The Black Stallion: Chapters 8–13

Cart peddlers clamored their wares.

“Yes, Tony, the huckster, keeps old Napoleon down there now.”

He whinnied when he saw the Black and drew his head back into the stall.

Henry went over to a corner of the barn and picked up a bale of straw which he carried back into the stall and spread around.

“I hate to make a nuisance of myself, Mr. Ramsay, but I’d like to go along and get your son’s story. It has all the earmarks of a good yarn and I certainly could use one!”

His frightened eyes turned beseechingly toward Alec.

Alec helped to harness old Napoleon to the little huckster’s wagon.

Headline after headline caught Alec’s eye as he knelt beside Henry: DAILEY RIDES CHANG TO VICTORY IN SCOTT MEMORIAL—DAILEY BRINGS WARRIOR HOME FIRST IN $50,000 FUTURITY—TURFDOM ACCLAIMS DAILEY AS GREATEST RIDER OF ALL TIME—

Around the horse’s neck hung the winner’s horseshoe of roses. Alec noticed the large, strong hands holding the reins and the stocky, broad shoulders.

He saw a small boy, with a wide grin on his face, astride a large, powerful-looking red horse.

I don’t think we’ll even bother with a bridle and saddle yet—we’ll wait until early spring for that, too.

After a few miles they approached the rolling green fairways of the golf course.

“He’s liable to be any place.”

For what seemed hours, Alec trudged up and down the hills of the course looking for the Black.

He had covered his territory thoroughly.

The wood was quiet except for the staccato-like tapping of a hard-working woodpecker in a nearby tree.

It wasn’t until he had come to a stop that he suddenly trembled, staggered, vainly attempted to keep his feet, then fell to the ground dead.

“Only that you don’t have any record of who his sire and dam were, and Alec, a horse must be registered to run in a race.”

“Sure,” he came back, “and we’re going to need all the money we can get—it takes money to make a champion, y’know. And we can’t skimp on the Black’s food. That’s why we’re going to have to work together just like partners. C’mon now, take this money and beat it down to the store.”

The Black broke into a long, loping gait and ran toward Alec, as he walked into the field.

“I explained the situation and asked if there wasn’t some way we could check up on the Black’s pedigree. He should be registered somewhere.”

Alec couldn’t get over the fancy the Black had taken to Napoleon.

Under Henry’s expert tutelage, Alec’s riding skill became greater and greater until Henry nodded with approval.

“A grand combination,” he said to himself as he watched the boy ride high on the stallion’s withers as he galloped down the field.

Henry raised the saddle over the Black’s back and gently placed it on the stallion. He never got the chance to grasp the cinch.

The Black wouldn’t leave the saddle on his back long enough for Henry to get the girth straps through the buckles.

The stallion stepped skittishly, his hoofs shaking the barn floor.

Alec led the Black up to him and they put their heads together, the stallion obligingly lowering his.

“If he does race,” Alec said soberly.

A few hours later the alarm clamored in his ear.