then plunged forward, his small hoofs striking out viciously.
And when Alec had him still once more, Sebastian lay inert upon the wooden floor of the shed.
Then his father and Henry were beside him, and his father bent over the dog. Finally, he looked up at Alec. “He’s still breathing,” he said in a strained voice. “I’ll get him to a veterinary.” Then, carrying Sebastian in his arms, he left them.
Alec stood gazing at his father’s back as the older man walked quickly away with Sebastian.
“I don’t think the colt hit him square,” Alec heard Henry say. “Just glanced him on the side
, probably knocking the wind out of him. He’ll be okay, I think, Alec. Don’t worry.”
“I sure hope so, Henry,” Alec replied slowly. “I’d hate to have anything happen to Sebastian.”
“The colt’s excited.…”
Alec nodded, his eyes on the quivering body of the horse beside him.
“Let’s get out of here,” Henry said. “It’s no place for him.”
As they led the colt into the van, Alec said bitterly, “A good start, Henry.”
“Yeah,” Henry returned, “… a good start.”
SATAN
4
When the van left the pier shed, Alec was sitting between the driver and Henry. Turning his head, Alec could see the black colt through the small window. He was tied securely; everything was all right now.
Henry said, “He’ll turn out okay, Alec. Don’t worry about him.”
Without looking at his friend, Alec said, “I’m not worrying too much, Henry. It’s the way I hoped he’d be.” Pausing, he added, “I just wish he hadn’t kicked Sebastian.”
Henry didn’t say anything, and after a few minutes Alec glanced at him. The old man’s face was still troubled. Alec’s gaze left him and returned to the road ahead. For several blocks he was undecided whether or not to bring up the subject which was foremost in his mind. Then he said quietly, “Your job, Henry. How’s it going?”
Without hesitation Henry replied, “It’s all right, Alec. Boldt’s got some fine youngsters this year. He’s thinkin’ they’re the best he’s ever had. May be right, too, from the looks of ’me.” And then Alec detected a sudden eagerness in Henry’s voice as he added, “There’s one colt especially that Boldt’s staking everything on … a gray colt sired by his champion, Shooting Star. That’s the horse, you know, that copped all the big stakes a couple years back. Well, Boldt put him in stud and bred him to that great English mare, the Lady, which he bought for fifty thousand dollars. The gray colt’s the result, and Boldt wouldn’t sell him for any price. He’s already named him Boldt’s Comet.”
Alec remained silent when Henry had finished. It was pretty much as he’d figured, Alec thought. Henry didn’t want any part of his black colt. With Boldt, there were horses Henry could get excited about and, at the same time, pull down a good salary each year. With him, there would be no salary, no fine stables, no help, nothing … except the son of the Black! And at one time, not so many months ago, the colt had been all that Henry had wanted.
Then the old man said quietly, his eyes still on the road ahead, “But if our colt turns out to be anything like his sire, he’ll run Boldt’s Comet into the ground, Alec. I’m sure of it.”
Our colt! Did that mean … could it mean …?
Quickly Alec turned to Henry and met his eyes for the first time since they had left the pier. “Our colt,” he repeated. “Do you mean it, Henry? You’re going to go through with it, just as we planned?”
A confused look swept Henry’s face as he studied Alec’s tense expression. Then he smiled. “Y’mean, Alec, you didn’t think I was?”
Alec’s eyes fell, and he heard Henry’s deep chuckle. The old man’s gnarled hand descended upon Alec’s knee as he said, “You’d have to get out the entire New York police force to keep me away, Alec. And then it wouldn’t do any good.” Chuckling again, he continued. “Sure, I’m going to be there, Alec, and we’re goin’ to make this black colt into a race horse few will ever forget. Just like the Black,” he added reminiscently, “… just like the Black.”
Alec turned toward Henry, his eyes eager. “We’ll do it, Henry!” he half shouted. “Together, you and I … just as we planned.”
“Just as we planned,” Henry repeated.
Alec’s face sobered. “But Boldt and your job … the big money, Henry …”
“Big money. Big business, Alec. And I don’t like it.” Henry’s eyes were again upon the road. Then he went on, his voice serious, giving Alec no reason to doubt what he said. “And when I say big, Alec, I mean just that. No, Boldt’s no small-time player, not by a long shot. He calls his horse farm the Mother Lode Ranch, after the gold mine he found back in ’twenty-six when he was pretty near stone-broke. That ranch, some say, is nearly ten thousand acres, an’ others say it’s closer to twenty thousand.” Henry turned and gazed at Alec as he added, “It must be stocked with over a thousand thoroughbreds. Why, I got a glimpse at Boldt’s catalogue once’t, and counted fifty stallions and six hundred brood mares alone.… Then there are all those youngsters runnin’ around. More horses than any man knows what to do with … and he’s got more trainers, grooms, jockeys and boys workin’ for him than Flushing has people.” Henry stopped, smiled. “Maybe not quite,” he said, looking ahead at the road. “But it’s big. Big business to Boldt … and a lot more than that, too,” he concluded quietly. “I don’t want any part of it any more.”
The thud of hoofs meeting wood reached Alec’s ears as Henry finished. Turning, he looked through the window at the colt. Then, convinced that his horse was all right, he said to Henry, “I’m glad, Henry. Selfishly, I know, but glad.” He paused before continuing. “But you’ve trained horses for big stables before, Henry. Maybe not as large as Boldt’s, but big, anyway.”
It was a long time before Henry replied. “I know, Alec,” he finally said. “Some might say it’s because I’m gettin’ old. Maybe so. Then again it might be that I found something really worth having when you and I trained the Black practically in our own backyard and then saw him cop the big race in Chicago with you wrapped up in his mane. Yep, things like that really make life worth livin’, Alec. An’ we aim to do it again, don’t we?”
“We sure do, Henry.”
“But there’s something else, Alec,” the old man continued, and now there was a hard, brittle ring to his voice. “Another reason why I’d get out, even if your colt hadn’t arrived. It’s Boldt … Boldt himself.” Henry paused. “He’s half horse, Alec, but not in the same way that mebbe you and I are an’ a lot of other people we know. Boldt, with all his horses, wants more horses … all he can get, just as long as they’re fast. He wants ’em because he fears them, is afraid one of ’em might beat his own. I know from what I’ve seen, Alec, that it’s been his ambition for years to have the fastest horses in the world. With his Shooting Star he came into his own, an’ now he has his gray colt and figures there’s no stoppin’ him.” Henry turned to Alec. “When I was a kid an’ lived in the rangelands, I saw men like Boldt; and my father saw lots more and had rough dealin’s with a good many of ’em. They stop at nothin’, Alec. Nothin’. Boldt hired me because he knew I’d just come back from Arabia with you and Mr. Volence, and he figured I could tell him a lot about those four Arabian horses Abu Ishak had given Volence. He was afraid of those horses, Alec, and he thought he could get to Volence through me.”
Alec well remembered the horses Abu Ishak had given Mr. Volence, their friend, who had made possible their trip to Arabia in search of the Black. “They were fine horses,” Alec said quietly, “but they couldn’t run on the same track with the Black. Even Volence knew that.”
“Sure,” grunted Henry, “but by breeding ’em to some of his good stock down in Kentucky, Volence hoped to get something. I suspect the first foals have already come along by this time. But getting back to Boldt, he tried for months to get me to talk about Volence’s Arabians ’n’ even Abu Ishak. I kept my mouth shut and played dumb ’til there came a time when old Boldt would pass me by without noddin’ his head. And that’s the way it went. Later I heard he went and tried to buy the horses from Volence, and when Volence wouldn’t sell, Boldt swore he’d get even.”
“Nice guy,” muttered Alec sarcastically. He thought a minute, then added, “I wonder what Boldt would do if he learned about the Black’s colt being here?”
“That’s what we’ve got to keep from him as long as possible, Alec. With his money and pull he could make things uncomfortable some way. The horses Volence brought back are peanuts compared to what your little baby t
here in back is worth to Boldt. He told me once’t that it was his supreme ambition to own a wild desert stallion like the Black. But he can’t get to him, an’ he knows it. If he learns the Black’s son is here … well, Alec, we’ve just got to keep it from him as long as we can. Then when the time comes, we’ll figure out what to do.”
“Yes,” Alec said, “no sense worrying about it now.”
They had reached the truck route running parallel to the Parkway leading to Flushing, and in less than half an hour they’d arrive home. Alec wondered if his father had taken Sebastian to Flushing, then decided that it all depended on how seriously Sebastian was hurt. If his father thought the puppy’s injuries were critical, he’d find a veterinary in New York instead of making the trip home.
Henry said, “You thought of a name for the colt, Alec?”
“For months I’ve been thinking about it, Henry.”
“Then you’ve picked one out. What’s it to be?”
“Satan,” Alec replied, turning to his friend.
“Satan,” Henry repeated. “Uh-huh. Satan.” He paused, then continued, “Abu called the Black Shêtân, back in Arabia. Shêtân means devil in Arabic. So his son is to be named Satan. Is that it, Alec?”
Alec’s eyes were bright as he nodded. “It’s a good name, Henry, isn’t it? He’s so full of fire.”
“Yeah, Alec, I guess it is,” Henry replied, his gaze turning back to the road. Those black, sinister eyes of the colt haunted him like the devil himself. He attempted to shrug the feeling off. There might be nothing to it, he told himself. Nothing that couldn’t be whipped in time. But he wanted to be around from the very beginning to keep his hand on this colt, for there was no telling what might happen later if he were allowed to get out of control early in the game. It was important, much more important than Alec realized. Finally Henry turned to Alec and said, “I’m flying back to the West Coast early tomorrow morning to quit my job with Boldt. Then I’ll be back in a few days.”
Son of the Black Stallion Page 4
