“Yes, Mom, it’s really me,” he yelled. He ran into the kitchen and flung his arms around his mother. “Boy, it’s good to be home!” he said.
He looked up at his mother and saw that her eyes were moist. “What’s the matter, Mom? What are you crying for?”
Mrs. Ramsay smiled through her tears. “Nothing’s the matter. I’m just glad you’re home, that’s all.”
Alec put his lean brown arm through his mother’s soft plump one, and together they went into the living room as his father and Joe Russo came in from outdoors.
The reporter looked around the room with its soft shaded lights and its comfortable-looking furniture, then at Alec and his father and mother. “Guess you couldn’t blame him for wanting to get back to this,” Joe said.
“You bet!” Alec agreed.
His mother sat down on the couch and Alec sat beside her, his arm still in hers. His father was filling his pipe in his favorite chair in the corner. “All right, son,” he said. “Tell us all about it.”
“Well,” Alec began, “it was a few days after I left Uncle Ralph at Bombay that we stopped at a small Arabian port on the Red Sea—”
The clock on top of the radio ticked off the minutes as Alec told his story. Once more he was on the Drake and seeing the Black for the first time. He forgot that his mother, his father and Joe Russo were listening to him. He was in the storm, hearing the roar of the gale and the smashing of the waves against the boat. He heard the loud crack of lightning as it struck the ship. Then the Black was dragging him through the water—hours and hours they battled the waves in the darkness. He roamed the island, fighting against starvation. He discovered the carragheen that had saved them both. He rode the stallion for the first time—that wild, never-to-be-forgotten ride! Then the fire, that awful fire, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The joy that was his when he saw the sailors dragging their boat up the beach. Rio de Janeiro—home.…
He finished, and there was silence. His mother’s hand was gripping his. The clock ticked loudly. It seemed to say, “You’re home … you’re home …”
His father’s pipe had gone out. “I don’t know what to say, son”—he broke the silence—“except that God must have been with you—and with us.” He turned to Mrs. Ramsay. “We’re pretty thankful, aren’t we, Mother?”
Alec felt the pressure of her hand. “Yes,” she answered, “we have much to be thankful for.”
“I can understand now how you love that horse,” Joe Russo said.
“Yes, Alec,” said his father, “I can promise you now he’ll always have a place here with us.”
“If it wasn’t for him—that wild, untamed animal—” his mother said.
Joe Russo stood up. “I want to thank you for letting me stay,” he said. “If there is anything I can ever do—”
Mr. Ramsay rose from his chair. “That’s all right. Glad to have helped you,” he said. “Good night.” He held out his hand.
“Good night, sir.” He smiled at Alec and his mother. “Take good care of that horse,” he said to the boy.
“You bet I will,” answered Alec. “And thanks for all you’ve done.”
Not long after Joe left, Alec said good night to his parents and went to bed. The excitement of being home and sleeping in his own bed again made him restless. He lay awake for an hour, then he fell into a sound sleep.
Suddenly a shrill whistle awakened him. He opened his eyes sleepily. Had he been dreaming or had he actually heard the Black scream? The night was still. A minute passed. Then he heard the whistle again—it was the Black.
Alec jumped out of bed. The clock on his dresser told him it was only a little after twelve! He was wide awake as he pulled on his robe and quickly ran down the stairs and out the door. He heard the Black scream again as he entered the gate. Lights flashed on in Henry’s house—then in the houses near by. The Black was waking everyone up! Alec sprinted toward the barn. He reached the door. The light was on!
The Black screamed when he saw him. His head reached far out over the stall.
“Dio mio!” a voice was moaning from inside Napoleon’s stall. Alec couldn’t see anybody—only old Napoleon, who stood trembling on the far side of his stall. His frightened eyes turned beseechingly toward Alec. “Dio mio!” came the voice again.
“Hello,” yelled Alec. “Who’s there?”
The Black pawed nervously at the floor of his stall. Then Alec saw a hand move over the top of Napoleon’s door and cautiously push it open. Suddenly, like a charging fullback, a man plunged through the stall door.
He swept past and was outside before Alec could catch a glimpse of him. The Black whistled again. “Hey, Black,” yelled Alec, “take it easy!” Then he ran toward the door and looked out into the night. Alec saw a man standing beside Henry, who had just arrived on the scene. It was Tony, the huckster, owner of Napoleon! Poor Tony, he’d probably been frightened to death at the sight of the Black in the stall next to Napoleon!
“Hello, Tony,” Alec called as he made his way toward him. Some of the neighbors, their robes pulled hastily about them, were coming up the driveway. Then the sound of a police siren reached Alec’s ears. “Gosh,” he said as a police car turned into the driveway. “Tony, you’re all right, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Sure, he’s all right,” answered Henry, grinning. “The Black just surprised him.”
Tony only nodded. He was still too scared to speak. A small crowd gathered around them. “What’s the matter here?” asked the policeman as he got out of his car.
“Nothing serious, officer,” Henry spoke up. “I own this barn and took in another horse tonight, unknown to Tony here. They both sorta surprised each other—that’s about all there is to it.”
“That right?” the officer asked Tony.
Tony found his voice. “Si,” he said, “that’s-a right. I ver’ busy make-a better the harness sore on my Nappy when I look-a up and see heem. He sure make-a me the surprise all right.”
The crowd laughed at Tony’s comments. “Well,” said the policeman, “guess everything’s all right around here, then. Who owns the horse?”
“I do, sir,” Alec answered.
“You’re rather young to own a horse that does such a big job of scaring people.” The officer smiled.
“I just brought him to New York yesterday,” Alec replied. “He’s still pretty nervous, but he’ll get over it.”
“He sounds like quite a horse. Would you mind letting me take a look at him?” the policeman asked.
“Be glad to,” Alec said.
The small crowd moved forward, pushing Tony in front of them. Alec stopped at the door of the barn. “Most of you will have to watch from here,” he said. “Too many people will get him excited again.”
The Black neighed softly as Henry, Alec, Tony and the policeman approached the stall. Napoleon stuck his head over the stall door and neighed at the sight of Tony, who hung back. The Black still pawed at the floor of his stall. Alec rubbed his nose.
“He’s a beauty,” the policeman said. “I’ve always had a weakness for horses ever since I spent two years on the mounted force. Don’t know as I’ve ever seen one like this, though.” He paused, then after watching the Black a few minutes, he continued, “Yep, looks like everything’s okay around here—and I have to get back to the station. So long.” He left, taking the crowd with him.
Tony stayed in the barn with Alec and Henry. Gingerly he moved toward Napoleon, keeping one watchful eye on the Black. The stallion pushed his head forward. He neighed. “He likes you and Napoleon,” Alec said.
Tony reached a hand to the Black’s muzzle, then jerked it away quickly as the stallion shook his head. Alec and Henry laughed. “Si,” said Tony, “I like-a heem, too, after a while!”
A short time later, Alec once again climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Luckily his parents were both sound sleepers—it was better that they didn’t know of the commotion the Black had made.
Alec climbed wearily ba
ck into bed. He was really tired now. He glanced at the clock—two-fifteen—and he wanted to be over to the barn early the next morning! His head fell back on the pillow. He was soon fast asleep.
ESCAPE
9
The next morning when Alec opened his eyes, he saw the familiar high school banners hanging on the walls. It was good to be in his own room again. Then right away he wondered how the Black was after his rumpus of last night! Alec turned on his side and looked out the window. The sun was rising. It must be around six o’clock.
Not much sleep—but then he was accustomed to that after the last few months. The leaves on the trees were turning a bright autumn red. He was glad his father had told him he wouldn’t have to go to school today. “One more day won’t hurt,” he had said, “and it’ll give you a chance to accustom yourself again.” He knew what his father had really meant was that it would give him a chance to accustom the Black to his new surroundings!
Alec jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. He took a cold shower, dressed and tiptoed down the stairs. He opened the door and went out into the crisp morning air. It was quiet as only early morning can be. The grass was wet with a heavy dew. He walked down the street, softly whistling to himself. A safe distance away from the house he began to sing.
He found the gate ajar. Someone must be there already—perhaps Tony! He ran up the road toward the barn, and heard a deep bass voice coming from inside. “San-ta Lu-ci-a, Santa Lu-cia!” Sure, that couldn’t be anyone else but Tony! The barn door was open. Alec saw the little Italian sitting on a chair, his eyes fastened on the two stalls from which were coming deep munching sounds.
“Hello, Tony!”
Tony turned, his dark, wrinkled face creasing into a broad smile. “Hello,” he said. “You see, I’m not afraid of heem any more!”
“Yes,” Alec laughed, “I can see that. You’ll get along swell with him as time goes on!”
“Ah, he’s one great fella—make-a me think when Napoleon was-a young! So frisky, so full of pep, and when he saw me feed Napoleon, he let me feed heem, too!”
“That’s pretty good, Tony. Usually he won’t let anyone get near him but me.”
“Look at them,” Tony said.
Napoleon had shoved his nose through the bars and was trying to get at the Black’s feed box. The stallion playfully nipped him. Napoleon withdrew his head and looked over the stall door.
“Time to go to work, young fella,” laughed Tony. He let him out of the stall, and rubbed his hand over the gray, ragged coat. “Tomorrow I give heem a good bath so he’ll be white as snow!” he said.
Alec watched Tony harness Napoleon. He saw him tenderly arrange a thick pad over the cut on Napoleon’s shoulder. He noticed that the Black was also an interested spectator.
“Give me a hand, will you, Alec? We’re kinda late this morning,” Tony said.
Alec helped to harness old Napoleon to the little huckster’s wagon. It seemed child’s play to handle the gentle old gray horse after the spirited stallion.
They heard the Black scream inside. Alec ran into the barn. “What’s the matter, Black?” he said.
The long black neck was stretched questioningly into the next stall. He missed Napoleon.
“Napoleon has to go to work, Boy, but he’ll be back tonight.” Alec opened the door and took the Black by the halter. He grabbed the lead rope from a nail outside the stall and fastened it to the halter. Then he led the Black out.
Tony was climbing into the seat of the wagon. “Well, Alec, we gotta go,” he said. “See you tonight. Come on, Napoleon.”
Napoleon raised his head and neighed as he saw the Black. He refused to move. Tony shook the reins. “Come on, now, Nappy. We gotta go!” he repeated. Napoleon shook his head, looked at the Black, then resignedly started off.
The Black pulled at the rope. He wanted to follow. Alec held him back. He reared high into the air; his ears pitched forward and he snorted angrily.
Alec smiled. “Hate to see your roommate leave, don’t you?”
They watched Tony and Napoleon go slowly down the gravel road to the gate. Napoleon broke into a slow trot down the street.
When they were out of sight, the Black moved in a circle around Alec.
“Feeling pretty good, aren’t you, Boy?” Alec let the rope out to give the Black more room. He led him toward the open field, encircled by a stone wall. “You’re going to like this to graze in,” he said. “Just look at all that grass!”
The Black cropped the green grass hungrily. When he seemed to have had enough, Alec ran down the field with him. “Not too fast now, Black!” Alec called as the stallion cantered ahead of him. Halfway down the field he found himself tiring and pulled the Black to a halt.
“How about giving me a ride now, Black?” he asked. He looked for a place to mount him. He drew the stallion alongside the stone wall, climbed up on it and slid onto the Black, grasping the halter with both hands.
He hadn’t had a chance to ride him since the island. The Black stood still a moment, then broke into a trot. Alec was able to guide him fairly well with the halter and he found that the stallion still remembered his lessons on the island.
Down the field they went, the wind whipping in Alec’s face, the early morning stillness echoing with the stallion’s hoofbeats. His long powerful strides made the field seem much too small. Alec turned him around the edge and started him back up the field. They went faster and faster. Alec dug his knees into the stallion’s sides and his own body moved rhythmically with the Black’s. They swept past the barn and Alec turned him back down the field again. Around and around the field they went.
After a while Alec managed to slow him down a bit. The Black continued around the field at a gallop. Then he slackened into a trot. Alec had never been happier. Home at last—and with a horse like this! All his very own! He buried his head in the Black’s mane and wiped his hand across his eyes, drying the tears the wind had brought to them.
They approached the barn. Alec saw Henry Dailey leaning against the door watching them. He rode up to him and dismounted, catching hold of the stallion’s halter. “Morning, Henry,” he said. He felt the Black’s coat. “Not even wet.… What a horse, Henry! We’ve been going around that field like the wind! Did you see us?”
Henry didn’t move from the door but Alec saw his small gray eyes going over the Black inch by inch. “Sure, I saw you,” he said. “Son, I’ve seen a lot of horses in my day and rode my share of ’em, but I never saw one give any better exhibition than that!”
Alec beamed with pride. “He is swell, Henry, isn’t he? I still can’t believe he’s mine!” The stallion’s long neck reached down to the ground and he buried his nose in the green grass.
“Let him loose, Alec. See how he likes it,” said Henry.
“Do you think it’s safe?”
“He’s all right now. You gave him a good run. Besides he has to get used to being left alone, anyway.”
“Guess you’re right, Henry.” Alec unsnapped the lead rope from the halter. The stallion raised his head and his nostrils quivered. Suddenly he wheeled and trotted swiftly down the field.
Alec and Henry watched him. “It’s the first freedom he’s had in a long time,” said Alec.
“And he’s sure enjoying it.” Henry looked after the Black admiringly.
The stallion stopped and turned his great head toward them. He whistled softly.
“Boy, I’d love to see him on a track!” Henry said thoughtfully.
“You mean race, Henry?” Alec asked.
“Yep.”
Alec turned to the Black, who was now loping down the field again in an easy, graceful canter, his head turning from side to side. “It’d take a long time before he’d be safe on any track though, Henry.”
“Well, we have plenty of time, haven’t we, Alec?”
“We?” Alec stared at the small husky man beside him. “You mean, Henry, that you and I could do it?”
Henry hadn’t moved—
his eyes still followed the Black around the field. “Sure, we can,” he said quietly, and then his voice lowered so that Alec could hardly hear him. “Never liked this business of retiring, anyway,” he said. “Not too old—still have plenty of good years left in me! This life’s all right for the Missus—she’s got enough to do to keep her busy, but I need action. And here I have it shoved right into my lap!” His voice grew louder. “Alec,” he continued, “I know we can make a champion out of the Black.” His face was wrinkled with excitement, his eyelids narrowed until they were only slits in his lined face.
“You really mean it, Henry? But how—”
The old man interrupted him and he moved for the first time. “Sure, I’m confident, Alec, and I know my horses.” He took the boy by the arm. “Come with me and I’ll show you something.”
Henry led him to the far end of the barn. He knelt down beside an old trunk. He took a key from his pocket, inserted it into the lock and opened it. The trunk was crammed to the top with trophies and silver cups. Henry dug down and pulled out a large scrap-book. “The Missus always kept this for me, even before we were married.”
He turned the faded yellowish pages that were filled with newspaper clippings. Headline after headline caught Alec’s eye as he knelt beside Henry: DAILEY RIDES CHANG TO VICTORY IN SCOTT MEMORIAL—DAILEY BRINGS WARRIOR HOME FIRST IN $50,000 FUTURITY—TURFDOM ACCLAIMS DAILEY AS GREATEST RIDER OF ALL TIME—Henry stopped turning the pages, his eyes gazing steadily at a photograph in front of him. “This, son,” he said, “is where I got the greatest thrill of my life—riding Chang home first in the Kentucky Derby. Wouldn’t think that little guy there was me, would you?”
Alec looked closer. He saw a small boy, with a wide grin on his face, astride a large, powerful-looking red horse. Around the horse’s neck hung the winner’s horseshoe of roses. Alec noticed the large, strong hands holding the reins and the stocky, broad shoulders. “Yes,” he said, “I can tell that’s you.”