The Black Stallion Revolts (4 page)

“I will, Henry.”

“And be careful.”

The captain and co-pilot came up the ramp and into the plane. “We’re ready whenever you are,” the captain said.

Henry slapped Alec gently on the back. “Okay, kid, have a good trip.”

Alec walked to the ramp with him. “We’ll be out there and all settled down by morning,” he said. “That’s the beauty of flying.”

“Yeah, but you keep your eye on him every minute.”

“Sure, but he’ll give me no trouble. He’s been up before and knows what it’s all about.”

“I know,” Henry said. He stopped at the doorway. “Feed him light. Don’t overload his stomach up there. It’s no place for him to get sick. Keep the blanket on him. It’s bound to be a little drafty. Keep him warm.”

“Yes, Henry.” Alec pushed his friend onto the ramp. “If you don’t get going, I’ll start advising you on the care and feeding of the horses back at the farm.”

Henry grunted. “That’s not necessary.”

“I know.” Alec smiled.

Upon reaching the ground, Henry helped close the portable lightweight ramp and get it inside the plane. The captain went to his compartment, but the co-pilot stayed behind to shut the rooftop doorway.

Alec went to his horse. The plane’s takeoff might bother the Black a little.

“You’ll be all right?” the co-pilot asked.

“Sure.”

The man’s eyes were on the stallion. “I’ve always wanted to see the Black,” he said. “I saw him beat Cyclone and Sun Raider in that big match race in Chicago some years ago. I’ll never forget it.”

“Nor I,” Alec said.

“You never raced him again after that one, did you?”

“No.”

The co-pilot left, closing the door of the compartment behind him. The plane’s engines shattered the quiet, sputtered, then settled into a steady drone. A few moments later they were moving and the Black shifted his weight to keep his balance.

“Easy, boy,” Alec said softly.

Suddenly the plane came to a stop again, its engines slowing to idling speed. The cabin door opened, and the co-pilot returned.

“Your friend is out there shouting his head off about some keys … keys to the van, I believe he said.”

Alec’s hand went to his pocket. He’d forgotten to give Henry the ignition keys. He remembered, too, that in his wallet he was carrying the registration licenses for the van and all the other farm vehicles. Henry might need them during his absence. Quickly he took all his money from the wallet and, putting the keys inside, handed the wallet to the co-pilot. “You can throw him this,” he said. “And if he can hear you, tell him all the registration licenses are there, too. He can send me my wallet later.”

The co-pilot left, and a few minutes later the plane was once more moving out to the airport’s runway. Through the small windows, Alec caught a glimpse of Henry waving at them. Fortunately, Henry had only a short drive back to the farm from the local airport. He’d be home in time to see that the horses were all taken care of for the night.

But I’m supposed to be forgetting all that
, Alec thought.
This is our vacation
.

The plane stopped again at the head of the runway. Its engines idled, and then after a few minutes they were revved up high. The plane shook with thunderous vibrations. Snorting, the Black pulled hard on his tie ropes, and Alec’s hand went to him. The boy began talking to soothe the Black, and continued while the plane fled down the runway to become airborne.

Only soft vibrations were felt as they climbed. The engines, too, were quieter. Alec pulled the sliding blankets up on the Black’s neck, making his horse more comfortable. There was nothing to take him away from his horse now, no other job to be done except to care for the Black. It was truly as it had been at the
beginning, and it would go on and on for many wonderful weeks. He thought of the times they would share together again, and told the Black of them, knowing the stallion understood everything he said. It was a language all their own. It didn’t necessarily consist of words, for Alec relied mainly on touches and soft sounds and quick movements of the eyes.

Alec told the Black of long days of bright sunshine with endless miles before him, of great hills and mountains showing blue against a pale sky, and beyond all these the desert that would be so bare and clean beneath his feet. He spoke of the nights, too, the network of millions and billions of delicate stars that would be his roof as he rested after hard, exciting days. He didn’t mention the fences that would keep him within Bill Gallon’s ranch. There was no need. With thousands of wild acres to roam it would be as though there were no fences. Yet for Alec it was a comfort to know they were there, that somewhere on the Desert Ranch he would always be able to find the Black.

The stallion had settled down, and was pulling at his hay. Alec left him to get a drink of ice water from the cooler at the far end of the plane. He came back to sit on the tack trunk, thinking of how Henry had insisted upon his taking it, and how needless its contents were. He would use no brushes and currycombs on the stallion, no saddle or bridle when he rode him, no blankets at night. He would use nothing to remind the Black of the domesticity that had been left behind. The great stallion would be turned completely free, and Alec decided that he would not force himself upon the
Black. The stallion would be ridden only when he asked for it, and Alec would know the signs.

The Black whinnied, and thrust his tongue out. Alec pulled it, then let go. The Black withdrew his tongue. This was a game they played. It meant there was no need for alarm or uneasiness. The Black was happy … and so was Alec, incredibly happy. The hours sped by, with the plane losing its race against a fast-dropping sun.

They refueled west of Chicago, and when they took to the air again it was through the dark sky of night. Alec hadn’t left the plane or the Black’s side during their short stop. He had given him a little grain, a little water, nothing more.

Long hours and miles passed as their flight progressed ever westward. The tall stallion had his eyes closed. Alec went over to the bucket seat at the side of the stall. He put a blanket on the metal seat and sat down, trying to make himself comfortable. He closed his eyes, but couldn’t sleep. So he thought again of the new life that would begin for him and the Black within a few more hours. Or really
had
begun! Their old life at the farm was already many hours behind them.

Here he was alone with his horse, the finest stallion in the world and still the fastest. Henry might not think so. Henry would say that there never had been a horse with more speed than Satan, never would be. And the racing world would probably agree with him. But with Satan retired from racing, the fans would forget him, too, just as they had the Black. There were younger horses coming up each year to hold their attention.
New track records were already being made. New champions were being crowned. Night Wind, owned by the High Crest Ranch in Texas, had been named “Horse-of-the-Year” after last winter’s racing campaign. Soon the track experts would think of Satan only as a sire, just as they did the Black. There was no doubt that the Black was already proclaimed by all as a great sire. He had given them the champions Satan and Bonfire and Black Minx, and in the paddocks back at the farm were other colts and fillies, all promising in their own right.

But for a while, Alec thought, I can forget all that. Now the Black can be just another horse, roaming at will and running as he was born to run. No duties, no routines, no schedules.

Suddenly their steady flight was disturbed. The plane bucked, almost sending Alec out of his seat. There was a scrambling of the Black’s hoofs as he sought to keep his balance. The plane leveled off, only to lurch again a few moments later. Alec left his seat to go to the Black’s head. He was quieting him when the compartment door opened and the captain came inside.

“There’s a storm to our south,” he said. “We’re skirting the edges of it. Had to change our course and come up more to the north.”

“Where are we now?” asked Alec.

“Over western Nebraska. I doubt that the weather will get any rougher than it is now, but maybe you’d better sit down and fasten your seat belt.”

“No, I’d better stick close to him,” Alec said.

“Is he all right?”

Alec nodded. “Just a little uneasy.”

After the captain left, Alec stayed close to the Black, talking to him constantly as the plane’s bucking continued. For over an hour it went on, and the Black didn’t like it. He had trouble keeping on his feet, and his eyes were bright and startled.

Alec became uneasy. He knew the pilots were doing their best to keep the plane steady, that there was nothing to fear from the weather itself. But the Black was getting worked up. His head felt damp, and his small ears flicked back and forth. Alec felt the mounting warmth of his great body through the blankets that covered him.

He sought to comfort him, using every trick he knew. It wasn’t that he was afraid the Black would break completely out of control. He was more worried about the moistness of his head, the heat of his body. A hot horse in a cool, drafty plane could result in complications. He rubbed the stallion’s muzzle, trying to get him to stick out his tongue in play. But the Black would have none of it now. The floor of the plane suddenly dropped from beneath them, and the stallion’s legs shifted again, spreading wide and trembling. Once more the plane steadied but additional harm had been done. The Black snorted and shook his head, pulling hard against the tie ropes. His long forelock was damp with sweat.

Alec drew the blankets higher on the Black’s neck. He talked to him, remembering to ask, not demand. He pleaded with him in their own special way. He sought the stallion’s complete attention, his confidence, quietly reassuring him that there was nothing to fear. And
slowly, very slowly, his soft sounds and movements had their effect upon the great stallion. The Black shook his head less often, and his body, though still hot, ceased to tremble. He stopped pulling on the ropes and kept his legs wide apart, waiting and ready for the next sickening drop of the plane. His eyes remained on Alec.

The captain came back again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was worse than I’d expected it to be. But we’re just about out of it now. Is everything all right with you?” He looked at the Black’s glistening head with uneasy eyes.

“It was rough for a while, but he’s all right now, I think,” Alec said. “Where are we?”

“Over western Wyoming. The Rockies are just ahead, so we’ll be climbing. Come up forward when you get a chance, and take a good look at the country. It’s really rugged, but beautiful.”

When he was alone once more, Alec felt the plane’s ascent as the pressure in his ears increased. The flight was now smooth, and the Black quiet. He wiped the stallion as dry as he could, and put another blanket on him to keep him warm. Then, knowing that his horse was thirsty, he went to the ten-gallon can of water he had brought along, and poured a little into a pail. He tested it to make certain it was as warm as he wanted it. Nothing cold should go into the Black’s stomach now.

It took only a few swallows for the stallion to finish the water Alec offered him. Then he whinnied, shoving his slender nostrils against the side of the pail. He was heated. He wanted more.

“In a little while you can have it,” Alec said, “but not now.”

There was a new note to the engines. The humming rose to a greater pitch as the plane slanted ever upward. Alec sat down in his bucket seat. The Black was quiet. There was nothing more for him to do.

The door of the forward compartment opened, and the co-pilot said, “The captain would like you to come up and take a look at what’s ahead of us.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to leave him alone.”

The co-pilot came inside. “I’d be glad to sit with him a few minutes. It would be something to tell my kids, that I was baby-sitting the Black tonight.”

Alec smiled and turned to the stallion. The Black’s eyes were half closed. It would be safe to leave him. He got to his feet. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll just take a quick look and come right back.”

He left the compartment door open in order to catch any sound from the Black, any call from the co-pilot. Ahead, he saw the captain’s silhouette against the lighted instrument panel. Outside the great windshield were the mountains. The air was like polished crystal, and a full moon brought out in sharp relief the towering and jagged peaks that reared in the night sky.

The captain kept the plane in its steady climb. “Sit down over there,” he said, motioning to the co-pilot’s seat. “Ahead of us is the Wind River Range.”

Below the jumbled mass of rock, Alec could see the endless woods with their deep gullies and ridges. The land looked so wild and desolate. Yet every once in a while, he could make out the few lights of scattered
towns, and occasionally, too, the pinpoints of a car’s headlights moving along some mountain road.

The captain was telling him to look at an avalanche scar on a peak just ahead of them, when Alec heard the sharp ring of a pail striking metal. He turned quickly, and then got up, hurriedly leaving the compartment.

The co-pilot was setting the water pail to one side of the stall when Alec reached him. The boy turned to the Black and touched him, to find his lips cold and dripping. His own stomach churned as he reached for the pail.

“He was thirsty,” the co-pilot was saying. “He drank a whole pailful.”

Alec didn’t look at him. He tested what little water was left in the pail.
Ice cold!
He flicked a glance at the water cooler at the far end of the plane. That’s where the co-pilot had gotten it. Ice-cold water, the worst thing the Black could have had at this time.

“I’m sure going to have something to tell the kids when I get home,” the co-pilot added. “Everyone in the neighborhood will know that I tended the Black. Well, I’ll get back now. Thanks a lot for letting me stay with him.”

Alec said nothing. His eyes never left the Black. In five or ten minutes he’d know if the worst was going to happen. Fifteen minutes at the most. His heart pounded, choking the breath from him. Cramp colic always came soon and suddenly, if it came at all. He’d seen horses with it before, horses with careless handlers who had given their charges long drinks of cold water when the animals were warm, or had ridden them,
when heated, through deep streams or cold rains. The result was spasms of the small intestines, causing intense pain. Although most painful, this form of colic was scarcely ever fatal if one had the services of a veterinarian to give injections that would stop the pain, and one was able to walk his horse, keeping him on his feet, so he could not roll and rupture his stomach or bowels.