The Black Stallion's Ghost (18 page)

The notes are being made by a flute!
he told himself angrily. They were ominous and yet they created a feeling of excitement and challenge. He wished they would end. He did not like being in the darkness, expecting something he did not wholly understand.

His eyes continued following the mare. She had responded to the flute notes by moving ever faster about the ring. She seemed to be seeking escape from them. For the first time Henry noticed a twitching of her ears,
a quivering of her nostrils. She seemed terribly afraid or excited, one or the other. He could well understand her feelings.

Suddenly she sprang into the air with her forelegs and hind legs stretched out before and behind her. She appeared to be flying through the air, and Henry realized that this mare was the nearest thing the world would ever see to a winged horse, the mythical Pegasus!

He applauded loudly as the lights in the arena grew in brightness and brilliance. He had never seen such a performance in his life! The mare stood quietly in the center of the ring. The music had ended and Henry forgot everything but the pleasure he'd received in watching a superbly trained horse.

“Bravo! Bravo!” he shouted over and over again, beating his big hands together and making more noise than anyone else in the crowded arena.

The lights dimmed with the opening of the crimson curtain behind the ring. In an instant she was gone—like a ghost, Henry thought, her namesake. He clapped harder, hoping she would be returned for an encore, but was disappointed. The red-frocked ringmaster appeared and announced the next act.

Henry turned and found Alec gone. He ran for the stairs, knowing he'd find him with the mare in the stable area.

A circus guard attempted to stop Alec from going where the animals were quartered. Alec dodged him and continued running, determined to find the gray mare.

In the stable area, the circus animals and performers made for a scene of pandemonium. Alec came to a stop, undecided which way to go, his eyes searching the area and the long corridors of temporary stalls for the gray mare.

He grabbed the arm of a clown going by. “Can you tell me where I can find The Ghost?” he asked, shouting above the clamor.

The clown shrugged his silk-clad shoulders and smiled graciously. “
No inglés,
” he said. “
Habla español, señor?
”

Alec hurried on, making for the first row of temporary stalls. He caught a glimpse of Henry, fighting off a guard's clutching hands and coming after him. His steps slowed as he came upon a long column of
matched chestnut horses being readied for the ring. While grooms adjusted feathered head plumes and jewel-studded bridles, a small man in dark evening clothes, holding a long whip, stood nearby.

Alec went up to him. “I'm looking for The Ghost,” he said, hopeful that the horseman spoke English and would be of some help.

“Yes?” the man said inquisitively, his eyes searching Alec's. “She is there in that stall. What can I do for you?” Despite his courteous words, his eyes disclosed his annoyance at being disturbed by a visitor.

Alec moved quickly over to a nearby stall. The mare was inside, her wet body being rubbed by a groom. What had he believed would be the outcome of finding her again—the end of his horrible nightmare? He remained stone still, watching her.

Finally he turned to the man standing behind him. “Where did you get her?” he asked.

“Get her?” the man repeated, further annoyed if not angry. “I do not understand you.”

“She's not
yours,
” Alec said sharply. He saw Henry standing close by, motioning him not to lose his temper. He paid no attention to his friend. “Where did you get her?” he asked again.

Henry realized that Alec was one to be reckoned with in his present mood. He'd seen him take risks on the track that had almost cost him his life at such times as this. Hoping to be helpful, Henry turned to the circus man, whose face betrayed no feeling of being discovered at deception or concealment of any kind.

“My name is Dailey,” he said in a voice of complete authority. “Alec Ramsay here”—he nodded
toward Alec without meeting the youth's eyes—“has seen this mare before. He—”

“Oh, yes?” the man interrupted. “In Europe then. I, too, have just come from there. My name is Borofsky. I was with the Olympic Circus in Poland. You may have seen my Liberty act there?” His eyes brightened as he waved a hand in the direction of the chestnut horses being readied for the ring.

“No,” Henry said. “I haven't seen it. I'll look forward to it.” He paused but didn't dare turn to Alec. “It wasn't in Europe that Alec saw this mare, Mr. Borofsky. It was in Florida, a month ago.”

The circus trainer turned quickly to Alec and there was a stark, almost frightened look on his face. His gaze held Alec's for several minutes, as if he searched for answers he didn't know himself.

Alec said, “She belonged to Captain Philippe de Pluminel.”

“Yes, I know,” the man answered without hesitation. “One does not follow the circus in Europe without knowing of Pluminel. But is he not dead? I was told so when I bought her.”

“From whom?” Alec persisted. “A man named Odin?”

The trainer's eyes became apprehensive again, even a little frightened. “Yes. He came to the winter quarters and asked for me, as I am in charge of all the performing horses in the circus. He had the mare with him and said that Pluminel had died en route there. He had the music for her act and knew about Pluminel's contract with Ringling. He asked me to buy her.”

The trainer paused, smiling a little grimly. “It is
true that I had some reservations as to Pluminel's death and this man, who claimed to be his great-uncle, having the right to sell her. But we were leaving on tour the next morning, and I had little to lose by taking her. It is not often that one is offered such a finished act.”

Alec turned to the gray mare and, for a moment, seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Finally he said, “I want to buy her from you.”

“She is not for sale.”

“At twice what you paid for her?” Alec asked.

The trainer laughed instantly and loudly. “Now I know you make fun of me,” he said. “It is a joke, is it not? You do not know what I paid for her and yet you make such an offer! Why? You are not with the circus. What use would you have for her? And what if Pluminel is not dead and claims his mare? What then?”

Something strong stirred within Alec and he ignored the man's questions. “It is no joke,” he said without anger or emotion of any kind in his voice. “Just tell me how much you want. I'll pay whatever you ask.”

“Alec—” Henry began but was silenced by the look he saw on his friend's face. He knew he had to stay out of it, whatever reason Alec might have for making such a ridiculous offer to another professional horseman. He turned to Borofsky, knowing well what was going on in his mind. It was an enviable position, one any horse trader would welcome. Henry kept his silence, telling himself to agree with whatever Alec decided to do. It would be worth it, if it helped, regardless of the cost.

The circus trainer shrugged his well-tailored shoulders. “As I have said, she is not for sale and there is, of
course, a contract to be considered.” He paused, his eyes studying Alec again. “However, I suppose I could let her go and make all the necessary arrangements for … say a price of thirty thousand dollars. It is a great deal of money, I know, but she is very valuable as a performance horse. It would be easy for you to—”

“I'll buy her,” Alec said abruptly. He turned to Henry. “Give me your checkbook, please.”

“But Alec—”

“
Please.
”

Henry handed Alec the checkbook, finding the whole thing overwhelming. He looked at the gray mare again. She was nothing they could ever use in their business. What possessed Alec? Why did he need this horse so much he'd pay the price of a top thoroughbred mare, one that could be worth something to them in the years to come? Henry shrugged his shoulders. It wasn't for him to answer. The last few weeks had been filled with impossible events.

Alec made out the check and handed it to Borofsky. “I'll send a van for her,” he said, his patience exhausted.

“As you wish,” the circus trainer replied, putting the check in his pocket.

Later, when Alec and Henry walked through the lobby of Madison Square Garden, the man said, “I guess you know what you're doing. You wanted the mare badly, that was pretty evident.”

“I wanted her,” Alec repeated. “I'll have her sent to the farm.”

“For any reason in particular?”

“For a lot of reasons,” Alec said, his voice so low it was barely audible. Seeing the mare again and listening to the music had brought back impressions and thoughts he'd been trying to forget. He needed to get outside and take a breath of fresh air, as rainy and miserable as the day might be. He felt as if he were going to burst with everything locked up so tightly inside him.

“I mean,” Henry persisted, “would you have
any
reason I might be able to understand?” Then he added with attempted humor, “Even an old jackass like me likes to know what's going on.” His eyes held a look of longing for answers he sought and had not found.

Alec came to a stop and put an arm around his old friend's shoulders. “There's one you'll understand,” he said. “She's in foal to the Black, so how could I let her get away from us?”

A cold mask dropped quickly over Henry's face. “You mean,” he said sullenly, “you let him—”

“I didn't
let
him,” Alec said. “I couldn't stop it, Henry. You refuse to believe what I told you about Captain Pluminel and that night, everything, just as if it didn't happen at all!”

Henry's eyes studied Alec's face for answers, then he felt an emotion stir within him that he'd never experienced before. Fear of what he could not understand swept over him. He could say nothing. He struggled, trying to find his voice.

Finally he said hoarsely, “You made up a ridiculous story for reasons I don't know or care to understand,
Alec. I will repeat what I've told you before. I do not think it happened the way you think it did. You were lost and sick. Dr. Palmer said so, everybody said so. You had
hallucinations
.”

“And if the mare has a foal,” Alec asked, “will it be a hallucination, too?”

“No, then I'll know you disobeyed my orders and bred the Black to her because you thought it would be a good mating. But I don't think Pluminel gave you a hard time. And I won't believe any crazy story about him dying the way you say he did. In fact, if you want to know something, I don't even think Pluminel is dead. Like Borofsky, I think he's going to turn up someday and claim his mare. Then you'll have nothing to show for your thirty thousand dollars!”

“He won't show up,” Alec said. “He's dead, Henry. You can believe that, if nothing else.”

Alec had no trouble recalling the captain's pitted, staring eyes looking into his own; the smashed nose and mouth and broken teeth; the pieces of torn bark in his clenched hands and the trail of dark blood. He had died in frenzy and terror.

They left the building for the crowded street. The sky had cleared and the late-afternoon sun could be seen above the Hudson River, too low to warm them but brightening their spirits nevertheless.

“Let's forget what happened and look ahead,” Henry suggested. “We've got plenty of things to do this spring.”

“I'd like that,” Alec said, shouldering his way through the milling people on their way home from work. He was anxious to be one of the crowd. He
wanted to get back to his horse and the work he loved. He wanted to do common things, entailing common thoughts.

His hand found the small figurine in his pocket and he wondered if it was time to throw it away. Coming to a trash can, he stopped and took the figurine from his pocket. There was a throbbing in his temples as he looked at it. He had no fear of it, and yet he knew that with its coming his own world had altered. No single thing would ever again be quite the same as before.

Alec recalled the captain's words, “
I must never let it fall into strange, unkind hands.
” He decided that he couldn't throw it away.

“Come on, Alec,” Henry called irritably. “What's keeping you?”

“I'm coming,” Alec answered. He looked at the figurine again; the green eyes appeared bright and seemed to be winking back at him. He put it in his pocket.

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.

Walter Farley began to write his first book,
The Black Stallion
, while he was a student at Erasmus Hall High School in Brooklyn, New York, and Mercersburg Academy in Pennsylvania. It was published in 1941 while he was still an undergraduate at Columbia University.

The appearance of
The Black Stallion
brought such an enthusiastic response from young readers that Mr. Farley went on to create more stories about the Black, and about other horses as well. In his life he wrote a total of thirty-four books, including
Man o' War
, the
story of America's greatest thoroughbred, and two photographic storybooks based on the Black Stallion movies. His books have been enormously popular in the United States and have been published in twenty-one foreign countries.

Mr. Farley and his wife, Rosemary, had four children, whom they raised on a farm in Pennsylvania and at a beach house in Florida. Horses, dogs, and cats were always a part of the household.