The Black Stallion Revolts (19 page)

“Say, that horse out there is beginning to move!” Gordon exclaimed.

“That’s the outlaw I told you about,” Allen returned. “The one we caught.”

Gordon looked at Allen, but it was only a fleeting
glance. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the fast approaching horse. “And that’s McGregor riding him?”

“No one else would be up on him,” Allen said brusquely. “He’s got no business being out there, running him like that.”

“Open your eyes, Allen. You’ve never seen such strides! And the kid’s making him go.
Look at them come!
”

But Allen’s gaze had left the black stallion. At the far side of a group of steers he saw Hank Larom riding Hot Feet. Larom turned Hot Feet around as he neared the path of the boy and horse. He was going to make a race of it! Hot Feet was given his head as the black stallion came rushing up from behind.

Allen took a quick breath at Hot Feet’s fast start. He knew no horse in the world could reach his top speed faster than Hot Feet. His champion was in full stride almost at once, and the distance between the two horses remained the same.
Nothing could reach Hot Feet now
 … for three hundred yards no horse could beat him! After that distance, Allen decided, it didn’t matter if the black horse did overtake Hot Feet.

For almost the full three hundred yards there was no change in the position of the racing horses. Allen’s eyes blazed more brightly than ever in his love for his horse. He told himself that the black stallion could run, there was no doubt of it. But Hot Feet was running under saddle and carrying Larom’s heavy weight. The black horse was being ridden bareback by a lightly built kid. Allen banged his fist against the buckboard. “Come on, you little horse! Move away from him! Move!”

They heard a short blast from the black stallion, echoed by the boy’s shrill call. They saw McGregor bend closer to the stallion’s neck, and then with startling suddenness the horse came on with terrifying speed. The blazing light in Allen’s eyes flickered and died.

If the black stallion had been running before, he was flying now! It was as though in one mighty leap he had overtaken Hot Feet. He became nothing but a black, whirling blur in the watchers’ eyes. They couldn’t make out the boy on his back, for the was one with the horse. Faster and faster he came toward them, his strides lengthening more and more. They knew they had never seen a horse run like this. He was like nothing real. This was no horse, there was no rider … nothing but a blackness moving across the plateau with electrifying speed. It whipped past them, low and long, and the air twisted about them. The team screamed and rose in their harness. The swirling dust moved away, going faster and faster, and only the beat of magnificent strides betrayed it for what it was. Gordon and Allen watched and watched until the black stallion disappeared behind the distant barns.

Their gazes were still turned in his direction when Larom rode Hot Feet up beside the buckboard. His face was stiff and pale. “Boss, did you see him! I ain’t never seen a horse run like that. Boss, he was flyin’!”

Allen turned to Larom, and then to the sweated, snorting Hot Feet. He felt his anger quickly return. His mouth twitched as to himself he cursed the black stallion.
Aloud he said, “Take Hot Feet back to the corral, Hank.”

Allen picked up the long lines to the team. Before the buckboard moved Gordon said, “That black stallion only started to run when he passed Hot Feet.”

Allen clucked to the horses. “Nothing can beat Hot Feet at three hundred yards … nothing. I’ll bet he had the black stallion beaten at that distance, close to three hundred yards, anyway, and he was carrying a lot more weight. It would be a different story if he’d been going light.”

“Have it your way,” Gordon said agreeably. “But I was thinking of something else. Do you still want those High Crest mares?”

“You trying to be funny, Slim?”

“No. Herbert wants the match race at more than three hundred yards, doesn’t he?”

“I told you all that. That’s why there’s not going to be any match race.” He turned to Gordon. “What the devil are you driving at, Slim?”

“The kid could really set things afire riding that black stallion in a distance race … the longer the better, I think.”

Allen said nothing. His eyes lost some of their anger, and became more thoughtful. “You mean …”

“I mean here’s your chance to pick up the mares you want. Let Herbert select any distance he likes for the race.”

“Race the black stallion, instead of Hot Feet, against Night Wind?” Allen knew Gordon meant exactly that. He wanted only to hear himself say it, to see how it sounded, to see if it made any sense to him.

“Herbert would think you were crazy for suggesting such a race, and that would give you a chance to set up ’most anything you want in the way of an additional purse.” Gordon paused. “Maybe a few more mares,” he suggested cagily.

“He’d think I was crazy, all right,” Allen said slowly. “And I sure would be.” He added quickly, “No, Slim. Racing a wild horse isn’t in my line.”

In the distance they saw the black stallion again. McGregor had taken him from behind the barns, and was moving him back down the plain. Allen’s gaze never left the horse and rider. He watched the easy, unhurried movements of the stallion. McGregor wasn’t pushing the horse now. Allen thought again of Gordon’s suggestion, and his face became dark and troubled by the conflicting emotions that surged within him. He wanted those High Crest quarter mares. He’d like to beat Herbert at his own game.
But to race a wild range horse at Preston was unthinkable!
He was as silly as Slim even to be considering it.

Gordon was saying something, but Allen didn’t listen to him. Instead he watched the stallion’s strides lengthen. McGregor was sitting almost upright, trying to hold down the horse’s speed. But suddenly the kid gave in to the stallion’s demand to run again. He had moved forward, and was almost lost from sight by the horse’s whipping mane. Allen saw them pass the chuck wagon he kept on the range, and his eyes left the horse for a fleeting second to glance at his wrist watch. If McGregor took the stallion straight down the plain they would pass an empty corral which, Allen knew,
was a little over a quarter of a mile from the chuck wagon. It would give him a better idea of how fast this horse was running.

When Gordon saw Allen glance at his wrist watch, he knew the rancher was clocking the stallion, so he said nothing more. His arguments in favor of racing the black horse at Preston were no longer needed. Allen’s watch, during the next few seconds, was all that was necessary. Gordon’s gaze remained on Allen until the rancher turned to look at his watch again. Gordon saw the incredulous look that came quickly to Allen’s face when he noted the time made by the running horse.

They had reached the ranch before Allen spoke again. “I’ve been sort of mulling over what you suggested back there,” he said slowly.

“Yes?” Gordon waited, but he knew what was coming.

“Do you honestly think that black horse could beat a Thoroughbred, one as good as you said Night Wind is?” Allen asked. His watch had told him no quarter horse in the world could have run faster over a quarter-mile than had the stallion. But he knew nothing about Thoroughbred records.

“The way he ran today he cold beat
anything,
” Gordon said. “I’d stake all I have on it.”

Allen climbed down from the buckboard. “Well, I might just think a little more about it, Slim.” Then he added, hastily, “Mind you, now, I’m not saying I’m going to do it.”

“No, of course not,” Gordon said, but he had no doubt that the match race would be arranged.

Allen spoke again, and his voice held a ring of excitement that couldn’t be completely muted. “Even if I
did
decide to do it, maybe the kid won’t want to ride in the race,” he said.

Gordon replied, “You could
order
him to ride. It wouldn’t be the same as the way you feel about his riding Hot Feet.”

“Yeah, I suppose I could do that,” Allen said thoughtfully. “Well, no sense talking any more about it, Slim. Come in the house, and wait there for the kid to get back.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Gordon said. “I’ll see him some other time. If you’ve got anyone around to drive me back to town, I’d like to go now.”

Allen shook his head. “Sure, I got someone, but you said …”

“I know what I said, but it can wait now,” Gordon interrupted. “I’ll see McGregor on my next trip to town.” Everything had been arranged so perfectly that he could afford to wait now. He was almost certain that Allen would decide in favor of the match race, and that McGregor would be forced to ride at Preston. There, someone would identify him as the boy wanted by the police.

“You’re a strange fellow, Slim,” Allen said thoughtfully. “First you want to talk to McGregor, and then you don’t. You like horses and racing, yet you got only a burro for yourself. You seem to be interested in folks, and yet you shut yourself up in the pines, and most of the time see no one. Maybe you’re not a happy guy, Slim.”

“You’re wrong, Allen. Most of the time I’m
very happy. It’s only once in a while that I feel I’ve let myself down and others as well.” He turned to take another look at the distant horse and rider. “This is just one of those times,” he added quietly. “I’ll get over it.”

After Gordon had left, Allen waited impatiently for McGregor, who had the horse in a walk, and was slowly approaching the corral. Allen had decided to race the black horse at Preston, providing he could get the kid to ride him. Allen moved toward the boy and horse. He hoped he wasn’t going to run into any trouble with McGregor. His best way of avoiding it was by getting right to the point. He wasn’t going to
ask
McGregor to ride. It would be an order. He wasn’t going to take any more disobedience from McGregor.

Allen saw the uneasiness in the boy’s flushed face at his approach. McGregor expected a reprimand for taking the horse from the corral, but instead Allen said, “Take him in, and wash him down good, McGregor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re riding at Preston,” Allen added quickly. “But it’s not going to be on Hot Feet. You’ll be up on this horse, racing him like you just showed me he can run.” He paused, his eyes unwavering. “That’s
an order. If you don’t like it, I’m firing you now. So make up your mind quick!”

The boy’s face showed white beneath his tan. He said nothing.

“Well, McGregor?” Allen waited, his feet beginning to shift uneasily, for seldom had he used such tactics in getting cooperation from his men. Yet he felt it was the only way to handle McGregor. “You win with him,” he continued less harshly, “and maybe we can discuss again what we talked about this morning. Maybe he’ll be
yours
in a short while. But I’m not promising anything. I’m just telling you to ride him in the race or leave the ranch today. Understand, McGregor?”

Finally the boy nodded. “I’ll stay, and ride him,” he said, “… at Preston.”

Allen’s face softened. “That’s more like it,” he said. “Now cool him off, and take care of him, Mac. He’s got a big job to do next week.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered tonelessly. He rode the stallion toward the corral.

Allen hurried into the house. Entering the dining room, he made his way around a long table covered with red-checkered tablecloths. Through the kitchen door, at the far end of the room, came the rattling of pots and pans. He went to the doorway. At the kitchen table stood Reni, the ranch cook, his hands in flour, and his watery blue eyes on the pan in front of him. Allen said, “I’ll be using the phone a few minutes, Ren.”

He closed the kitchen door, and went to the telephone in the corner of the dining room. He preferred
not to have Reni overhear his conversation. No sense in having everybody know what he intended to propose to Herbert … not right now, anyway.

He cranked the wall telephone, and waited for the Leesburg operator to answer. After a few seconds she said, “Yes, Mr. Allen.”

“Elsie, I want to put in a long-distance call to Texas.… Yes, you heard me right, Elsie, I said Texas. What was that? … I know it’s a long way off.… What was that? … Oh, yes, I’m sorry, Elsie. I want the High Crest Ranch near Abilene. I want to speak to Mr. Ralph Herbert.… Yes, that’s right. Ralph Herbert at the High Crest Ranch. You got it now, Elsie? I’ll wait. You go right ahead.… Of course I’ll wait, Elsie.… No, I don’t care how long it’ll take.… No, Elsie. I’ll wait. Please put the call through. Thank you, Elsie.”

He leaned against the wall and looked out the window. He could see the vast plateau stretched endlessly before him and, to his right, the mountain range with its peaks golden against the purple-blue sky. He heard the bellowing of the cattle in the distance, and then, close to the ranch, came the beat of hoofs. He turned in the direction of the corral and saw the black stallion moving about. A moment later he saw McGregor go to him, carrying a bucket of water. Allen shook his head in wonder as the stallion trotted toward the boy without hesitation and shoved his muzzle into the pail. It was too easy for McGregor. Everything had been too easy. After all, the black stallion had been an outlaw until a little over a week ago. Allen continued to watch them. He
had
to accept this strange, unnatural relationship, but he sure didn’t understand it.

“Hello. Hello. High Crest Ranch? Is this Ralph Herbert? … Ralph, this is Allen, Irv Allen up near Preston.… Fine. Fine. How are you? … Good, glad to hear it, Ralph … Yes, we’ll be there on Saturday. How about you, Ralph? Are you coming? Good. Great … No, I haven’t changed my mind, Ralph. Three hundred yards is the only distance I’ll race Hot Feet, this year, anyway.… No, a quarter of a mile is too far for him. He can’t hold his speed that long. I might as well admit.… What’s that, Ralph? … Yes, I know a quarter is pretty short for a Thoroughbred, or at least I’ve been told so. Don’t know much about that breed of horse, as you’re aware.… I guess the match race is out, Ralph.… Yes, it
is
too bad. I know how the crowd would like it.… Sure, Ralph, I know. Well, I guess that’s about all. I just wanted to make sure you knew the match race with Hot Feet couldn’t possibly be run under the conditions you’ve set for it.”