“Yes, Henry.”
“Guess we’re off, heh?”
“Right, Henry, and all the way to the wire.”
“To the wire,” the old man repeated.
“And I’ll be back just before Christmas,” Alec said. “It’s only a few months, that’s all it is.”
“Sure, Alec. Sure,” Henry replied. “An’ don’t you worry none … about the colt, I mean.”
His mother was still there when Alec put down the receiver. “Is everything all right, Alec?” she asked with concern.
“Guess so, Mom.” Then he saw the anxiety in her eyes and, grinning, placed his arms around her plump waist. “Sure it is,” he said. “Sure it is, Mom.”
SMOLDERING FURY
7
As the train neared New York City, Alec fingered the rubber band wrapped around the small package of letters he held in his lap. Then, his face sobering, he turned to the window again. And the snow-covered landscape, with the brightly lit houses and colored Christmas tree lights reflected upon the whiteness, passed by without his consciously seeing it.
It was only when the conductor lumbered down the aisle bellowing, “Gr-rand Ce-entral Station—next. Last stop!” that Alec’s gaze returned to the crowded car and the letters in his lap.
That Henry was having trouble with Satan Alec knew, not so much from what the old trainer had written during the past three months while Alec had been away at school, as from what he’d left unsaid. The greater part of Henry’s letters had been concerned with incidental information about Tony, Napoleon and mutual acquaintances in Flushing. When he had mentioned Satan it was only to say that the colt was getting huskier every day, and was going to be a big yearling.
Alec knew Henry too well not to realize that his friend was keeping much about Satan to himself. And then Henry’s last letter had arrived, just a few hours before Alec left school for his Christmas vacation at home. If Alec had had any doubts about his ability to read between the lines of Henry’s letters, the old man’s postscript in his last one had done away with them completely.
The rubber band snapped beneath Alec’s fingers as he withdrew the letter from the package. Then he read the postscript again. “P.S. I’m enclosing a snapshot of Satan, Alec,” Henry wrote. “You’ll notice that the colt has developed a whale of a lot in the past few months. He’s going to be a big horse, all right, maybe even bigger than we thought, because he sure is big-boned and thick-bodied. He ain’t going to be pretty to look at like the Black—some folks might even call him ugly—but I’m sure from his barrel and haunches that he’s going to get places in a hurry. And he’s a handful to handle, Alec. It’ll take a long time.”
Alec picked up the snapshot Henry had enclosed with his letter, and as he looked at the picture of his horse, the heaviness left his freckled face. Satan was becoming burly, all right, he mused. And the colt wasn’t going to have the beautifully molded form of the Black, as Henry had said. Satan’s head was small, but it was wider than the Black’s, and his neck was thicker and his ears heavier. But certainly, Alec thought, no one could call him ugly. For his giant body was fired with a volcanic fascination that was beautiful in its smoldering fury. And yet Alec knew that this mighty power had to be checked in some way if Satan was ever to be completely his. Somehow he had to win the love of his colt.
As the train sped into the tunnel which would take them under the city and into Grand Central Station, a tall, angular boy entered the car and, seeing Alec, made his way hastily down the aisle toward him.
“What have you been hiding out for?” he asked as he sat down in the seat next to Alec. “The gang’s up in the first car.”
“Had some work to do,” Alec said, slipping the letters inside the pocket of his jacket.
“Relax,” the boy said as he raised a long leg, pushing his knee against the seat in front of him. “It’s vacation time.”
“Sure, Whiff, I know,” Alec replied, smiling. “Merry Christmas.”
“Ah,” Whiff said happily, “it’s going to be a great time. I’ve got some good parties and dances lined up already. How about you?”
“I’m sitting ’em out and sticking around home,” Alec replied.
“You’re crazy.”
Alec shrugged his shoulders.
Whiff turned to him. “A girl I know is giving a party on January second. Like to come along? It should be good.”
“Thanks, Whiff, but I’ve got a party on myself that night. A birthday party,” he concluded.
“I thought you were sticking around home?” Whiff returned.
“I am. It’s going to be at home.”
“Your birthday?”
“No,” Alec said. “My colt’s—he’ll be a yearling.”
“Kinda silly, isn’t it? Having a birthday party for a horse?”
“It’s all in the way you look at it,” Alec replied quietly.
Whiff rose to his feet as the train rolled slowly into the station. “I’d better hop onto my bag,” he said. “If you change your mind about sticking around home, give me a ring, Alec.”
Alec watched Whiff push his way through the crowded aisle. No, he thought, there wouldn’t be any changing his mind, not with Satan at home.
As the train came to a stop, Alec pulled down his bag from the rack above him and joined the line of passengers moving slowly from the car.
Once outside his pace quickened, and when he passed the large clock in the station he saw that it was almost midnight, and that the train had been a half hour late. It would take him about three-quarters of an hour more to get to Flushing, and he wondered if his mother and father would still be up when he arrived home. And Satan—he wanted to see him tonight, too.
When he reached the subway, he ran down the stairs and caught a Flushing train that was just pulling up alongside the platform. He entered the car, sat down, and thought about his horse again.
Henry had mentioned in his last letter that it would take a long time with Satan. Exactly how long did Henry mean? Months? Years? Was the colt acting up so much that Henry even doubted their being able to race him as a two-year-old? According to the training schedule they had set for themselves, Alec was to begin riding Satan sometime this coming summer and then they’d go into the track workouts during the fall and winter months, just prior to Satan’s second birthday. Then, if all went well, they’d bring him out that year in the Hopeful at Belmont. The Hopeful! It made Alec a little dizzy just thinking about it, for he knew that all of the fastest two-year-old thoroughbreds in the country would be there. Boldt’s Comet, the gray colt that the racing world was waiting to see, would be running in it. And along with the others would probably be Mr. Volence’s horses.
It had been Alec’s suggestion that they enter Satan in the Hopeful, and Henry had finally agreed that they might as well shoot for the big race two years off. Surely, Alec thought, they’d have Satan ready to race by the time the Hopeful was run! Even Henry’s admonition that it would take “a long time” couldn’t mean almost two years! And in spite of Henry’s pessimistic outlook and the apparent savageness of Satan, Alec felt that some way, somehow, he could win the love of his horse—as he had done with the Black.
When the subway train reached Flushing, Alec got off, waited impatiently in the cold night air until the bus came along, and rode to his corner. Then he was striding quickly down the snow-laden street, his eyes on the darkened barn, black against the winter backdrop. To make walking easier, Alec followed the automobile tracks until he was opposite his house. There was a light in the living room, and he knew his mother and father were waiting up for him. Turning, he looked at the barn again and his fingers found the gate keys, which were in the pocket of his coat. Momentarily he fumbled them, undecided. It would take only a few minutes—just a fast look was all he wanted. His mother and father would understand.
Quickly he broke a path through the new snow, trotting to the iron-barred gate. The key turned hard and the gate creaked in the cold as Alec pushed it open enough to slide inside. T
hen, trotting again, he plowed through the snow, which rose almost to his knees.
Upon reaching the barn, he fumbled with the lock and then swung the door open. Inside he switched on the light. He stopped at Napoleon’s stall as he walked through the barn. Lying on his straw bedding, the old gray horse looked up and neighed when he saw Alec.
“Go back to sleep, fella,” Alec said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Alec’s pace slackened as he approached Satan’s stall and saw the colt standing there, his head raised above the door and the perfectly shaped diamond a startling white against his black forehead. Their gazes met and held for a few seconds; then, snorting, the colt moved back in his stall as Alec approached the door.
“It’s me, boy. You’re my horse, remember?” And as Alec stood there against the door, talking softly to Satan, his keen eyes moved over every inch of his horse—from the heavy ears, which now lay back almost flat against his head, to the powerful haunches. There was no doubt about it, Alec thought. Satan was going to be big and burly. As big as the Black and, perhaps in time, heavier. Remembering the magnificently sleek body of the Black, Alec wondered if the burly Satan would have the speed of his sire. And he knew that only time would give him his answer.
After a few minutes, Alec opened the stall door and slid inside, keeping close to the wall. He moved slowly, his eyes on the colt and unafraid. The barn light enhanced the ebony sheen of Satan’s black body. And as the colt stood there, his deep-set eyes flashing, Alec thought him beautiful, and wondered how Henry or anyone else could think of him as being ugly. And he felt sure that regardless of the bulk and weight which Satan might carry in the years to come, he would have the agility and swiftness of the mighty Black.
Turning his attention to Satan’s head once more, Alec felt his heart skip a beat—for more than anything else, the colt’s sculptured head reminded him of the Black. That, and the delicate lines of his neck, revealed without a doubt the fine qualities of his blooded forebears.
Satan’s body trembled as Alec approached, talking all the while. Then he moved quickly, as the colt’s hindquarters turned toward him. And when Satan’s hind legs flew back, Alec was close beside his head, a hand already on the colt’s halter.
“You’ve forgotten, Satan,” he said softly. “We’ve gone through all this before. You’re my horse, and you must learn that.”
He stood there for a long time, stroking the colt’s neck, and hoping the fury he could feel inside of Satan would subside. But as the minutes passed and Satan’s body still trembled beneath his hand, Alec knew that he had failed, and that further attempts to win the colt’s confidence would have to wait until the following day.
“Okay, boy,” he finally said, “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”
Still unafraid, but mindful of Satan’s rapidly acquired strength, Alec led the colt almost to the door before he released his halter. Quickly he slipped through the stall door—and not a second too soon. For Satan, moving with the quickness of a striking snake, hurled his forelegs at Alec, narrowly missing him, and his hoofs crashed against the wooden door.
Alec’s face was white and drawn as he shut the door securely behind him and turned to Satan. The colt’s eyes were bright, his teeth were bared, and his body was trembling with the fury that possessed him. Alec’s gaze remained on those eyes for a long time. They were deep-set like the Black’s, but burning in them was something which hadn’t been in the eyes of the colt’s sire. It made Alec uneasy, but he finally shook off the feeling. Satan would be his, too, in time.
Snorting, the colt let his hoofs fly again at the stall door, and the heavy sound they made rang through the barn. Alec heard Napoleon’s short neigh, then all was quiet again.
Satan would have to be watched closely now. He was getting strong enough to do real damage with those hoofs. Alec wondered how well Henry was getting along with the colt. If Satan acted up constantly the way he had tonight, Henry certainly must have had his hands full just taking care of him from day to day.
The colt had retreated to the back part of the stall, his hoofs pawing the straw until they found the wooden flooring. Alec’s gaze left him and turned to the lock on the stall door to make sure he had it fastened securely. And it was then that he saw the long, thin iron chain hanging on the adjacent post.
He moved his hand over to it and fingered the iron links thoughtfully. The chain, he knew, hadn’t been there before he left for school … before Satan had occupied this stall.
Suddenly his fingers tightened about the chain and the muscles in his jaws worked convulsively. He opened his hand and looked again at the short black hairs he had seen on the bottom links. Short black hairs that could have come from Satan’s body! Alec shook his head. Surely Henry couldn’t have used this chain upon the colt! He couldn’t have struck him with it!
Alec stood there for a long while; then he made his way from the barn. And as he walked through the snow toward home, his face was gaunt with concern.
THROWBACK!
8
Henry was the first to arrive at the barn the following morning. He stopped when he saw the footsteps in the snow leading from the gate to the barn and back again. He realized then that Alec was home and had visited the barn sometime during the night. The old man stood there for a few minutes without moving, his face grave. Then with heavy feet he went into the barn.
Napoleon whinnied when he saw him, but Henry’s eyes turned to Satan’s stall. Perhaps, he thought, it was best that Alec had visited Satan beforehand. Now Alec had seen the colt for himself … it would be easier telling him.
The colt shook his head, snorting, as Henry walked up to the door. Momentarily the old man’s eyes shifted to the long chain hanging on the post, then he unlocked the door and stood there, waiting. The colt moved restlessly, his eyes upon Henry. Finally the old man saw his chance to move in, and with a lightness that belied his heavy frame and age, entered the stall and closed in upon Satan’s halter. The colt fought him a moment, then stood still. Cautiously Henry led him from the stall to the cross ties, his eyes never leaving the colt and his senses alert for anything Satan might do. When Henry had finished grooming the colt, he took him back to his stall and locked the door again.
It was more than a half hour later when Alec entered the barn. Henry’s face lightened as he lumbered forward to greet the boy. “It’s good seeing you, Alec,” he said, his arm going around Alec’s shoulders.
“It’s good seeing you, too, Henry,” Alec returned, looking at him searchingly.
Their eyes met, and Henry’s sobered with Alec’s. It was just as he’d figured, he thought. The kid knew, and they might as well come right to the point.
“You were here last night,” Henry began.
Nodding, Alec said, “For a little while.”
“What do you think of him?”
Looking at Henry quizzically, Alec asked, “What do you mean, Henry? He’s going to be burly, as you said. And it’ll take time, as you also said. He didn’t seem to remember me very well last night. But Satan will come around, Henry. I know he will,” Alec concluded convincingly.
Henry shot him a rueful glance as he muttered, “Mebbe, Alec, an’ mebbe not. I’m not so sure now.”
Alec turned to Satan’s stall, and his eyes were upon the long chain hanging on the post as he said slowly, “How much trouble are you having with him, Henry?”
“Enough,” Henry replied gravely, “an’ he’s gettin’ harder to handle with every pound he puts on.”
Alec turned to Henry again, and what he had to say came hard. “You wouldn’t be using that chain on him, would you, Henry?”
The color left Henry’s face, leaving long, heavy lines etched deep against the whiteness of his skin. He suddenly looked very old and tired, and Alec’s gaze dropped before the anguish and disappointment in Henry’s eyes.
Before answering Alec, the old man looked at the chain. Finally he said slowly, “That was below the belt, Alec.”
“I didn�
�t mean it to be, Henry,” Alec said sincerely. “It’s just that I saw it there last night, and I thought …”
“That I was using it on the colt?” Henry interrupted. “You couldn’t, Alec! Did you really think I was trying to bring him around by beating him?”
“I didn’t know, Henry,” Alec replied, trying to explain. “I didn’t know what the colt was like, or what you were going through with him.”
“You should know me better’n that though, Alec,” Henry said. Then, seeing the despair in the boy’s face, he placed his hand on Alec’s arm. “But I understand how you musta felt, finding the chain like you did,” he said. Pausing, he added in a low voice, “Fact is, Alec, I do have it there to use … but only providin’ I need it.”
Alec thought of his visit to the barn the night before and of how narrowly he had escaped the colt’s hoofs as he was leaving the stall. “You mean, Henry,” he asked slowly, “he’s that bad?”
“It’s been pretty bad sometimes,” Henry replied, “and I’m not gettin’ any faster in my old age. The chain is there for my own protection, and I’ll admit I’d use it if he got me in a spot where I had to save my own skin.”
At the other end of the barn, Satan craned his head over the stall door. When he sighted Alec and Henry he pricked his ears forward, snorted, and withdrew inside.
“I’m sure we’ll win him over, Henry,” Alec said determinedly. “He just can’t live here months on end without finally coming around, learning to trust us.”
Henry stood looking at Alec as though undecided whether to go on or not. Finally he said, “Alec, we’re both in this together, right up to our necks, so I’m thinkin’ I oughta tell you exactly what I think about Satan. An’ I’m goin’ to let you have it with both barrels, even knowin’ how much you love him.” Henry paused and led Alec over to a couple of chairs, where they sat down. Then he said, “Alec, I’ve been around horses all my life, thoroughbreds and broncs, but I’m tellin’ you that this is the first time I’ve ever been really worried about a horse. An’ I’m rememberin’ the Black. But I’m also rememberin’, and you should too, ’cause it’s important, that you won the Black’s love by findin’ some food for him on that desert island when he was starvin’. He loved you, so you could control him … an’ there wasn’t any need of my worryin’. But it’s different with Satan. He doesn’t love you … he doesn’t love anybody, even hates old Napoleon. He ain’t even capable of lovin’, to my way o’ thinkin’.”
Son of the Black Stallion Page 8
