Harrity’s eyes were upon the black stallion and the sheikh with the white beard who stood beside him, holding the bridle. The stallion snorted and plunged, and the man let the horse carry him until he had regained control.
“A black devil,” Harrity muttered. “A black, untamed devil.”
“What’dya say?” Morgan asked.
“That black stallion … he’s a devil,” Harrity repeated.
“Yeah.” There was a slight pause, then Morgan said, “And didya notice that little black one just behind him? He’s tryin’ to work up a lather, too.”
Harrity hadn’t noticed the young colt, but now he saw him. Standing there on his long legs, the black colt, whom Harrity judged to be about five months old, was being held by one of the Bedouins.
The colt moved restlessly, trying to pull away from the tribesman who held him close. As though imitating the big black in front of him, he snorted and plunged, throwing his thin forelegs out, striking at the Bedouin. The man moved quickly, avoiding the small hoofs, and then closed in upon the savage head and held him still.
“Could be father and son from the way they act.” Morgan laughed.
“Yeah,” returned Harrity. “Look a lot like each other, too. Coal black they are, except for that small splotch of white on the colt’s forehead. Didya notice it, Morgan?”
“Uh,” Morgan grunted. “It looks diamond-shaped from here.”
A few minutes later they saw the tribesman lead the colt away from the band and in the direction of the Queen of India.
“Y’mean that baby is goin’ to ship with us?” Morgan said excitedly.
“Mebbe,” Harrity replied. “After all, they came into town for some reason, and that’s as good as any.”
The Bedouin had the black colt partway down the path which the natives and vendors had opened for them when the colt reared again, fighting for his head. The Bedouin let him go up, and when he came down closed in upon his head again. Grabbing the rope halter, the Bedouin moved quickly to the side, avoiding the pawing hoofs.
“That guy is used to handlin’ horses,” Morgan told Harrity as they watched the scene.
“Yeah. He got around those hoofs all right. Not that a colt like that could hurt him much, though.”
“Still, he could put a good dent in the guy,” Morgan insisted. “I sure wouldn’t want any part of him. If he’s like that now, think what he’s goin’ to be a few months from now, when he gets some beef on him.” Morgan paused, and his gaze turned to the black stallion, who was circling nervously around the white-bearded sheikh. “Why, he’s apt to be as bad as that devil. Nope, I’ll stick to the nice tame ones,” he concluded.
They had almost reached the ship when the colt rose again. Once more the Bedouin let him go up, then closed in. But this time, as the colt came down savagely with his teeth bared, he turned upon the man. No cry of pain came from the Bedouin’s lips as the colt’s teeth sank into his shoulder, but those who were close enough were able to see him grow pale beneath his dark mahogany skin. Moving his hand quickly, the Bedouin brought it hard against the muzzle of the colt, and was free.
The sheikh signaled to one of his men, who ran forward, moved to one side of the colt and grabbed the halter. Then he and the bitten tribesman led the colt past the multitude and up the plank into the hold of the ship.
“And that,” muttered Morgan, “is that. Packaged neatly for delivery in New York. Wonder who the lucky person is?” he added sarcastically.
“I’m wonderin’, too,” Harrity said. “From what I’ve heard of these Bedouins they prize their horses above life itself. There are few good ones that have ever left Arabia.”
“Most likely this one isn’t any good,” Morgan said. Then he added, thoughtfully, “Still, I’d like to know where these desert Arabs are sendin’ that little devil. It’s a cinch no one just walked into their front yard and bought a horse. Think I’ll go down to the hold and find out. Sam’s there, and he’ll give me all the info I want.”
Shortly after Morgan left, the two Bedouins emerged from the hold and walked quickly down the plank onto the dock. Without glancing to the right or to the left they hurried to their band, nodded as they passed their sheikh, and mounted.
The group stayed there until the last of the cargo was put aboard the Queen of India and the dockhands had thrown off the lines holding the ship to the pier.
Harrity realized that he should be below, working with his men, but the sight of that Bedouin band, sitting still and straight on the magnificent horses, fascinated him.
The Queen of India was well away from the pier when Morgan rejoined him. “Sam gave me as much information as he had,” he said excitedly. “And guess what, Harrity. That baby we’re carryin’ isn’t goin’ to any of those big horse stables in Kentucky.… Nope, he’s goin’ to some guy by the name of Alec Ramsay. And this will kill you. Where does the guy live but in Flushing, New York! Why, that’s like goin’ to my burg, Brooklyn!”
“Not exactly,” Harrity replied. “It’s a lot smaller, but maybe there’s room for a horse to turn around in.”
“Well, it’s a suburb of New York, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I can’t see this horse in either place.”
They were walking toward the door leading down to the boiler room when Harrity came to a sudden stop. “Alec Ramsay,” he muttered to himself.
“Yeah, that’s his name,” Morgan said. “What’s eatin’ you?”
“That name. I know it. I’ve seen it somewhere,” Harrity said, half to himself, half to Morgan. Turning, he went back to the rail of the ship and looked again at the mighty black stallion. The sheikh had mounted him, but the band still hadn’t moved. The horse had his head high, his ears pricked, and he too seemed to be watching the departing ship. Then suddenly he raised his head still higher, and there was heard, resounding across the still, hot air, his shrill, piercing whistle. The scream of a wild stallion! Harrity had never heard anything like it and he knew that in all probability few of those on the ship or dock had. It was a long, high-pitched cry that crept to the marrow of one’s bones. It was eerie, frightening.
Harrity found Morgan at his side. “Y’mean that came from him?” Without taking his eyes from the stallion, Harrity nodded. And Morgan said, “That was weirder than anything we ever heard in India.”
They saw the black horse rear to his utmost height as the sheikh astride him wrapped his long legs like two bars of steel around his girth. Coming down with battering forefeet, the stallion snorted, half-reared, and screamed again. His rider raised a hand in signal to his men, and simultaneously they wheeled their horses.
And as the Bedouin band rode up the street which would lead them back to the desert, Harrity and Morgan heard the muffled scream of the black colt in the hold.
Morgan said, “Guess that’s the end of the fireworks, Harrity. We’d better get goin’.”
Nodding, Harrity followed, deep in thought. And it wasn’t until they were well on their way down the iron stairs that he stopped. “I got it,” he half shouted, as his hand grabbed Morgan’s arm. “Y’remember that trip the Queen’s boiler went bad on us, and we had to limp back to New York for a repair job?”
“I don’t want to remember it,” Morgan said, “after the work it caused us.”
But Harrity went on. “We hit port just in time to hear all about that big match horse race out in Chicago. Y’couldn’t help rememberin’ that, Morgan, for everybody was talkin’ their fool heads off about it. And it was all over the newspapers, ‘n’ you couldn’t turn on a radio without someone blastin’ about it.”
Morgan nodded. “Yeah. Sure. I remember that. This match race was cooked up to get those two racers, Sun Raider and Cyclone, together. Boy, those babies sure could run. Broke just about every track record, didn’t they?” Morgan didn’t wait for Harrity’s reply. “And there was lots of talk about what was goin’ to happen when those two bolts of lightnin’ got together in Chicago. Then there was the big race
.…” Morgan’s brow furrowed and his eyes met Harrity’s. “Then … then …” his words came fast, “I remember now, Harrity. Neither of ’em won! They were both beaten by a mystery horse! A horse someone got into the race the last minute. The name of that horse is right on the tip of my tongue.…”
As Morgan hesitated, Harrity said, “He was called the Black, Morgan. Nothin’ more, just that. And he was ridden by a kid, a young kid by the name of … Alec Ramsay!” Harrity’s voice was clipped, excited. “And that black stallion ran all over Sun Raider and Cyclone.”
“That’s it, Harrity! That’s it! Alec Ramsay … that was his name, all right. And there was a story, too, about how he got hold of this horse. The papers played it up big.”
“Sure, and we got good reason to remember it,” Harrity said, lowering his voice. “The kid was comin’ back from India on the Drake.…”
“The Drake.…” Morgan’s voice was tense. “She went down off the coast of Portugal with all on board.”
Harrity took it up again. “This black stallion was aboard, picked up at … Addis.” His eyes swept back up the stairs, and he muttered, “That was Addis back there.”
“The horse saved the kid’s life, didn’t he? Dragged him to one of those islands off the coast. And about a month later, after all hope had been given up, they were picked up and brought to New York.”
“And then to Flushing,” Harrity added. “Alec Ramsay, Flushing, New York.” He jerked his head in the direction of the hold. “And that’s just where this little devil is goin’.”
Morgan began walking down the steps again, followed by Harrity. “Y’remember hearin’ anything more about the Black and this Alec Ramsay?” Morgan asked without looking back. “After the race, I mean.”
“You know as well as I do how long we were out on that South Africa trip right after,” Harrity said. “Of course I didn’t hear nothin’.”
“I was just thinkin’ about that black stallion we just saw,” Morgan muttered. “He sure looked like what I imagined the Black should look like. From everything I’ve read about him, anyway.”
Harrity said, thoughtfully, “I was thinkin’ about that, too.” Shrugging his shoulders, he added, “But he sure can’t be in Flushing and Arabia at the same time, that’s certain. And I still can’t figure out that black baby in the hold. Wonder where he comes in on it?”
“Forget it,” Morgan said. “We’ve got enough to do from here to New York without wastin’ our time on puzzles. I’m just glad my name’s Morgan instead of Alec Ramsay, and that I live in Brooklyn an’ not Flushing. I wouldn’t want any part of that horse.”
“Yeah,” agreed Harrity. “You’re right. I’ll take my horses just by watchin’ ’em from the grandstand at a race track. Nope, I sure don’t envy this Alec Ramsay none, either.”
DON’T FORGET THE STORY
THAT BEGAN IT ALL …
Alec Ramsay first saw the Black Stallion when his ship docked at a small Arabian port on the Red Sea. Little did he dream then that the magnificent wild horse was destined to play an important part in his young life; that the strange understanding that grew between them would lead through untold dangers to high adventure in America.
MEET THE FIRST FOAL
SIRED BY THE BLACK!
When the Black Stallion’s son arrives from Arabia, young Alec Ramsay believes his dreams have come true. Satan is everything a horse should be: beautiful, spirited, and intelligent. But veteran trainer Henry sees something dark and disturbing in the colt’s stony gaze.
THE EPIC RACE
BETWEEN A FATHER AND SON …
The Black Stallion’s colt, Satan, is a great horse. He has won many famous races. Then from far-off Arabia comes the Black—to start the greatest controversy racing circles have ever known. Which horse is faster? But as the match approaches, the great stallion and his colt find themselves in a different kind of race—not against each other, but against a terrible and deadly forest fire.
ANOTHER EXCITING ADVENTURE TALE
OF THE BLACK STALLION
One morning, during their vacation in the Florida Everglades, Alec rides the Black down a path into a beautiful but mysterious swamp. Alec encounters a strange rider on a ghostly gray mare. Too late, Alec realizes that the man’s obsession with a supernatural curse has driven him mad—and he’s not only insane, he’s dangerous. Suddenly, what started as an innocent outing turns into a living nightmare!
A POWERFUL ADVENTURE
SET IN THE NEVADA DESERT
Alec and the Black are heading out west to a huge ranch when their plane crashes in the desolate country of northern Nevada. The Black, unable to find Alec, reverts to his untamed heritage and becomes head of a herd of wild horses. But Alec has amnesia and doesn’t remember anything of his past, and his inability to explain his recent whereabouts makes him the suspect in a brutal murder case.
When Alec Ramsay saw the three handsome foreign-born colts, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The colts were almost exact models of the Black Stallion! They must have had the same sire, but the official Arabian records said that the Black’s sire was dead. Could he be alive? The possibility was enough to lure Alec overseas … into a carefully prepared trap!
MEET FLAME—
WALTER FARLEY’S OTHER GREAT STALLION!
Steve Duncan had a haunting vision of finding a magnificent red stallion … and finally discovered him in a hidden island paradise. But the giant horse was wild and unapproachable. Then Steve saved Flame from a horrible death, and a miraculous friendship began—changing both their lives forever.
A THRILLING SAGA OF
DANGER ON AZUL ISLAND THE
Flame faces a vicious new enemy! The giant red stallion is used to fighting horses—his leadership of the wild band on the remote island has been tested again and again. But never before has he been threatened by people. Now a greedy and violent man is coming after the unwary stallion … determined to break his body and his spirit!
TWO GREAT HORSES MEET
FOR THE FIRST TIME!
When their plane crashes in the Caribbean Sea, Alec and the Black are swept apart. The exhausted stallion is carried by the currents to a remote island. There he finds a herd of wild horses ruled by the giant red stallion Flame. But before the Black and Flame can determine which is the dominant male, they must fight a rabid vampire bat intent on destroying the entire herd.
FLAME WILL GIVE THE BLACK
THE RACE OF A LIFETIME!
Steve Duncan has claimed that his horse, Flame, is faster than the Black. And when Flame and the Black had their first run together, Alec had to admit that the Black might have met his match. Now that the two stallions are meeting in a major race, the whole world wonders if the Black can hold his own against the upstart challenger.…
THE STORY OF THE BLACK
BEFORE HE MET ALEC
Born in the mountain stronghold of an Arabian sheikh, the Black Stallion is a horse like no other. Big, beautiful, and savage, this magnificent creature is destined for greatness. But the Black’s bright future is eclipsed when a fierce band of raiders attempts to kidnap him—and he escapes into the wilderness, hunted by man and beast.
Walter Farley, The Black Stallion Returns
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