Mrs. Ramsay had already started up the stairs when her husband stopped her. “I’d like to talk to Henry first, Belle,” he said deliberately.
She turned to her husband and a long look passed between them; then, nodding, she said, “All right, William.”
When Mrs. Ramsay had gone into the kitchen, her husband motioned Henry toward the door and led him out onto the porch again. “I don’t want her or Alec to hear what I have to say,” he said.
Saying nothing, Henry moved over to the porch railing and sat down on it. He had a feeling something unpleasant was coming and that he might be able to take it better sitting down.
It was a few minutes before Mr. Ramsay spoke, and his words came slowly, as though he were weighing each one before uttering it. “You didn’t tell us much about the accident, Henry, when you carried Alec home. There’d been a fall, you said, and he’d struck the back of his head.”
Henry’s words came as slowly as had Mr. Ramsay’s. “Well, that was about it,” he explained. “Satan reared and Alec, with no stirrups, went off.” Henry’s eyes met Mr. Ramsay’s without wavering, for he had decided long ago to tell no one, other than Alec, exactly how he felt about Satan. For Satan was Alec’s horse and the boy should decide for himself what to tell his parents about the colt … even now.
Mr. Ramsay said quietly, “I know better, Henry. Alec is too good a horseman to fall off, with or without stirrups. You had trouble with the colt.”
Henry said nothing, nor did his gaze drop before Mr. Ramsay’s intent eyes.
After a few minutes Mr. Ramsay moved over to the railing and sat down beside Henry. “Remember the day at the pier, when we first picked up Satan?” he went on. “You told me that the breaking of the colt wouldn’t be any fuss at all.” Mr. Ramsay paused, then continued. “I believe those were your exact words, Henry. Furthermore, you said that Satan would have the utmost trust and confidence in you and Alec, so much so that he’d be very easy to control when it came to breaking him. And if I recall correctly it was I who mentioned that it was just possible Satan would have the savageness of the Black and it mightn’t be so easy. You scoffed, Henry,” he reminded him.
The old trainer shifted uneasily in his seat but still said nothing.
Mr. Ramsay said, “You don’t want to talk about Satan, is that it?”
Henry nodded. What good would it do? he asked himself. He had been wrong, and he had known it with his first look at Satan’s eyes. There were some things that Henry didn’t care to discuss with anyone … and a horse with a savage intent to kill was one of them. He’d had to tell Alec, with the boy’s life at stake, but he still believed that it was up to Alec to tell his father, if he wanted to.
And as they sat there in silence, Henry wondered how Alec now felt about Satan. Did he still look upon Satan as his horse or the killer that he actually was? Never would Henry forget the hideous sight of Satan, in all his fury, intentionally falling over backwards, hoping to pin the boy beneath his giant body. Never had he seen it happen before, with any horse, and he hoped never to see it again. If Alec hadn’t kept his wits, if he hadn’t been the horseman he was, he wouldn’t have thrown himself clear of Satan’s back as he’d done, and just in time. The boy had landed a little to the left of the colt as they hit the ground simultaneously, and then Alec’s head had struck with a hard thud and he’d been still. And while Satan lay there on his back, his legs thrashing the air and the crushed saddle beneath him, Henry had carried Alec away.
What good would it do to tell Mr. Ramsay all that had happened? Fortunately Alec was alive and recovering.… Possibly it could mean the end of Alec’s love for Satan and a closed book for both of them.
Mr. Ramsay’s gaze was upon Henry again. “I know Satan for what he is, Henry,” he said, and now there was a frigidness to his voice that commanded all of Henry’s attention. “I went to the barn this morning,” Mr. Ramsay continued, “after I’d brought Alec home from the hospital.” He paused. “I’d felt something was wrong for a long time, I guess, and I wanted to see for myself. I did, Henry. I couldn’t get near him. He’s savage, vicious … worse than the Black ever was.” Mr. Ramsay’s words came in short, clipped bursts. “You know it. Alec does, too. And that’s exactly what you didn’t want to tell me. It was no accident. Whatever happened was done intentionally by that horse. Everything points to it … what I’ve seen for myself, and your silence.” He lowered his voice as he concluded. “Alec will never ride him, nor will he have the opportunity to try again. That horse is legally mine, Henry. I’ll sell him or give him away … and if I can’t do either, I’ll have him destroyed.”
Henry’s eyes were riveted on Mr. Ramsay’s white and angry face. He looked at him for a long time before saying, “Satan is still Alec’s horse. I’d speak to him first.”
“I intend to do that,” Mr. Ramsay said sharply.
“He may feel different about Satan now,” Henry suggested.
“I hope so,” Mr. Ramsay said, and, his voice becoming more gentle, he added, “It’s his horse, I know, Henry. But he can’t feel the same way about him now … after this. Could he?”
“He could, Mr. Ramsay,” Henry replied. “Alec’s love for the Black and now for his son is something that most people can’t understand … could never understand. If that love hasn’t died”—Henry paused—“after what’s happened, it would kill Alec to lose his horse.”
They sat there in silence for a long time before Mr. Ramsay said in a low, tired voice, “Go up and see him, Henry. He’s waiting … and that’s all I had to say.”
As Henry closed the screen door behind him, he looked again at Mr. Ramsay, still seated on the porch railing, his eyes staring at the floor in front of him. Henry realized what he must be going through.
With heavy feet Henry climbed the stairs. Then as he neared Alec’s door, which he found partly open, he stopped for a moment. Before he went forward again, the tenseness had left his face.
He saw Sebastian first, a brown bundle of shaggy fur upon the white bed. And close beside him was Alec, his face as white as the pillow beneath his head. The boy grinned when he saw Henry and pulled himself to a sitting position.
“Should you sit up like that?” Henry asked with concern.
“Sure, there’s nothing wrong with me.” Alec smiled. “I’m ready to get up, but they won’t let me. Not for a couple more days, anyway,” he concluded.
“That’s good,” Henry said, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside him. “But you take it easy for a while. You’re a lucky kid, you are, an’ you know it.”
A slight bit of color rose to Alec’s cheeks. “Yes, I know, Henry. He sure knocked me out cold, didn’t he?” Alec’s gaze left his friend and wandered to the partly open door. “Better shut it, Henry,” he said. “I’d like to talk about it.”
Henry grunted, but went over to the door and closed it. Maybe it would be better if Alec did talk about it, he thought. Besides, he had to know how the kid felt about Satan … for his own good, as well as Mr. Ramsay’s.
When Henry returned Alec asked quickly, “How is he, Henry?”
“Y’mean Satan?”
“Sure.”
Henry’s face sobered. “You know how he is as well as I do. He ain’t goin’ to change, Alec.”
Ignoring Henry’s remark, Alec said, “You got him in all right, afterward?”
“Chased him in with a pitchfork,” Henry growled, “an’ I kept the bridle and saddle on him for days after.”
“Maybe he’s used to them by now then,” Alec said hopefully.
Henry rose to his feet, then sat down again. It was hard to believe, hearing Alec talk this way. He’d expected something different … at least, he’d hoped for something different. Alec’s burning interest in Satan, after what the colt had done to him, was almost too much. Finally he said, “Alec, you’re not goin’ on. You can’t.”
A frown appeared on Alec’s face, and he pushed his red hair off his forehead before asking, “I can’t, Henry?
Why can’t I?”
Sputtering, Henry said, “Y-you … y-you can’t because that horse is a killer, an’ you more than anyone else should know it by now. It was no mistake that he went over backwards, Alec.… He knew what he was doin’, all right.”
Alec’s face became very serious as he said, almost apologetically, “I’m sorry, Henry, but I think you’re wrong. I’m afraid it was my fault, for I pulled him over. I had a good hold on his neck. Remember?”
“You didn’t, you crazy kid,” Henry blurted, but then he stopped as he realized once and for all that he’d never be able to convince Alec that his horse was bad, a killer. “Have it your way,” he said resignedly.
Alec grinned. “And do you know, Henry,” he said eagerly, “I honestly feel that the fall did me a lot of good, because it’s been a long time since I’ve had a spill like that. I guess maybe I’d forgotten that there are a lot of things much worse.” Lowering his eyes, he added, “I’ve been afraid of him at times, Henry, I’ll confess that. But I’m not afraid anymore. That’s what the spill did for me.” Alec looked back at Henry. “I’ll be out of bed in a couple of days, and the doctor said for me to take it easy for two weeks after that. But then he said it would be all right for me to ride again. I asked him, Henry.”
Henry shook his head heavily. What could you do with a kid like that? he thought. Nothing! Just hope to high heaven he kept his wits and head while he was around Satan. And, Henry supposed, if Alec lived through it he’d be one of the finest horsemen in the country. And that was what he wanted.
“You didn’t tell my folks everything, did you?” Alec asked with deep concern.
“No,” Henry replied, “but I think your father is wise to what actually happened.”
Alec was silent for a long time, then he said, “It’s too bad. I hope he doesn’t worry.”
Henry looked at Alec, but said nothing. Apparently it had never occurred to the boy that his father might be worried enough to get rid of Satan. No, Alec had complete faith in his father, just as he had in his horse.
They heard the doorbell ring, and then the sound of voices—Alec’s mother’s and a man’s—reached them. A startled look came over Henry’s face as the man’s voice reached them again. He listened for a few seconds, then quickly rose to his feet. “I’ll be back, Alec,” he said. Then he was out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Henry walked across to the mahogany banister and leaned over it. He saw Alec’s mother in the hallway below talking to a man whose thin, narrow back was turned toward him. Then the man moved to place his gray hat on the hat rack, and Henry drew a short, sharp breath as he recognized his old boss, Peter Boldt!
Boldt’s thin lips drew back in a sickly smile as Mrs. Ramsay told him she’d inform her husband that Boldt was here to see him. And as she disappeared from Henry’s view, the old trainer saw Boldt go over to the hall mirror and run his long, slender fingers across the black hair and then down to the steel-gray sideburns, which he brushed lightly with his fingertips.
Henry grimaced and shook his head.
Suddenly Boldt turned and smiled. Mr. Ramsay had entered the hall.
“Mr. Ramsay, I presume?” Henry heard Boldt ask.
When Alec’s father nodded, Boldt inquired, “William Augustus Ramsay?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s it.” And by the tone of his voice, Henry knew that Mr. Ramsay was annoyed. He had enough on his mind today without being interrogated by Boldt.
“I am Peter Boldt.”
Henry grinned as Mr. Ramsay only nodded. The name meant nothing to him. Henry saw the smile leave Boldt’s face.
“I happened to be reading a back issue of the Racing Calendar,” Boldt said slowly, his beady eyes fixed on Mr. Ramsay, “and I noticed that you had registered a colt … a black colt by Shêtân out of Jôhar. He was an Arabian importation, bred by a chieftain by the name of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak, I believe.”
Henry grunted. Humph! Boldt believed. He knew Abu’s name full well and he also knew that Shêtân was really the Black! He’d probably tried to get at Abu in any number of ways, and had been so busy doing it that he’d slipped up on the publication of the colt’s registration in the Racing Calendar. Henry had known all along that Boldt would find out about Satan sooner or later, but he thought it too bad it had to happen now. For Boldt couldn’t have come at a worse time.
A look of surprise came over Mr. Ramsay’s face at Boldt’s mention of the black colt. “Oh,” he said, “you’re the race horse owner.”
Boldt’s lips drew back at Mr. Ramsay’s recognition. But suddenly his face froze as Mr. Ramsay asked, “Henry Dailey worked for you, didn’t he?”
There was a long pause, then Boldt replied, “Yes, he worked for me. Do you know him?”
Henry shifted uneasily on his feet as he leaned upon the banister. It was too bad Mr. Ramsay had to mention his name to Boldt. Boldt would surely get the tie-up now.
After Mr. Ramsay had told Boldt that Henry Dailey lived on the same block, Boldt was silent for a long time; then, shrugging his shoulders, he said, “It’s of no importance. What I’ve come to see you about, Mr. Ramsay, is the colt. I’d like to buy him, and will give you twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Henry saw Mr. Ramsay’s body stiffen at Boldt’s mention of such a large sum of money. Twenty-five thousand dollars! Henry knew that it was more money than Alec’s father earned in a year.
It was a few minutes before Mr. Ramsay found his voice, and when he did speak, the words came hard and he stuttered. “T-twenty f-five th-thousand d-dollars?” he repeated incredulously.
Boldt nodded. Mr. Ramsay’s eyes looked toward the stairs, and Henry drew back from the banister in fear of being seen. Then the old trainer heard Alec’s father commence to say something, hesitate, then add more audibly, “It’s a lot of money to me, Mr. Boldt, but …”
As Mr. Ramsay hesitated, Henry knew that he was thinking of Alec. And Henry was sure that he wouldn’t sell Satan without first talking to Alec. He loved his son too much for that.
But Boldt reasoned that Mr. Ramsay was hesitating because of the sum offered for the colt. He said quickly, “I’ll make it thirty-five thousand, Mr. Ramsay, but no more. After all, this colt hasn’t been tried. He may be worth nothing to me.”
Henry saw Mr. Ramsay gasp at the sum now being offered by Boldt for the black colt! Thirty-five thousand dollars for Satan, the horse he’d sworn that he’d sell, give away, or destroy.… The palms of Henry’s hands were wet with perspiration as he watched the tense scene below. What would Mr. Ramsay do? The colt who had almost taken his son’s life was legally his … sold to him by Alec for one dollar!
Mr. Ramsay glanced up the stairway again, and Henry, in his excitement, forgot to slip back from the banister. The old trainer knew that Mr. Ramsay was wondering how Alec now felt about Satan, wondering if he still loved the colt after his tragic experience of a few days ago.
Henry knew the answer, but Mr. Ramsay didn’t.
Mr. Ramsay turned back to Boldt, and when he spoke he had regained full control of his voice. “The sum you have offered for the colt, Mr. Boldt,” he said, “is more than fair.”
Boldt smiled, and his whole attitude was confident as Mr. Ramsay paused.
Then Henry saw Boldt’s body stiffen as Mr. Ramsay added, “But unfortunately the colt belongs to my son, Alec, and I must discuss the matter with him before coming to any decision.”
“But you registered him,” Boldt said humbly, his calmness momentarily shattered. “You must own him.”
Henry was glad that Mr. Ramsay didn’t give Boldt any explanation as to why he had registered the colt in his name, or admit that Boldt was actually right in saying that he did own Satan. All that Mr. Ramsay said was, “He belongs to Alec.”
Boldt’s thin lips were pulled back in a grim, understanding smile, and there was a reptilian light in his beady eyes as he asked, “You will speak to your son, then?”
“He is upstairs … sick,” Mr. Ramsay replied. “I
f you will wait in the living room, I will speak to him immediately.”
Henry left the banister and walked quickly into Alec’s room, shutting the door behind him. Alec looked up at him and Sebastian whimpered as he moved closer to the boy.
“You’ve got to make up your mind fast, Alec,” Henry said, his words terse and clipped. “Boldt’s downstairs.… He caught up with an old issue of the Racing Calendar, so he knows about the colt. He’s offered your dad thirty-five thousand bucks for Satan.”
“Thirty-five thousand dollars!” Alec’s eyes were bright as he looked at Henry. “Wow! That’s a lot of money to Dad! I’m sure he was impressed.”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Henry said quickly. “You’ve got to make up your mind. Your father’s on his way up.”
Alec’s brow furrowed. “Make up my mind to what, Henry?”
“Thirty-five thousand dollars, Alec! Think what you could do with that money. You could finish school … set yourself up in business … anything.”
When Henry had finished, Alec was looking down at Sebastian. Impatiently Henry said again, “You’ve got to hurry, Alec. Your dad will be here in a minute!”
“But I’ve decided, Henry, if that’s what you want.” Alec’s eyes met Henry’s again. “I wouldn’t sell Satan for thirty-five thousand, one hundred thousand, or any thousand. He’s my horse, Henry … you know that.”
“But, Alec,” Henry said, still arguing, “you may never be able to ride him. He may be worth nothing to you.”
“I’ll ride him,” Alec said quietly, “… and he’ll always be worth more than money to me, Henry.”
The old trainer sat down and ran his hands over his face. “Okay, Alec, okay,” he finally said. “I shoulda known better than to go into all this again.” He paused, then added slowly, “But your father may think differently. It’s actually his horse, you know … and thirty-five thousand bucks is a lot of dough for him.”
Alec smiled and shook his head. “Dad wouldn’t do that,” was all he said.
A few seconds later Mr. Ramsay entered the room, and as he walked over to the bed Henry got up, gave him his chair, and then moved over to the window.
Son of the Black Stallion Page 12
