The Black Stallion: Chapters 4–7

There in front of him he saw the strewn parts of a long, yellowish-black body, and the venomous head of a snake, crushed and lifeless.

A fish was now a rare delicacy to him.

The fire burned low, then smoldered.

The next morning he woke from a fitful slumber to find the sun high above.

Alec’s blurred vision made out a black object in front of them, and as a flash he remembered the deep gully that was there.

Then Alec touched him lightly on the side, and he walked—a long, loping stride.

Alec stoked the fire for the night, then crawled wearily into his shelter.

A gale was sweeping the island and instantly he realized what had happened.

The Black pranced nervously beside the spring, his nostrils quivering, while Alec rushed back and forth with his little turtle shell full of water, trying to keep the fire from spreading.

Incredulous, unable to shout, he rushed down the hill.

And the other replied in a thick Irish brogue, “Sure, and I knew I saw a fire reaching into the heavens!”

His red hair was long and disheveled, his face and body so brown that they would have taken him for a native had it not been for the torn remnants of his clothing, which hung loosely on him.

His red hair was long and disheveled, his face and body so brown that they would have taken him for a native had it not been for the torn remnants of his clothing, which hung loosely on him.

And then he told them his story—of the storm and the shipwreck, the hours spent in the raging sea holding desperately to the rope tied to the stallion’s neck, their fight against starvation on the island, his conquest of the Black, and the fire which that night had reduced his shelter to ashes.

Alec patted him, coaxed him.

He doffed his cap and ran a large hand through his gray hair.

“And what are you going to do?” he asked. But Alec didn’t seem to hear his query.

Down he went, striving desperately to get enough depth to clear the stallion’s legs.

A searing pain went through his leg as one of the Black’s hoofs struck him.

Pat ran a large, gnarled hand through his black hair.

It’s a regular bedlam down there now, and I hate to think what might happen when that horse is himself again!

The stallion shook his head and thrust his nose toward him. Alec ran his hand across the soft muzzle.

“Y’know, Pat,” he said, “it’s almost uncanny the way those two get along—a wild beast like that, a killer, and yet gentle as a kitten when the boy’s around.”

The captain delegated Pat to go with Alec to the wireless office, where he could secure the money his family had sent him, and help arrange for his sailing to the United States.

He hesitated a moment, and then turned back to the other horses. Alec waited patiently while the stallion surveyed his newly acquired band.

But in the rear was an old barn, badly in need of repair, and an acre of ground. It would be an ideal place to stable the Black.

He still held his head as high as ever, and moved gingerly about in his stall.

The wind lessened and a torrent of rain poured down.

“I see you’re as spry as ever!”

He carried a camera in one hand, with the other he removed his hat, disclosing hair as black as the stallion’s body.