The stallion’s head turned to Napoleon as Tony led the gray gelding toward the gate. Giving the Black a carrot, Alec took him a short distance down the field and held him until Tony had Napoleon in the field.
The old gray didn’t go to the Black but moved past him, going down the field at a slow gallop. For a moment the stallion watched Napoleon; then suddenly he snorted and bolted after the gray.
Alec helped Tony close the gate before turning once again to the horses. The Black was playfully circling Napoleon as the gray continued his slow gallop. But finally Napoleon came to a stop and lowered his head to graze. The Black halted, too, inquisitively watching him. He waited for a short time with only his eyes moving; then he was off again, charging back and forth before the gray. Napoleon went on with his grazing, seemingly unmindful of the Black’s furious action. But when the stallion lowered himself to the ground and rolled over on his back, Napoleon raised his head to watch; then he, too, carefully got down and pushed his back into the soft earth.
“Nappy no fear him,” Tony said proudly as they watched the thrashing legs.
“No reason why he should,” Alec returned. “The Black is his best friend and he knows it.” Pausing, the boy added, “If you want to go home, Tony, I’ll bring in Napoleon when it gets dark.”
“Okay, Aleec,” Tony said, moving away from the fence. “I think I go then. It’s-a been one hard day.”
Long after Tony had gone, Alec remained beside the fence, watching his horse. Until today he had felt confident that no horse in the world could match the Black’s speed. But Satan’s new world record for the mile and a quarter had changed things. Now he wasn’t sure. And he knew he wanted to be sure before he took the Black to the farm.
There was an easy way to find out, and Alec decided to try it … the next morning, at dawn, in the park.
Alec had his clock beneath his pillow, so when the alarm went off at four o’clock the following morning he alone heard its muffled ring. Hurriedly he reached for it and silenced the alarm. He lay there for a moment, listening to the incessant chant of the katydids in the field. But there was no sound of rain, and only this could have postponed his plans. Silently he got out of bed and pulled on his jeans and sweat shirt. He sat down to put on his socks and boots, all the while listening to the snoring of his parents, who slept in the next room. When he rose from the chair, he went quickly across the darkened room to the desk near the window; there he found his baseball cap and pulled it snugly about his head. Opening the top drawer of the desk, he removed a silver-cased stopwatch and wound it before carefully placing it in his pocket.
One minute fifty-eight seconds for the mile and a quarter. The Black was going out to beat Satan’s record!
With the watch ticking inside his pocket, Alec went down the stairs. He moved slowly, quietly, for he didn’t want anyone to know what he was about to do. It would take only a short while. There would be no traffic on the back streets at this hour, and the park would be empty. He knew exactly where he would go. The stretch of bridle path from the seventh tee of the park’s golf course to the towering elm tree opposite the ninth hole green was just a mile and a quarter. He and Henry had measured it accurately over a year ago, when they had jogged Satan there prior to his going to the track. But this morning the Black wouldn’t be jogging. He’d be going all out, running his very fastest! It would be over and done with in a very short time. They’d be back at the barn even before Tony and Napoleon left for the market.
Leaving the house, Alec ran across the street to the iron gate. He opened it wide and didn’t shut it behind him. Reaching the barn, he went inside without turning on the lights. The Black whinnied and Alec went to him, stroking the small head for a few minutes before going on to the tack room. He returned, carrying the light racing saddle and bridle.
Alec worked quickly in the darkness. The Black moved uneasily when the saddle pad, followed by the saddle, was put on his back. But he quieted at the touch of Alec’s hands and the sound of the boy’s voice. “You’re going light right now,” Alec said. “No feed until later.”
After Alec had the bridle on him, he led the Black from the barn. The stallion’s nostrils dilated and he snorted repeatedly as he moved beside Alec. The boy took him to the bench in front of the barn and mounted from there.
His knees pressed hard against the muscled withers, Alec took the Black down the driveway. And only for a fraction of a second did he hesitate before riding him through the gate and out onto the street.
Henry wouldn’t approve of what he was doing, he knew. For just before Henry had left he had cautioned him to do nothing that might arouse anyone’s suspicions that it was the Black which was stabled in the barn. But Henry wouldn’t know, neither would anyone else. This was something just between him and the Black.
After a few minutes Alec turned the stallion onto a narrow back street, where the shoulders were of dirt. And as the Black’s hoofs struck the earth in place of the hard pavement Alec let him go into a slow canter. He’d be at the park just at dawn … he’d be back at the barn soon after. There was nothing to worry about. The Black was ready for a fast workout, after having spent the last few weeks running about the field. It would do him a lot of good … Alec’s hand went to the watch within his pocket. “I’ll know,” he said aloud, “even if no one else does. And I want to know.”
The road led directly to the park, and within fifteen minutes after leaving the barn Alec and the Black were on the bridle path. The stallion was pulling now, but the boy was able to hold him to a slow gallop. He talked to him all the while, well knowing that no bit would hold the stallion once he took it in mind to run. He was not up on Satan, he reminded himself. He must remember he had no control over the stallion other than the Black’s willingness to obey him. The stallion was eager to go, his every movement showed it.
“Just a little while now,” Alec told him. “Just a few minutes more, then it’ll be all right.” Once he gave the Black his head, there would be no stopping him until he had run himself out.
The bridle path encircled the baseball diamond, and just on the other side was the golf course and the seventh tee. It was from there he’d start.
The gray light of dawn had come. He had figured everything just about right so far. The Black shook his head, his strides became longer. Alec rose high in his short stirrups, standing almost upright in them, his weight forward of the horse’s center of balance. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold the stallion in check much longer. But they were almost at the start now, and he wouldn’t need to.
They had left the baseball diamond behind and were nearing the seventh tee. Far across the green fairway of the golf course Alec could see the tall elm tree that for them would be the finish of this race against time. The tree was directly opposite from where they were now, with the bridle path encircling the far edges of the fairway in the shape of a horseshoe. There was a long stretch ahead of them, a turn, then another stretch down past the tall elm.
Rising still higher in his stirrups, Alec worked hard to bring the Black under control. “No running start,” he said. “It’s got to be just as it would be in a race. Easy now, fella … wait a minute … slow … let’s walk now. That’s it. Nice and easy.”
They were just about opposite the seventh tee. Alec removed the stopwatch from his pocket, and his thumb was on the stem. A slight touch was all that was necessary to set the hands in motion.
“Steady,” Alec said softly. “Down to a stop now. We’re at the barrier. No moving forward. Stand still now, boy.” He knew this would be far different from riding the Black in the field, and his excitement was transmitted to the stallion. The Black’s ears pitched forward and didn’t move again; his eyes were fixed straight ahead. It was very evident he knew what was coming.
Momentarily his prancing stopped and he was still. Now Alec’s weight rested just off the saddle and only his knees gripped the stallion. Simultaneously he released the Black and pressed the stem of the stopwatch.
/> He was ready for the break. He had no doubt that the Black could get away from a standing start faster than Satan. He was expecting the swift surge forward, the great strides that would send the stallion into full gallop almost immediately.
But when it actually came he realized that even he had underestimated the speed of the Black’s break. It was like being hurled from the mouth of a giant catapult! And as he pressed his head close to the Black’s straining neck, his breath came short at the sheer, uncontrolled power unleashed beneath him!
The stallion raced down the bridle path, his hoofs sending the soft dirt flying behind him. Already he had leveled out and was running wild, with no thought of anything but to run as he had been born to run.
The wind tore at Alec’s face and blurred his eyes so he could not see. The reins were still clenched between his hands, but he knew they were of little use to him now. Nothing could stop the stallion. Not until he had run himself out would he respond to the reins. But it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered except the watch ticking off the seconds until they reached the tall elm.
The Black bore down upon the turn, and as he swept into it, Alec’s hand touched his neck and the stallion moved close to the inside. Alec heard himself clucking to the stallion, urging him on to still greater speed as they passed the halfway mark. Once again the bridle path straightened and the homestretch was ahead of them!
Alec called to the stallion, but his words were lost in the wind created by the straining body. Tremendous strides brought them down to the elm tree with lightning swiftness. There was no need to urge the Black to run faster, for he was going all out. The tall elm tree was but a hundred yards ahead … then fifty, ten and five! Alec’s thumb pushed the stem of the watch as they swept past.
The race was over, but there was no slackening of the Black’s speed. After going another quarter of a mile, Alec drew back on the reins, but still there was no response from the stallion.
A park road now ran parallel to the bridle path, but Alec knew there were no intersections for three miles and the Black would have run himself out long before then.
The stallion ran another quarter-mile before there was any noticeable shortening of stride. Alec drew back on the reins again, and gradually the Black slowed. He had the stallion almost under control when he saw a car coming down the road. The Black leveled out again at sight of it, and it wasn’t until they had passed the car and left it far behind that Alec managed to bring him down to a slow gallop.
Alec’s hand moved down the lathered neck. “Take it easy now,” he said softly. “It’s over.” He settled back in the saddle as the stallion responded to his commands and went into a long, loping canter.
It was only then that Alec’s gaze dropped to the watch he held in the palm of his hand. Had he any doubt that the Black had beaten Satan’s record of one minute fifty-eight seconds?
“No,” he answered himself. “Certainly Satan never could have run faster than the Black has just gone. I have proof of it right here in my hand.”
His fingers unclenched to disclose the face of the watch. Alec looked at it with incredulous eyes.
One minute fifty-nine seconds! The Black’s time was one whole second behind the record Satan had set yesterday!
He drew the watch closer to his eyes. He couldn’t believe what the hands told him. Satan couldn’t have run faster! No horse could!
But Satan had. The proof of it was here … right here in his hand.
The Black slowed to an uneasy crabstep, his head moving to the left, then to the right. Alec’s hand went up and down his neck, but even as he stroked the stallion he frantically sought excuses for the Black’s failure to break Satan’s record.
Perhaps something was wrong with the watch.
No, it couldn’t be that, he decided. He’d had it at the jeweler’s for cleaning less than a month ago. It was accurate.
Then it was the bridle path. It was much too soft. It wasn’t meant for speed. Satan had had a lightning-fast track … good and firm, the way he liked it.
Yes, there was no doubt but that the Black could have made faster time on a track. But he had to remember that the Black had had no other horses with which to contend, while Satan had. Satan had been pocketed coming into the homestretch. The radio commentator had mentioned Lenny Sansone’s getting him out of it. Satan might have lowered the record still more except for that.
“Satan is in excellent condition,” Alec said aloud, “while the Black hasn’t been near a track. He’s not in shape.”
But he knew that he had realized this all along. He had expected the Black to beat Satan’s record in spite of it. Now, he knew he had been wrong. In order to beat Satan, the Black would have to be properly conditioned. And, even then, it would be close … so very close.
But such a race would never take place. Hadn’t he decided not to race the Black again? He was going to take him away to the farm.
But would it be the same now, knowing that perhaps Satan could beat the Black?
The stallion’s shrill whistle aroused Alec from his thoughts. It was getting late, and he should be on his way back to the barn. Turning the Black, he saw the car coming toward them; it could be the same one they had passed a few minutes ago. Alec’s face tightened as he watched it come to a stop and made out the word POLICE lettered on its side.
The door of the car opened and a policeman got out, calling him. Alec slid down from his saddle and stepped in front of the Black. He saw the summons book in the officer’s hand and bit his lower lip. The stallion moved about uneasily and Alec took a few more steps in front of him as he awaited the policeman.
“And what jockey do you think you might be?” the police officer asked sarcastically when he had reached Alec.
The boy was silent.
The policeman turned back the cover of his summons book. “It’s against the law to gallop a horse in a public park,” he said. “You know that?”
“I didn’t know,” Alec said. “Really, officer, I …”
“You know now. Your name?”
Alec hesitated, then said, “Alexander Ramsay.”
“Alexander Ramsay,” the policeman repeated. “Sounds familiar. Did I ever book you before?”
“No … never before.”
The policeman turned back to his summons book. “Address?”
Alec gave it to him, then said, “But it’s so early, officer. No one is around. I couldn’t have hurt anyone.”
“Not the point,” the police officer said curtly. “No exceptions.” Handing Alec the summons, he turned to the Black. “This your horse?”
Alec nodded, moving the stallion away as the policeman stepped closer.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing’s wrong with him,” Alec said. But his grip on the bridle tightened when he saw the brightness of the stallion’s eyes. “If that’s all, I’ll be going now,” he added quickly.
But the policeman had taken another stride closer, and his hand was outstretched toward the horse when the Black struck out savagely with his forefoot. The blow fell far short of its mark, but the policeman jumped back quickly, his face livid with anger.
“He tried to kick me,” he yelled, still retreating. “You get him out of this park, and keep him out. He’s a vicious animal and if I catch him around here again, I’ll do more than give you a summons to appear in court!” Turning, he walked away hurriedly.
After the police car had gone, Alec led the Black along the bridle path until the fire had left the stallion’s eyes. He took another look at the summons before shoving it angrily in his pocket and remounting the Black. If he appeared in court the following day, there would most likely be reporters around, and they would be more familiar with his name than the cop had been. Using Alexander, instead of Alec, wouldn’t fool them, and the subsequent publicity could well lead to public knowledge that the Black was once again in the United States.
He had let Henry down, and he didn’t even have the satisfaction of knowin
g the Black could beat Satan. He was confused, worried and angry with himself. But he realized there was no backtracking now. He would have to do everything possible to keep the Black’s identity from the press.
GUILTY!
7
Early the following afternoon, Alec walked from his home to the courthouse in downtown Flushing. He stopped before the building and his hand found the summons deep within his pocket. He didn’t have to look at it again to know where to go. His offense of galloping a horse in a public park was classified by the Police Department as a traffic violation, and he was ordered to appear before the Traffic Court at two o’clock. It was two now.
Without moving forward, he watched the people hurrying into the building, some of them already holding their summonses in hand. Alec felt for the wallet in his hind pocket. He had twenty-five dollars there, and he knew that it would be more than enough to pay the fine. He should be getting inside now; no use putting it off any longer. If Dad had been along, it would have made things easier. But he had decided not to tell his father what had happened. He had assumed full responsibility when he had taken the Black to the park, and now he had to go through with it … alone. If he wasn’t recognized, he’d pay the fine and no one would be the wiser.
But what if he was recognized? What would he do? What could he do? Alec walked toward the steps. He didn’t know. There was no sense in thinking about it now. He would have to wait and see.
He followed the crowd inside the building. They were all going to the same room as he. They went up a flight of stairs, the well-worn wooden steps creaking beneath their combined weight. A policeman stood at the head of the stairs, directing them down the corridor. Alec followed the others into a large room where a dark-cloaked judge was presiding on the bench. The court was already in session, and Alec took a seat in the back of the room.