He went to the fence screaming. Lifting his head, he touched his nose to the top board. Then he rose on hind legs to bring his forehoofs down upon it. He was terrible in his fury, but his act proved futile. Frenzied rage had replaced the cool cunning of his earlier behavior. He rose again, trying to batter down the fence, and his legs hurt from the crashing impact of his blows. The fence remained intact. He whirled while still at his utmost height, his hind legs pivoting his great body with uncanny grace and swiftness, then sending him away from the fence in long strides. It was less than a hundred feet to the barn, and there he stopped short with tossing head and mane. With no hesitation he whirled again and swept back, his strides lengthening with startling swiftness for so short a distance. He gathered his great body in front of the fence as though to jump it, but he never unleashed his spring. Instead he stopped short again, stomping the earth with both forefeet in his frenzy and frustration.
He turned to the left to run along the fence. He had passed the paddock gate when suddenly he felt the earth rise gradually beneath his running hoofs, and then descend abruptly. He went on for a short distance before stopping and going back to the elevated stretch of ground which was used in the loading and unloading of horses from vans. Now he was more quiet, more cunning. He walked up the gradual ascent to the flat summit of the grassy mound. For a moment he stood there, his wild eyes seeming to measure the distance to the fence. His added height enabled him to see over the top board, and he screamed again at the horse beyond. There was a new note to his whistle, for now he knew the battle was close at hand. Satan, too, was aware of it; he screamed for the first time … and his answer was as shrill, as terrible in its savagery as his challenger’s.
The Black turned, leaving the mound, and went once more as far as the barn. He whirled and bolted, picking up speed with every stride. He gathered himself going up the grassy incline. At the top he rose in the air, hurling himself forward, his legs tucked well beneath him. A hoof struck the top of the fence but did not upset him. He came down and, without breaking stride, raced forward to meet Satan.
He went only a short distance before he came to a plunging stop; the cool logic that had helped him win battles with other stallions came to the fore. His eyes were still blazing with hate, his ears were flat against his head. But when he moved again it was to circle his opponent with strides that were light and cautious.
Both fear and fire shone in Satan’s eyes. He did not want to fight yet he stood unflinching and ready. He was heavier than the Black, though not as tall. His bones were larger, his neck shorter and more bulging with muscle, his head heavier. Yet his great, thick body had the same fascination and swiftness of movement as the stallion who circled him. He had inherited these together with his tremendous speed from the Black, his sire. Now, keeping his bright eyes on his opponent, Satan began to move with him. He heard him scream again, and answered. He waited for the fight to be brought to him. He was ready.
Yet when the attack came, it was with the swiftness of light, and even though Satan had thought himself prepared he barely had time to rise and meet the horrible onslaught. Two raging furies, hateful to see, began a combat that would end only with the death of one!
The first light that went on was in the apartment over the broodmare barn, just past the main house. Seconds later a short, stocky man, wearing only pajamas and slippers, came running out the door. He moved ghostlike in the wind, his face as white as his disheveled hair. His bowlegs spun like wheels with his fast strides. He lost one flapping slipper. He kicked the other off without breaking his run. Only when he came to the main house did he stop, and then just for a second. Cupping large hands around his mouth, he let loose a scream in the direction of the open window on the second floor.
“Alec! Alec! Alec!”
The wind hurled his cries aside. He didn’t know if he’d been heard and he couldn’t wait to find out. He started running again, his blood hammering within his chest, but not from his exertion. His eyes were dimmed and wet, but not from the wind. He had just seen the Black clear the fence into Satan’s paddock. He knew what the consequences would be.
Nearing the fence, he saw the silhouette of the attacker circling Satan. He knew he was too late, that the clash of bodies would come in seconds. His face grew even paler, yet uncontrollable rage was there, too. His body and voice trembled as he roared, “Away! Away, you killer!” But he knew the Black didn’t hear him, and that even if he did the command would have little effect.
He ran to the stallion barn and flung open the door, looking for any weapons he might use. A leather riding whip hung on a peg in the entryway. He took it. A pitchfork stood by the door. He grabbed this, too, and ran outside again. Reaching the paddock gate, he pulled it open wide, and charged toward the black bodies now wrapped in a deadly embrace.
He screamed at them, but his voice was just a muted whisper beneath the crashing blows of forehoofs that pounded in furious battle. Suddenly, from their great height, the stallions toppled and fell, their bodies shaking the very earth. The man sprang forward, trying to get between them with his pitchfork. But their action was too fast and terrifying, and his efforts were futile. They bounded to lightning feet and clashed again, their heads extended long and snakelike as they sought with bared teeth to tear and rend each other.
Unmindful of his own safety, the man moved forward with his puny weapons. As yet neither stallion had drawn blood. But in a matter of seconds, if he couldn’t separate them, it would be too late. They were locked together, seemingly suspended in the air. Each sought the other’s windpipe for the vicious hold that would mean certain death. The man’s breath came in fast, hard gasps as he tried to thrust the pitchfork between them, to divert their attention to him. Even now he knew he could control Satan if he ever got the chance. But there would be no opportunity, not with the Black, that hellion, forcing the fight, determined on destruction!
The stallions lost their holds, and came screaming down again. The Black whirled, letting fly his hind hoofs in an awful blow which, if it had landed full, would have sent Satan reeling. But the burly horse saw the hoofs coming. He shifted his great body with amazing agility, and the crashing hind legs only grazed him. Nevertheless, although he had avoided serious injury, the glancing blow sent him off balance. He stumbled and went down.
At this moment the man plunged forward, reaching the Black before he could whirl on the fallen horse. In his fury he used the leather riding whip, bringing it down hard again and again against the stallion’s lathered hindquarters. A great tremor racked the Black’s body as the blows landed. Suddenly he turned upon the man, all his savagery now directed at him.
With pitchfork extended the man fell back. He shouted futile commands as the stallion plunged toward him and then stopped before the steel prongs of the fork. The man knew his life was in great danger, yet he stole a second to glance at Satan, who was climbing to his feet. If only Satan would go through the open gate of the paddock! If only he could keep the Black away and get out himself! He backed toward the gate shouting, “Out, Satan! Out!” But the words barely left his lips before the Black came at him again, and he raised the pitchfork in his defense. He struck hard, viciously, and the stallion fell back.
The man saw Satan moving toward the gate. Then he saw Alec, running past the horse. He shouted the boy’s name and waited for him, without lowering his pitchfork.
Alec came to a stop. He stood still until he was certain the Black’s wild eyes were on him, then he walked forward, his bare feet making no sound.
Still pale with rage and terror, the man cried, “Take the whip, Alec! Use it on him if you have to!”
Without taking his eyes off the Black, Alec said, “If I did, he’d kill me, Henry. The same as he would have killed you.” He continued walking forward, talking to the stallion in a soft, low voice, and never raising it or his hand in a gesture of any kind. Only once did he interrupt his murmurings with a soft-spoken command. When he got close to the Black, he put his hand
on the lathered halter. The stallion trembled, and for a moment his eyes gleamed brighter than ever. Alec gave the low command again, but the stallion drew back his head in an abrupt gesture of defiance.
Keeping his hand on the halter, Alec moved along with the stallion until he came to a stop. The boy waited patiently, his eyes never leaving those of his horse, his murmurings never ceasing. With a motion of his head, he indicated to Henry that he was to leave.
Alec turned the Black toward the upper end of the paddock, diverting his attention from Satan and Henry. With his free hand he tried to soothe the tossing head, and finally he got the stallion to take a few steps up the paddock. Then the Black stopped again, trying to turn his head.
Alec held him close, and waited for a while before leading him forward once more. Satan and Henry had left the paddock. It was a little easier now. The Black followed Alec for a moment before stopping again, this time to utter his short, piercing blast. Alec stood quietly beside him, the wind billowing his pajamas. He knew that in a little while the Black would calm down, and he would be able to take him into the barn. But right now he must go on as he was doing, talking to him, soothing him, and waiting.
He walked him again, and as he did, he tried to understand the reason for the Black’s sudden, vicious attack on Satan. For many months his horse had been all a well-mannered stallion should be. Why, then, had he reverted to the role of a killer tonight? And what were he and Henry going to do about it?
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.
THE SECOND GREAT ADVENTURE ABOUT ALEC AND THE BLACK
What was the motive of the night prowler in attempting to destroy the Black, one of the world’s most famous horses? The prowler left behind him a gold medallion on which was embossed the figure of a large white bird, its wings outstretched in flight. Was it the Phoenix, the fabulous bird of mythology that symbolizes the resurrection of the dead?
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.
ANOTHER GREAT RACING ADVENTURE
WITH ALEC AND THE BLACK
When Hopeful Farm burns down, Alec Ramsay’s dreams for the future go up in smoke. To make matters worse, a strong young colt named Eclipse is threatening to replace the Black in the hearts of racing fans. The Black is getting older and no one believes that he can win again. No one, that is, but Henry Dailey. Against all odds, Henry and Alec create a sensation as they bring the Black back to the track—and the crowd knows that they are about to watch the race of the century!
WILL ALEC LOSE HIS TRAINER OR HIS HEART?
Henry Dailey, trainer of the Black Stallion, cannot stand the idea of girls in the high-stakes world of horse racing. But his young partner, Alec Ramsay, insists that girls have a place. In fact, he has just hired a girl to work for them. Alec knows she is dedicated and very competent. And she is very beautiful.…
WHEN TRAGEDY OCCURS …
After a personal tragedy, Alec Ramsay and the Black Stallion are wandering in the desert when they hear an amazing story from a local man: The end of the world is coming, he says, but an ancient Indian legend promises help from a rider on a black horse. Alec shrugs off the wild tale—until disaster strikes from the sky. Suddenly the fate of a whole tribe of Native Americans is in his hands … and the mighty Black must meet a challenge greater than any race!
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's Filly
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