The Black Stallion and Flame (15 page)

He emerged from the marsh and entered the deep
gorge that cut through the lower wall of the valley. As before, he was wary of the sharp rocks and boulders along the dry stream bed, finding his way cautiously around them and favoring his bruised foot. But his eagerness to go on was evident in every stride. The wind blew hard in his face, carrying ever-growing excitement and encouragement!

Leaving the twisting gorge, he raced up the tiny valley without so much as hesitating at the stream that crossed it. He cleared it with one magnificent leap, never breaking stride, never slowing in his mad rush to join the boy he loved. Only when he reached the outer wall of the island did he come to a stop, a look of indecision in his eyes.

The wall rose almost a thousand feet, its summit touching the sky and its base split by many narrow crags and chasms. From one opening emerged the stream that fed the small valley, but the Black ignored it. Instead he galloped up and down in front of the wall, shrilling his call to the sea! Faster and faster he ran. Only when white lather covered his body did he come to a stop and seem able to control the fire that burned within him. Finally he lowered his head and put his nose to the stony ground to smell it. Then he walked slowly along the jagged wall, stopping before each of the openings.

At last he found the one he wanted and broke into a trot, following the chasm trail. The high, precipitous cliffs closed in upon him, but he did not slacken his speed. Strong in his ears were the sounds of waves crashing against the outer wall, and more alluring still were the gusts of wind that carried the source of his great excitement.

He slowed to a walk before the tunnel at the end of the chasm but didn’t hesitate upon entering it. The light was dim but he had no trouble finding his way. The fine white sand was soft under his feet. The light became brighter as he went along and the wind more gusty. He snorted repeatedly but the sound was deadened by the crashing of the waves just beyond.

He entered the great sea chamber and for the first time fear showed plainly in his eyes. The noise was deafening but even more frightening was the surge of water in the canal. He stood still, neighing repeatedly.

Moment after moment passed and gradually the scent that had brought him there grew fainter in his nostrils. He became frantic, for worse than the fear of the sea was the loss again of the one he loved. Wild with frenzy, he jumped recklessly into the water and swam straight for the opening to the sea.

Outside he found that both the wind and the waves were stronger than when he had swum in these waters before. He swam farther and farther out to sea, keeping his head as high as possible, his eyes finding a distant object that rose and fell with the swells beyond the reef. He shrilled his call time and time again and listened for some faint sound that would let him know he had been seen or heard. But no such sound came to him.

He swam more vigorously than ever, carefully making his way between two pieces of rock whose tips just broke the surface. Fearlessly he shook off the waters that poured over him and kept looking for the object that beckoned him in the distance.

As the long moments passed the object he was pursuing became smaller and smaller. And finally he could no longer see it. Nor was there any wind-borne stimulus
to spur him on. He continued swimming but only in order to stay afloat.

Finally the Black Stallion stopped fighting and let the waves carry him back toward shore. There was no deliberation in his act, only a growing sense of tiredness and an unwillingness to do further battle with so formidable an opponent as the sea. He let it carry him where it would, slowly moving his legs to stay afloat and to steer him clear of the coral rock in his path. The instinct to live remained strong and yet within him grew a sense of indifference as to what lay ahead.

The wind and sea carried him to the south as well as back toward Azul Island. And finally the jagged shoreline gave way abruptly to form the sandspit, its bright beach jutting out into the water. The Black Stallion let the waves sweep him toward it. He had reached safety but there was no quickening of the blood coursing through his veins, only a deep sense of sadness and loss.

It was midmorning when the
Night Owl
completed its run around Azul Island and drew opposite the sandspit again. Alec stood up forward, his eyes on the shoreline, his body wet with the spray that whipped over the bow.

Henry joined the boy. “I guess you’ll have to be satisfied he isn’t here, Alec. We’ve done …”

A sudden, startled look came over Alec’s face. “Give me the binoculars, Henry, quick!”

“But we’ve …”

“Give them to me!” Alec repeated, his voice urgent, demanding, no longer respectful of an old friend. He grabbed the binoculars and hurriedly pressed them against his eyes.

The sky had turned gray and a mist blanketed the spit of land ahead of them. Alec watched for the movement he thought he’d seen in the ghostly light.

Henry said, “Use your head, Alec. He wouldn’t be on the spit. Like I told you before …”

“I saw something move! I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe it was the bat.”

“This was no bat.”

“If it was the Black he would have seen us earlier an’ come.”

Alec kept the binoculars fixed on the sandspit. Finally he said quietly, “I’m certain he’s there, Henry.”

“Y’mean you see him?” the old man asked incredulously.

“No, but I will—any second now.”

Henry shook his head, more in deep respect than in bewilderment. Alec believed the Black was somewhere on shore and Alec was seldom wrong in the feelings he had about his horse. Again Henry wondered, as he had done so often during the many years of their friendship, just what there was between Alec and the Black. What was there about this boy that made an otherwise untameable stallion submit to him quietly and gently? Whatever it was, it was bringing the two of them together again.

“See him yet?” the old man asked after long moments of silence.

Alec didn’t answer and Henry didn’t press him. There existed between boy and horse an understanding that was extremely rare in this age of machines and jets and rockets. Henry was more in awe of it than he would have admitted.

Alec suddenly let out a yell that carried sharp and clear across the water. It sent a chill over Henry for never before had he heard such a yell come from Alec. But then, never before had there been such a reunion as this!

For now Henry could see the Black moving
through the mist. And Henry surprised himself by letting out a yell almost as loud as Alec’s.

The big man at the wheel saw the horse, too, and felt the air become alive with excitement. He turned the
Night Owl
into the wind and went forward at full speed. It would take only a few minutes to round the spit and come in at the pier. Then the boy would be with his horse again.

They met just off the pier, Henry letting Alec go on ahead. The boy did not run to the Black, nor did the Black run to him. They approached each other at a normal, steady pace as if they’d known all along it would end this way. Then they stood side by side, Alec’s hands and eyes speaking for him while the Black nuzzled the boy’s chest.

Watching them, Henry said, “Skipper, you’d better get ready to carry a lot of horse.”

The fisherman nodded, his eyes never leaving the Black. “He’s sure that, boss,” he answered. “A lot of horse, a whale of a lot of horse.”

Moving closer, Henry said, “He’s cut up some on the neck and withers. Must be from the coral rock.”

“Must be, boss,” the big black man agreed.

Henry said, “Walk around him with me … slowly now … there, that’s it.… Nothing that looks like the bite of a vampire, is there now?” The old trainer waited anxiously, tensely for an answer.

Finally it came. “No, boss, none at all. Just those cuts on him.”

Relieved of tension, Henry said, “That coral rock sure can make pretty bad gashes. Anywhere else an’ I’d say he’d been fighting another horse.”

The fisherman nodded his big, dark head. “Yeah, boss, anywhere else. No horses here but him.”

Suddenly the Black turned from Alec to gaze at the towering cliffs beyond. His eyes shone brightly as he whinnied. Alec listened to the soft, wavering pitch of the call, no different from that which the Black uttered when he scented his broodmares at home.

“What is it, fellow?” Alec looked into the small canyon at the end of the spit.

Henry moved to the boy’s side and followed his gaze. “He must have been down there all the time we were offshore. Strange he didn’t scent us. Not much gets by him, not usually.”

Alec nodded in agreement. He didn’t understand it, either, any more than he did the reason for the Black’s soft, wavering call which was so strange for this desolate land. But maybe the Black had reasons of his own. They’d have to leave it that way, and anyway nothing mattered except that they were together again.

“We’d better get going,” Henry said anxiously. “We don’t want to meet up with that vampire again.”

“We sure don’t,” Alec agreed. “C’mon, Black, we’re going
home.
”

The tall stallion whinnied, this time full of love for the boy at his side. He walked with him toward the
Night Owl
.

Deep within the walls of Azul Island the red herd stallion smelled the wind and the news it carried. Fainter and fainter became the scent of the stallion who had been his equal in fire, speed, endurance and intelligence. But his own passion for freedom had been greater than the other’s. He smelled the scent of man and knew where the Black Stallion had gone.

Finally he turned back to his herd. Beautiful in
form, majestic in bearing, he looked down upon the young stallions almost in scorn. With large eyes blazing and chest bulging he walked slowly around the herd. Then, as if to get even further attention from mares and stallions alike, he broke into a trot, his mane flashing in the wind, his long tail curving and flowing behind him. He went faster and faster, a red comet gliding across the valley, still the king of an unfallen world!

The others watched their chosen leader and gloried in his strength and courage. They stood motionless while he passed before them, and they trembled a little in reverence and awe. He was the bravest of the brave. And young colts hoped that someday they would be as big and strong as he. Meanwhile, they would graze on the same fine grass as he did, drink the same pure water, breathe the same invigorating air
and always be free
!

The
Night Owl
left Azul Island behind. Standing in the stern was the Black. Once again in his life he had known freedom. His giant body had been cooled by wild winds and rain and warmed by the sun. He had run fresh and clean, his hoofs trimmed by flying rock. His savage instincts had been released and not found wanting. More than ever before he knew that he was all stallion—strong, arrogant and cunning.

The boy at his side spoke to him and he turned to listen to the low-pitched sounds. He whinnied in reply, his nostrils flared to their fullest, his eyes bright. He was greatly loved and he knew it. Nothing else in the world could mean as much to him as the boy’s love, not even the freedom of the wild ones.…

Slowly he turned his ever-watchful eyes back toward the island. With head held high he surveyed the
sea, and suddenly he screamed his shrill clarion call as if claiming the waters for his very own. The air rang with his wild, savage challenge.

A moment later he became stone-still again. Then his wide-open nostrils quivered, followed by a nervous twitching of his ears. He had picked up the faintest whiff of a scent that had sent his blood racing. He had smelled the herd stallion once more.

A sudden gust of wind riffled the Black’s mane and tail, and his body rocked slightly with the movement of the boat. Again he whistled his clarion call of battle across the sea.

For a while he had guarded the big herd with all the alertness of the hunted. The mares had looked to him for masterful protection and his faintest signal had sent them racing over the ground. Yes, he had defended them against great danger. He had been fierce in his attentiveness. Yes, he might have stayed and towered above his harem, lord of all he surveyed and wild with freedom except for …

He bent his long, graceful neck to the boy again, his nostrils quivering. The sea wind whipped his mane but not a muscle moved beneath his tight skin. He remained still, very still, with his love for the boy showing in his eyes.

Nothing would ever break the ties between them. He had no impulse to return to the island and the wild runners.

“It’s over and we’re going home,” Alec told his horse. “It won’t be long now, not long at all.”

Alec rubbed the heavily maned neck while the Black uttered a high, bugling snort of joy. And Alec gloried in the beauty of his horse standing so majestically
in the morning sun and swishing his tail in perfect contentment.

High in the unbroken sky the man-o’-war bird reappeared and Alec turned to look at it. Why did it stay above the dome of Azul Island? Why had it caused him, too, to stay in these waters when Henry would have gone on? He was making too much of nothing, he knew. And yet … try as he would he could not think of this satanic-looking creature as anything but a good omen!

Besides, hadn’t it played an important role in his finding the Black again? At least, it had been part of the picture. He wouldn’t confide his thoughts to Henry or anyone else; they’d only shrug their shoulders and tell him to stop thinking about what had happened. No, Alec decided it would be much better if he just kept quiet and enjoyed what he shared with the Black—a way of life that was very precious to both of them.

Walter Farley’s love for horses began when he was a small boy living in Syracuse, New York, and continued as he grew up in New York City, where his family moved. Unlike most city children, he was able to fulfill this love through an uncle who was a professional horseman. Young Walter spent much of his time with this uncle, learning about the different kinds of horse training and the people associated with them.