The Black Stallion Returns

by Walter Farley

  They followed the chieftain and his aide back to the group of horsemen, who looked at them curiously. Assigned to ride with four of the men, they mounted quickly and were off.

  Alec found himself on the back of a dappled gray which, in spite of his double burden, kept up with the others. The Bedouin with whom Alec shared his saddle looked back and grinned.

  Soon the desert was behind them and out of sight. The Bedouins slowed their horses down to a trot as they picked their way through narrow gorges. To the east, the direction in which they were headed, the mountains rose higher and higher against the sky.

  Hour after hour passed without a stop. They followed no path, but it was obvious to Alec that each horseman had traveled this route many times. Ever upward they went, slowing down to a walk to spare their steeds when the ascent became too abrupt.

  Sometime in the afternoon they came to a wide plateau, where they stopped to rest. While the Bedouins were attending their horses, Alec made his way in the direction of the chestnut stallion. If ever there was a horse whose physical perfection and beauty matched the Black’s this was it. Loyal to the memory of his horse, Alec hoped, frankly, to find the chestnut lacking in some quality.

  The young Bedouin chieftain had removed the saddle from the chestnut stallion. The horse walked forward with his head low, sniffing the ground. Finally, finding a depression, he lowered his large body carefully. Then, swinging over on his back, he swung himself from side to side, kicking his free white-stockinged legs in the air and grunting with pleasure as he drove his back into the ground. Pausing, he lay still, then scrambled to his feet, shook himself, snorted about, his head high and ears cocked.

  Alec, sensing someone in back of him, turned and met the flashing eyes of the Bedouin chief. He smiled and nodded his head toward the chestnut.

  “Sagr!” the chieftain called, and his horse trotted toward him.

  He stopped as he neared Alec and the whites of his eyes showed. His big body trembled and he pawed the ground. The Bedouin moved forward and grabbed him by the gold mane; then he stroked the slender, arched neck and small head, which was so much like the Black’s.

  The Black and this chestnut. What a match that would be, thought Alec. And the winner? Alec favored his horse, but only because he knew well the courage and heart that were the Black’s.

  A short time later they were on their way again. They crossed the plateau at a slow gallop and then assembled in single file as they began a still higher ascent. Ahead, Alec could see towering peaks, and below and behind, the mountainous gutted country through which they had already passed. Still farther to the west he could still see the white desert, over which they would have to pass again before returning to Haribwan.

  That night they slept on the side of the high mountain range. Lying on his back, Alec stared at the stars. Later he rolled over on his side and watched the horses silhouetted against the sky. He listened to them cropping the grass and saw their sudden starts. Grazing only a short distance away was the chestnut stallion; beside him lay the young chieftain. Alec suddenly wondered what the man’s name was. That was something he doubted they would be able to learn. Finally, Alec’s eyes closed and he slept.

  All the following morning they continued to climb, reaching the top of the range by noon. Just below them, Alec saw another plateau and ahead more mountains, even higher than those which they had just climbed.

  When they reached the plateau the Bedouins kicked their horses into a fast gallop for over a mile, then suddenly they slowed to a walk. Their chieftain signaled with unswept arm and two of his men spurted to the right flank and another pair to the left.

  As they cantered forward once more Alec noticed that the Bedouins had unslung their guns and were riding with them across their thighs. This was not peaceful country through which they were riding so quietly, and the men who rode were not traders, but desert-hardened warriors who knew well their work as raiders and hunters.

  For two days they advanced over the same kind of country, in the same formation, at the same speed.

  One night as they camped Alec turned to Raj; they sat in a small group apart from the Bedouins. “Raj,” he asked, “how much longer?”

  “I do not know, Alec. The man with whom I am riding will not say.”

  “Can’t be much farther,” Henry growled, “we been ridin’ four days now. Besides,” he continued, nodding toward the mountains which were closing in on them, “we’ve just about come to the end of this plateau.”

  Mr. Volence smiled. “We can always go up, Henry,” he said.

  “Not much … or we won’t be able to breathe,” Henry muttered, sniffing the thin air.

  They pressed on again as soon as it was light. After cantering for about a mile the Bedouin chieftain led his band up a steep ravine. They traveled swiftly in spite of the rugged country. Precipitous cliffs on which rose great masses of rock that seemed to totter precariously were on all sides of them. The Bedouins’ skilled hands guided their horses as they zigzagged through hazardous trails, rising and falling with the terrain.

  All morning and far into the afternoon they continued their ascent until only towering peaks rose above them. As the sun gradually fell behind the mountain range in back of them they came to an abrupt fork in the ravine, and it was there that they camped for the night.

  After they had eaten the dried meat which the Bedouins had given them, Alec and his friends sat in silence upon the hard and stony ground. It was unusually quiet that evening. No fires burned and double sentries had been posted.

  It was after dark when the tall, white-robed young chieftain came toward them, his black beard pressed deep against his chest. He called Raj to one side, conversed for a minute, and then walked away.

  “We are near the kingdom of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak,” Raj told them when he returned. “Tomorrow morning we separate.”

  “In which direction do we go?” Alec asked anxiously.

  Raj nodded to the fork northeast of them. “They take the other,” he said. “The chieftain says it is only a day’s journey by foot. He will give us supplies.”

  Although physically tired from the day’s long climb, Alec could not get to sleep. He could only think of tomorrow. What would it bring? Would Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak resent their arrival? Again he recalled Mr. Coggins’ words concerning the Bedouin’s hospitality: “He will never refuse a guest. It would be an offense against his honor … a sin against God.” Alec rolled on the hard ground and lay on his side, watching the dark figures of the Bedouins as they slept. Yes, they were generous. They had proved that by accepting Mr. Volence’s party and taking them this far. There was no reason to fear them or Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak.

  But Alec remembered the still, crumpled figure of their guide lying in the sand, the long knife stuck to the hilt in his chest. He recalled how Mr. Coggins had also told them, “To make him your enemy is to die … the law of the desert is that blood calls for blood, and death for death.”

  When dawn broke, Alec had not slept, but he was not tired. His body was eager and tense, filled with energy for the journey ahead. The Black was near … another day. He was impatient to be off. Shaking his friends, he awakened them. “Come, it’s time to go!”

  Later, as they were eating, the Bedouin chieftain came to them. His horses were still unsaddled; he appeared to be in no hurry.

  “Raj,” Alec said, “tell him we’d like to leave. Ask if we may have food for our journey now.” His voice was clipped, excited.

  After Raj had finished speaking, the Bedouin chieftain smiled as he replied, his brown eyes on Alec. When he had finished Raj told Alec, “He says you have grown your spurs. It is a good sign to be impatient, and he likes to see it. If we want to go now, we can. The supplies are ready.”

  They left as the Bedouins were saddling their horses; eyes turned momentarily toward the small group and then swept back to their mounts. The chieftain, having finished saddling Sagr, turned toward them. Alec raised his hand. The Bedouin smiled, mou
nted, and then pulled the stallion back onto his haunches.

  As Alec took up the trail behind the others, he wondered if they would ever meet again.

  HOME OF THE BLACK

  10

  It was late afternoon when the ravine suddenly narrowed and the walls of stone closed about them. Ahead was only a slender chasm in the rocks. As they neared it they saw that it was just large enough for two men to pass through abreast.

  Raj led the way and they walked until they came to an abrupt turn.

  “Say,” Henry muttered, “this is no place for me with my claustrophobia!”

  As they rounded the turn, the cleft in the rocks suddenly ended and they found themselves overlooking a large valley. Trees were numerous and the ground was covered with a luxuriant green grass, the like of which Alec had not seen since they had left home.

  “Look!” Alec shouted, pointing to a broad, treeless expanse in the center of the valley below, where a large band of horses was grazing.

  “There must be hundreds of them,” Mr. Volence exclaimed. “This must be Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak’s domain.”

  “There are buildings farther up the valley,” Raj said.

  Their eyes swept in the direction of Raj’s extended arm. In the far corner of the valley, buildings of white stone reflected the rays of the setting sun. One stood apart from the others and was set back against the towering mountains. The other buildings were smaller and arranged in groups along the side of the valley.

  They followed a well-worn path down through the brush, Alec’s eyes constantly scanning the band of horses below. Was his horse there?

  After a time they came to the floor of the valley. Stopping, they watched the horses grazing a half-mile away. Suddenly one broke away from the others. He ran slowly around the band and then stood still, his nose pointed in the direction of the upper valley.

  “Henry!” Alec shouted. “It’s the Black.… I’m sure it’s he!”

  “May be,” Henry replied skeptically. “He’s too far away to be certain. Sure moved like him, though.”

  The horse broke into a gallop, his head held high and mane flying in the wind. Alec watched for a moment, then turned to Henry, who said softly, “It’s him, all right, Alec. No doubt about that.”

  Suddenly, far up the valley toward which the black stallion ran, a white horse and rider appeared. Moving swiftly with giant strides, the Black approached them. Alec saw him stop a short distance from the white horse, hesitate, then half rear.

  “Wonder what he’s up to,” Henry muttered. “Let’s get goin’.”

  Rapidly they walked up the valley, their eyes on the small group far ahead. Then they stopped, as they saw the white horse and rider bolt forward. The Black followed for a short distance, then with a burst of speed passed the white horse.

  They were coming swiftly in Alec’s direction, when he saw the rider pull his horse to an abrupt halt. The Black whirled and was on his way back, when suddenly he stopped. Turning, he lifted his nose high in the wind that blew from the south. Tossing his head, he pranced nervously.

  “Maybe he’s caught our scent,” Henry told Alec. Then, smiling, he added, “Betcha the white horse is a filly … maybe his girlfriend.”

  The Black was looking in their direction. Then he screamed … a long whistle, shrill, loud and clear. He ran a short distance toward them, stopped and reared. Again he came on. Again he stopped and reared. He was close now, only a few hundred yards away, and his black body glistened in the sun.

  Suddenly Alec broke from the group and ran toward his horse.

  The stallion shook his small, savage head and then trotted up to meet the boy running toward him.

  When the rest of the group reached them, Alec had his arm around the long, slender neck of the Black. The stallion’s ears swept back as the others approached.

  Henry walked up to him. “Hey,” he said, grasping the long mane, “that’s no way to greet an old friend.” Turning to Alec, he added, “Looks mighty good, Alec … better than I’ve ever seen him.”

  The sound of running hoofs made them turn. Coming toward them was the white horse, and their gaze turned to the slim, hatless rider on its back.

  “Looks like a kid,” Henry commented.

  “Wearing European clothes,” Mr. Volence pointed out.

  A few minutes later, the rider slowed his horse down to a walk and came cautiously toward them.

  Henry’s eyes were on the horse. It was a pure-blooded Arabian, no doubt about that. Small … not over fourteen hands … but beautifully proportioned. And a filly, as he had guessed. Her neck rose to a crest like the Black’s and she had the same small head, but not the savageness. She walked quietly toward them; devoted to her rider, she had complete confidence in the hands guiding her reins. Henry knew there were few horses like her to be found in the world. He looked at the rider and his eyes narrowed. The figure was slim … yes, like a kid’s … but that of a girl in her late teens!

  It was obvious to all of them as horse and rider came to a stop. Her skin was honey-colored; sleek-oiled hair crowned a heart-shaped face, and oblique almond eyes peered curiously at them. She was neither white nor black, neither of the East nor of the West. Her full lips parted and she spoke in Arabic, her voice low and husky.

  Raj answered her.

  When he had finished, she turned to the others and said softly in English, “Welcome to the home of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak. I am his daughter, Tabari.”

  They introduced themselves, and then she turned to Alec, who was rubbing the thin-skinned, pink muzzle of the Black. “It is a great surprise and joy to meet you, Alec Ramsay. My father has told me of you and Shêtân,” she smiled. “We are very grateful.”

  “Your father … is he here?” Mr. Volence inquired.

  “Yes. Come, and I will take you to him.”

  As they walked up the valley, Alec looked longingly at the Black, who kept near him. It would be so easy to mount and ride. He had waited so long for this day. He glanced at Tabari, and found her looking at him. As though knowing what was in his mind, she said, “It is better to wait. My father allows only one man to ride Shêtân.” Smiling, she added, “Perhaps he will make an exception.…”

  They reached the band of horses, who raised their heads from their grazing and moved slowly to the south at sight of the Black. Bolting away from Alec, the stallion encircled the horses, his black mane flowing like wind-swept flame.

  “These horses …,” Mr. Volence spoke to the girl, “I have never seen any like them.”

  “There aren’t any others like them,” she answered softly. “My father and his father before him have spent their lives interbreeding the original Nejdi purebred strain, like my Jôhar”—she stroked the long neck of her horse—“with others which they have sought throughout the Middle East. These horses are the result, and Shêtân is the finest of them all.”

  They had almost reached the upper end of the valley when she spoke to Raj. “This chieftain you told me about, the one who brought you here … did he make known his name?”

  Raj shook his head.

  The girl was silent for a moment, then asked, “He was young, was he not? And riding a chestnut stallion?”

  “It was difficult to tell his age,” Raj replied. “Yes, he rode a chestnut stallion.”

  No further questions were asked by the girl, and it seemed to Alec that she suddenly withdrew from them. She rode in silence, her eyes on the mountains ahead.

  They passed the small white homes, in front of which men and women watched curiously as they walked by. “It is not often that they see strangers,” Tabari explained.

  As they approached the home of Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak, they heard the pounding of hoofs and, turning, saw the Black running toward them. He stopped a short distance away and reared, his forelegs pawing the air. Then he trotted up to Alec.

  “Looks as though he’s still your horse, Alec,” Henry said.

  Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak was standing on the steps of his home
when they arrived. He wore the white flowing gown of the Bedouin, but his steel-gray head was uncovered. His black eyes swept curiously from one to another until finally they came to rest upon Alec. Slowly a look of amazement appeared on his face.

  “fferin! Are you Alec Ramsay?” he asked incredulously.

  “Sure am, sir,” Alec replied, “and you remember Henry Dailey …” He stopped and his gaze shifted to Mr. Volence. Suddenly he realized how they had all changed, why it had been difficult for Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak to recognize him. Their skin was as black as any Bedouin’s, and their eyes burned deep in dark sockets. Their faces were haggard and drawn. It would have been difficult for even their best friends to have recognized them let alone Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak, who had met them only once.

  Alec heard Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak say, “Certainly. I remember Henry. I must say that it’s all rather incredible … your being here, I mean … difficult to believe. But come inside … you must be tired. I’ll have hot baths drawn for you.… Later we will talk.”

  He led the way into the house. Before following the others, Alec turned to the Black. “See you later, fella.” The stallion snorted and pushed Alec with his head. Then he whirled and ran toward his band.

  Later that evening, after they had bathed and changed into clean white gowns provided by Abu Ishak, they told him their story of the trip from Haribwan. Their Bedouin host listened intently, and only when they told him of the young chieftain who had guided them through the mountains did his countenance change, a sullen look falling over his mahogany-colored face and his eyes clouding. He interrupted Mr. Volence, who had been talking, and said slowly, his short white beard jutting out as he spoke, “A difficult time … a very difficult time. You are fortunate to be here. But now let us eat, as you must be very hungry.”

  They entered a large chamber in the center of which was a long rectangular table laden with food and great varieties of fruit in silver vessels studded with gems. Three Bedouin servants glided silently around the room, their footsteps making no sounds on the thick, luxurious rugs.