Alec and Henry stood at his side, their eyes searching the spit for some sign of the Black. As the fisherman had said, there wasn’t too much to be seen of Azul Island—nothing but the sandy spit and yellow rock—or so it appeared from the sea.
Alec’s gaze wandered over the wind-swept spit, finally resting on the towering stone that climbed into the sky forming a dome that gleamed in the last rays of the setting sun.
“That’s a lot of rock,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else.
The fisherman heard Alec. “Over nine miles of it,” he said, pulling down his big straw hat and shielding his eyes from the sun, “and good for nothing.”
Henry pointed to the narrow wooden pier extending into the water from the spit. “But why the pier if there’s nothing to the island but solid rock?”
“Just for emergency landings. There was a time, too, when we had some horses here.”
“Horses?” Alec asked eagerly.
The fisherman grinned, disclosing large square teeth. “Well, if you can call them that,” he said apologetically. “Pretty small and scrawny they were, living wild like they did on that hunk of sand. ’Course it’s a wonder they survived at all.”
Henry’s eyes swept over the barren spit. “But what did they graze on?”
“Oh, there’s grass there, most of it growing up near where the rocks begin. It’s sparse all right but hardy. Horses could live on it because it absorbs every bit of moisture in the ground.”
“And there must be fresh water holes,” Alec said, his gaze taking in the sand dunes.
“A few of them, poor but enough to keep the beasts alive.”
“But why were the horses left here at all?” Alec asked.
“It was sort of a government project,” the fisherman explained. “Or at least the government protected the horses for a while.”
“What was the story?” Henry asked, keenly interested.
The boat rolled softly on the swells. “It goes back centuries, to 1669 to be exact,” the fisherman began. “They say—that’s the local newspaper—that at that time our island of Antago was taken over by the Spaniards.”
“You mean the Conquistadores,” Alec asked, “men like Cortés, Pizarro and Balboa?”
“I suppose so,” the fisherman said, his eyes on the sea, “if that was their names. Anyway, they used Antago, since it wasn’t too far off the South American mainland, as a supply base. They put together their armies there before setting out to fight the Incas and Aztecs.”
“And to plunder them of their gold,” Henry mused.
“But what’s that got to do with this island and the horses?” Alec asked impatiently.
“Well, there came a time when the Spaniards had to run for it themselves,” the fisherman explained. “The British and French pirates got too strong for them and started sacking Antago. The Spaniards spread out to other islands ’round here, trying to get back safely to their homeland. One of the places they landed was supposed to be this Azul. At least, the papers say the horses that were found here later were direct descendants of those the Conquistadores rode.”
The fisherman’s eyes roved over the barren land. “I don’t believe it because I don’t think anyone in his right mind would have come to this rock in the first place,” he concluded abruptly. “Even the Spaniards. Anyway, the government took off the last of the horses a year ago.”
Alec sat down, the swells making him a little queasy. For a moment more his gaze remained on this island of stone that thrust itself up out of the sea. Blue waters churned white going over submerged coral before crashing against the precipitous walls. The heavy thudding of the waves seemed ominous, the sound rising above that made by the boat’s throbbing engines. Azul Island made Alec think of a huge castle or fortress out of the Middle Ages, its cliffs seeming to say to all who would enter, “Turn back!”
Finally he said, “I wonder if there is more to this island than just the sandspit.”
“There isn’t,” the fisherman said quietly. “I’ve been in these waters long enough to know. It’s rock, nothing but a big boulder plunked into the sea.”
Henry watched the fisherman steady the vessel, keeping it well away from the submerged coral; then he squinted into the sun. “But did you ever get close enough to find out for sure?” he asked.
Carefully, expertly, the man turned the wheel, guiding the boat between two coral reefs. His eyes never left the shadowy waters before him. There was no doubt that he knew this particular area very well.
“I’ve been as close as anybody, I guess,” he said quietly.
“And you saw no breaks in the wall that could be used as an entrance of some sort?” Henry asked.
The fisherman grinned while shifting his ponderous weight in his seat. “Nothing but sheer rock,” he repeated, “and if you have the luck to get close enough to look at it you might be unlucky enough to have the sea smash you to pieces against it. No, boss, I have cast my nets in these waters many times and I know it is best to stay clear of this island. It is only for the devil and his disciples,” he concluded, his eyes sweeping skyward.
Alec looked above, too. All he could see was a large black bird soaring above the dome of Azul Island. “Are there other islands nearby?” he asked finally.
“Several.” The fisherman studied Alec. “We can go to them but it will mean spending the night here rather than returning to Antago.”
Alec looked at Henry questioningly.
“It will cost only a little more than if we return to Antago,” the fisherman went on. He ran his tongue along his lower lip. “It will soon be dark.”
“I would like to look around here a little more,” Alec admitted.
“So would I,” Henry said thoughtfully. “The story’s interesting even if it isn’t true.”
Thinking of the extra money he would earn, the fisherman smiled and said warmly, “We can put in now, then.”
“No,” Henry said, “run a little more along the cliffs. We have time, and there may be something to see.”
“Are there binoculars on board?” Alec asked.
“Below on the lower bunk,” the fisherman answered. “But you will see no more of this island with them than with the naked eye.”
“Perhaps not,” Alec admitted, going through the companionway. Below deck he rubbed his stomach gently. It was upset, due either to the day’s excitement or to the rolling of the vessel. He picked up the binoculars but instead of returning to the deck stretched out on the lower bunk and closed his eyes. Just for a moment, he thought. Only a moment.
He didn’t know how many minutes he’d been there when a faint stirring in the far corner of the cabin caused him to open his eyes. The boat was rolling gently on the swells and the light coming through the porthole was almost gone. Sleepy, he closed his eyes again only to snap them open a moment later. Was he awake or dreaming? The air was hot and oppressive. Had he actually heard the slight, familiar squeak of a bat or was his imagination playing tricks on him?
He stared into the darkened corner, looking for shadowy wings. Was there a blacker than black object hanging there or was he recalling too vividly his experiences in Bat Cave?
As his vision became more adjusted to the dim light he had no doubt as to what was there. The vampire bat hung by one leg, his head bent against his chest and partly covered by a softly moving wing.
Alec fought to keep from yelling at the top of his lungs. There was only one thing to do—kill the bat before it awakened. It had to be done quickly, quietly, now.
There was a broom beside his bunk. Not much of a weapon but it would have to do. The vampire was stirring still more. If he swung hard, he might at least stun it and then get help from the men above. He recalled the veterinarian’s warnings—vampires would bite viciously when caught or provoked—and he wished he had on the heavy leather gloves loaned him earlier by the veterinarian.
Alec lay motionless, his hand tightening about the broomstick. He told himself that he wasn’t going to b
e the vampire’s next victim, but his hands and body were clammy with fear. Turning over cautiously on his side, he put one foot on the floor, then the other. Quietly he rose to a sitting position and then got to his feet. Softly he moved forward, one slow step at a time.
He was almost within reach of the vampire when there was a quick movement of its wings and suddenly small bright eyes were staring into his. The vampire continued hanging downward but now his lips were drawn back, disclosing long, sharp-edged teeth. And from the tiny mouth came a low, rumbling snarl.
Alec was afraid to make the first move so he remained stock-still, staring back at the vampire. The bat seemed disinclined to move also but began uttering soft, hissing cries. Alec wondered if the squeals could be heard on deck and if the men would come to his aid. Or was it better for him to strike now while he still had a chance? Perhaps if he swung hard and fast he might just be able to reach the vampire.
Alec made up his mind and swung the broomstick with all his might. The vampire let go of his perch, flying directly at Alec with mouth wide open. The broomstick struck him a glancing blow and he fell to the cabin floor. But he did not lie there stunned. Instead he ran on folded wings for a short distance, then rose, flying about the room while uttering shrill, high-pitched cries.
Alec, too, broke his silence, shouting for help as loudly as he could.
The vampire flew from wall to wall seeking escape, then with mouth wide open he went for Alec again. He snapped and bit at the raised broom handle, clinging to it furiously, his hissing sounds filling the cabin.
Alec swung the broom hard against the wall, hoping to smash the bat to death. But the vampire released his hold just in time and flew violently about the room again. Suddenly he found the passageway and was gone.
Alec reached the deck in time to see Henry and the fisherman ward off the vampire with their hats. Then the bat was in full flight, speeding across the open water with the agility and grace of a bird.
“A vampire bat,” the fisherman said excitedly.
“You’re sure?” Henry asked.
“I’ve spent too many years in Trinidad not to be sure,” the fisherman replied.
“I’m sure, too,” Alec said, joining them. “He’s the same one we chased from the cave.”
“The infected one?” the fisherman asked.
“Yes, the same,” Alec answered. “He acted very sick.”
“Then good riddance,” the fisherman said. “He’s bound for Azul. It’s a good place for him. There’s nothing there he can feed on.”
“I take it we’ve all changed our minds and aren’t staying on the island tonight,” Henry said grimly.
“We’ll anchor well clear of it,” the fisherman said, “where it will be easier to sleep.”
“But tomorrow I’d like to come back,” Alec said. The island was beautiful silhouetted against the sky.
Shrugging his big shoulders, the fisherman said, “It will be safe enough tomorrow while the vampire sleeps. But tonight we’ll stay out to sea, far away from him and these reefs.”
The Night Owl turned, speeding away in the twilight from Azul Island and the new home of the deadly vampire bat.
COMBAT!
13
The Black Stallion stood before the end wall, his ears pointed to the south, neighing his song of welcome. No familiar sounds were being carried to him on the air currents but the boy-scent was still very strong. His nostrils searched the wind for further clues as to distance and time separating him from the one he loved.
For a long while he remained still, patiently waiting. Then, as the last patch of sunlight cast a brilliant sheen on his muscles, he snorted uneasily, for the upwind scent was growing faint in his nostrils. The canyon grew darker in the deepening twilight. Still he waited, his patience tried, his anger mounting.
There came the moment when the air carried no wind-borne stimulus and only anger was left within him. Whirling away from the high yellow wall of stone, he went to the center of the canyon. Furiously he reached down to graze, pulling up roots and earth with the grass, snatching wildly and glancing up from time to time with tufts and sticks protruding from the corners of his mouth.
With the boy-scent gone, his thoughts turned quickly to the mares he had forsaken. Snorting once more, he wheeled and left the canyon, his loud whistle shattering the stillness of early evening.
He found his mares with the herd, grazing contentedly beside the pool. Again he shrilled his challenge, expecting mares and stallions alike to cower in terror at the sight of him. But aside from a quick raising of heads there was no movement. Tall and long-limbed he ran through the cane, his steady, easy gait unchanging.
The red stallion awaited the black challenger. He stood before his herd, his proud head raised high, watching the Black approach as if he had long anticipated the other’s return. He was not frightened by his enemy, only wary and cautious, for he knew him to be a worthy opponent.
Suddenly he uttered his first sound—a snort, followed by a loud, sharp whinny. Behind him his herd stopped grazing to form a tight ring, the mares and foals in the center and the young stallions on the outer edges. Then the red stallion moved forward slowly as if content to have the fight brought to him.
The Black swept through the growing darkness, his hoofs beating rhythmically. He was as cool and as confident as the horse who awaited him. But he was not rushing headlong into the encounter and his gait slowed when he reached the short, thick grass of the valley floor. His eyes grew brighter as the herd stallion moved forward to meet him.
There was little difference between the two stallions. Each was a king in his own right. Each was beautiful and powerful to see. They moved toward each other, their strides now of equal length, their small, arrogant heads held high. Closer and closer they came to a fight that could only end in the death of one! Their speed increased as the distance lessened between them. Then at the moment of contact they screamed in unison, their heads no longer held high but thrust out as pointedly as snakes’. On winged hoofs they lunged at each other, their bodies clashing while bared angry teeth sought a hold.
The high walls of the valley picked up the sound of the impact made by their powerful bodies and hurled it back into the arena. After their first terrible encounter they fell back, each more wary than ever and searching for an opening. Equally fast on their feet, they feinted skillfully with thrashing legs. Again they fell back, waiting for an opportunity to strike and respecting each other’s superb fighting skill.
Slowly they made a large circle around one another, each looking for an opening to leap at the other’s neck. Neither had inflicted serious injury despite their first furious encounter. They strode nobly, heads up, eyes dilated, their nostrils flaring.
There was no hurry in their movements. Each had the patience of a born leader and was waiting for the other to drop his guard. They continued to move in circles. They strutted and snorted. They smelled each other and the wind. And as they kept walking their nostrils suddenly quickened to a new scent on the upwind! It was only a faint whiff but irritating enough to cause them to take their eyes off each other.
Simultaneously they turned to the herd and the cliffs beyond. It was as if they had forgotten their fighting for the moment in the face of a still greater danger.
The sky was clear and the first stars were beginning to appear. The breeze grew stronger with the coming night, riffling the manes of the stallions. As the new scent became more powerful and unpleasant, the two stallions moved forward, not toward each other but in the direction of the herd. They moved almost as a team, sniffing the upwind.
Then they saw the source of the heavy, sweetish scent and snorted loudly. Their signal of danger sent the herd screaming and tearing down the valley in full flight. The two stallions reared skyward as if trying to reach the vampire bat that flew directly at them! Together they smelled sickness and death in its attack.
The vampire glided overhead and the stallions sought to grab it with their teeth and beat it
with their forefeet. Missing, they made a lightning turn, streaking with the bat down the valley. Far beyond them raced the herd, the mares screaming as if they would never stop.
Both stallions ran wild, their hatred and fear of each other gone in the face of the winged death that swept just before them. They followed the ghostly black phantom as it floated through the dim murky veil of the oncoming night. With great strides and extended heads they sought to overtake the vampire. Neither stallion had reached the limit of his speed but both were quickly rising to it. Each meant to run down the vampire and kill it lest it escape and return quietly in the night.
The Black screamed and surged forward at greater speed. The red stallion’s straining body rose and fell beside him, following the vampire’s flight. Then the red stallion uttered a terrifying blast and for a moment he gathered himself as if to turn upon the Black. But instead he leveled out still more, keeping abreast of the other. Stride for stride they thundered, straining for every bit of speed in them. Neck and neck, the two stallions raced after the vampire, their nostrils filled with the smell of disease and death.
As they swept toward the tall cane, the Black was ahead for a few strides. But the red stallion pulled up quickly, and once more the two horses raced as one, gaining rapidly on the vampire. Together they swept into the cane with a new and electrifying burst of speed that sent the stalks flying apart. Every muscle was strained to the utmost as they followed the erratic flight of the bat. But just as they drew alongside it and sought to reach it with raking teeth, the vampire rose high, turned and swept back toward the herd.
Terrified, they went after it, their strides lengthening until they, too, seemed to be flying. When they left the cane their hoofs were pounding out a thunderous rhythm that silenced the whir of wings in the night. Like phantom shadows they swept after the vampire.
The red stallion uttered a shrill cry of warning to his herd and responded to it himself with a terrific burst of speed. Out in front of the Black he swept, racing alone after the vampire bat!
The Black Stallion and Flame Page 9
