Black Stallion's Shadow (18 page)

“All right, guys,” Frank said. “The story goes like this: You're supposed to be wranglers on your way to round up some wild mustangs. Don't worry about the soundtrack. We'll lay it in later. The voice-over will be telling about the Adopt-a-Mustang program. Got it?” The three riders nodded in unison.

“Now for the layout. See Mike over there?” Frank pointed to a spot half a mile across the flat, where Mike sat on his horse watching them. “Think of him as a marker. I want to see you all loping along, riding straight toward him. I'll drive alongside and track you in the camera car. And don't forget, when I give the signal, turn to the camera and give me a wave. Got it?”

Alec and the actors again nodded. If this was all there was to it, Alec thought, shooting the PSA should be as simple as everyone said it would be.

The director climbed into the camera car. He kept glancing back and forth between Alec and Kramer. Just when they were about to start the scene, Frank stopped everything. “Wait a minute. Something is wrong here.”

The director stepped out of the car and walked over to
where Alec and the actors waited on their horses. Frank snapped his fingers. “Hey. I know what's bugging me. Ramsay. That saddle of yours. The color is all wrong. Hmm.” He pointed to Alec and Kramer. “I've got an idea. Let's try switching saddles between you two.”

Alec smiled. Hadn't Wes warned him about directors pulling surprise changes at the last minute? And Alec remembered how Frank wouldn't start the wagon scene the other day before mauling Dousette's new hat.

“No way, Frank,” protested Kramer. “I always get the parade saddle. It's in my contract.”

“Not this time, Paul. That stipulation is about what you wear, not your horse.”

“But you know this is my favorite saddle.”

Frank's voice softened. “Come on, Paul. Do it for me, will you? Just this once. I'm trying to make the shot work. Think about it—a big black saddle on a big black horse. It'll look great.”

Kramer's face twisted with indignation. He was about to say something but then drew a breath and changed his mind. He slipped to the ground. “Okay, Frank. Some things aren't worth arguing about. You're the boss.”

Frank gave a sigh of relief. “Nice that someone around here remembers that.” For his part, Alec didn't see any reason to refuse the director's request. The Black could handle the heavier saddle easily.

Alec dismounted and exchanged Kramer's black parade saddle and blanket for his own. Everything seemed in order. Just to make sure, he checked the girth strap and stirrups' stitching for any sign of wear or tampering.
Satisfied, he swung himself up onto the Black's back. Wes helped Kramer with his saddle and gave the actor a boost up.

Frank looked them over and gave a satisfied smile. “There. That's the ticket.” He hopped back into the camera car. “Okay, you guys. Let's go. And try to look like you're having a good time. Action! Roll tape!”

The riders started across the floor of the box canyon. Kramer rode in the middle, with Alec on the left and Maxwell on the right. The camera car drove alongside, tracking them from twenty feet away. In the distance, painted cliffs and jutting outcroppings of rock colored the background.

Frank yelled instructions to them as they went along. “Okay. We have you in focus. I'm going to start the countdown. When I say go, bump up the speed a notch. Three—two—one—go!”

On Frank's signal, Alec and the others began loping their horses. Alec pushed his weight forward. The Black's movements began to stiffen, but Alec chalked that up to the unfamiliar saddle.

Suddenly the Black jerked his head down savagely. The movement caught Alec by surprise. The reins slipped through his hands. Alec threw himself forward trying to grab them just as the stallion rose up on his hind legs and pawed the air.

The Black's ears flattened and his head swung defiantly from side to side. Hatred flashed in his dark eyes. Maxwell and Kramer frantically pulled their horses out of the way. The cries of men and horses filled the air.

“What the …”

“Look at that!”

“Incredible!”

“Help!”

The gigantic figure of the black stallion towered over everyone else. The crew in the camera car didn't know what to do. “Quick, you idiots!” Frank screamed. “Get a camera on him!”

Alec dug his heels into the stallion's back and fought with every ounce of his strength to bring the stallion down. Still the Black remained suspended in midair, teetering on his hind legs and threatening to fall over backward.

“Get out of the way!” someone screamed. The car swerved sharply to the right. Alec heaved forward again and finally the Black's forefeet came crashing to the ground. The Black plunged ahead, shrilling wildly and then clenching down on the bit in his mouth with bared teeth. Alec's heart raced and his body shook. Without reins to hold, he could only knot his fingers in the stallion's mane and try to hang on.

CHAPTER 19

E
verything blurred around him in a rush of blue sky and snatches of earth. The Black's hoofbeats came in uneven spurts. As soon as Alec shifted his weight in one direction, the stallion lunged the other way. Each time the movement jerked Alec out of his seat and threw him completely off balance.

The problem wasn't just that Alec couldn't reach the reins. Nor was it the clumsy, unfamiliar saddle, or that he'd been caught unprepared by the stallion's charge. Something completely inexplicable had taken possession of the Black. All Alec could do was hang on.

He forced his mind to focus. Whatever had come over the Black, Alec could ride, with reins or without. Riding was what he did for a living. So do it, he ordered himself. It was his only hope of staying in the saddle.

The Black angled away from Mike and the scene's
intended direction. Across the canyon, Alec saw the stand of trees rise up before him. The stallion was drawn to it like a magnet. If the Black didn't change course, what happened two days before could repeat itself. Only this time it wouldn't be the wagon team running out of control and smashing into the trees, it would be Alec and the Black.

The stallion raced across the canyon like a low-flying airplane looking for a place to land. Alec swallowed. This could be it, he thought. The end. The last ride. Somehow he had to get control over the Black.

A horse and rider cut across the canyon floor toward him. Mike leaned in from his saddle and tried to grab hold of the Black's bridle. “Hang on, Alec!” the wrangler cried over the thunder of the Black's pounding hooves. “I'll stop him!”

Mike was just trying to help, but his cries only upset the Black more. Alec couldn't wave Mike off without risking a fall.

In front of them the distance to the trees was shrinking every second. Less than fifty yards away, morning shadows mired the ground. Alec forgot about Mike. The American Cup race flashed through his mind. He remembered the drive to the wire beside Ruskin. The scream of the wind in his ears became the roar of the spectators in the crowded stands. But this was no memory. This was real! Some twist of fate was forcing him to relive the stretch run at Santa Anna here in the very spot where the wagon scene had ended in disaster only two days before.

With Mike's pinto running along on one side and the stand of trees coming up fast on the other, the Black found himself hemmed in with only one way to go. Even if he'd wanted to there was no room to break away or even stop. To avoid the trees, the Black had to carry Alec straight ahead through the line of shadows. It was something he hadn't been able to do without jumping since Ruskin's spill at the American Cup.

Going this fast, Alec knew, a jump would be fatal. No horse could gather his feet beneath him again and land safely at this speed, not even the Black. He'd take a bad step coming down and that would be it.

Alec clenched his jaw. He caught himself bracing for death. To freeze up now would be disastrous. Yet he recognized the fear that suddenly took hold of him.

His mind whirled. This couldn't be happening. Not to him. Not to the Black. He wouldn't let it. Instinct drew him into focus. Ride, he told himself. Don't think, just ride. He projected himself fifty feet ahead, to the other side of the shadows. The grip of fear loosened. Rocking forward in the saddle, Alec found the strength to relax.

Blackness enveloped horse and rider. Alec let his mind go blank. The pounding of hoofbeats roared in his ears.

Trees swept by, then light burst on them again. Earth and sky jangled around him. It was over. The Black had driven straight through the pool of shadow and safely out the other side. They'd done it! Somehow, some way, they'd done it!

Before Alec could begin to appreciate what had happened, Mike's fingertips touched the Black's bridle. The
stallion jerked his head as Mike took hold. Instead of being able to stop the Black, Mike was pulled off balance. He tumbled through the air and disappeared below.

The Black ran on a short way across the canyon floor, then pulled up suddenly. With a shudder, he flung his bulk to the ground. Alec dove off. The Black twisted over onto his back, rolling and writhing in the dirt as if he were trying to smash some irritating insect.

When the stallion stood up again, clouds of dust swirled around him. His head hung down, and his sweat-drenched coat was caked with dirt. The fancy saddle hung loosely beneath his belly, upside down.

Alec lay still until the world stopped spinning. As his mind cleared he could think of only one thing. He and the Black had safely crossed the line of shadow together. For the moment, how it happened or the reason why didn't matter. A broad grin stretched across his face.

Alec pulled himself slowly to his feet. His arms, back and ribs felt twisted and sore, yet nothing seemed to be broken. He wobbled shakily over to where the Black stood.

The reality of the situation slowly began to sink in. For the first time since the Black had pulled the reins from his hands, Alec had a second to think. What had happened to the Black? Why had he run off like that?

Alec came to the stallion's side and reached back to unfasten the girth strap. The Black shuddered, taking thundering breaths. “Everything's all right now, fella,” Alec soothed. “We did it.” The hanging saddle and blanket dropped to the ground. The Black shoved Alec aside
and stomped the saddle with his hooves.

“Easy, fella. Easy, now,” Alec said, and then joined the Black in giving the fancy saddle a swift kick. “Piece of junk,” he muttered to himself. Pushing closer to the Black, Alec lightly ran his hands over the big, muscled frame. Good, he thought. There was no sign of injury. The Black shook Alec off again. Alec stepped back and let him alone.

Both he and the Black had been lucky. But what about Mike? He looked back toward the trees. Patrick and Julio were dismounting. They hurried over to Mike's prone figure and knelt down beside him.

An ex-rodeo rider like Mike must be used to taking hard falls, Alec guessed. Yet this time he wasn't getting up after his spill. Wes's Jeep careened to a stop by the trees, followed by the camera car and more Jeeps. Production assistants pulled a reflector board from the back of one of the Jeeps. They crowded together and, using the board like a stretcher, lifted Mike onto it.

Wes left the others to see about Alec and the Black. “What in the name of blazes happened back there?” he cried. “That crazy horse of yours went berserk.”

“Did you see us cut through that shadow? The Black didn't even flinch! Eee-ha!”

Wes shook his head. “That was some riding, kid.”

Alec dusted off his pants. When he picked up the saddle and blanket from the ground, the Black shied away from him. “It's okay, fella. Nothing's going to hurt you.” The Black drew back again, tossing his head and snorting. Alec kept his words flowing and tried to calm his horse.

Folding the blanket, Alec felt something unusual in the fabric, a small lump taped along the edge. He hadn't noticed it when he'd switched saddles and blankets with Kramer. The black tape blended perfectly with the color of the blanket, camouflaging the lump completely.