The stallion snorted and plunged, and the man let the horse carry him until he had regained control.

“A black devil,” Harrity muttered. “A black, untamed devil.”

“What’dya say?” Morgan asked.

“That black stallion … he’s a devil,” Harrity repeated.

“Yeah.” There was a slight pause, then Morgan said, “And didya notice that little black one just behind him? He’s tryin’ to work up a lather, too.”

Harrity hadn’t noticed the young colt, but now he saw him. Standing there on his long legs, the black colt, whom Harrity judged to be about five months old, was being held by one of the Bedouins.

The colt moved restlessly, trying to pull away from the tribesman who held him close. As though imitating the big black in front of him, he snorted and plunged, throwing his thin forelegs out, striking at the Bedouin. The man moved quickly, avoiding the small hoofs, and then closed in upon the savage head and held him still.

“Could be father and son from the way they act.” Morgan laughed.

“Yeah,” returned Harrity. “Look a lot like each other, too. Coal black they are, except for that small splotch of white on the colt’s forehead. Didya notice it, Morgan?”

“Uh,” Morgan grunted. “It looks diamond-shaped from here.”

A few minutes later they saw the tribesman lead the colt away from the band and in the direction of the Queen of India.

“Y’mean that baby is goin’ to ship with us?” Morgan said excitedly.

“Mebbe,” Harrity replied. “After all, they came into town for some reason, and that’s as good as any.”

The Bedouin had the black colt part way down the path which the natives and vendors had opened for them when the colt reared again, fighting for his head. The Bedouin let him go up, and when he came down closed in upon his head again. Grabbing the rope halter, the Bedouin moved quickly to the side, avoiding the pawing hoofs.

“That guy is used to handlin’ horses,” Morgan told Harrity as they watched the scene.

“Yeah. He got around those hoofs all right. Not that a colt like that could hurt him much, though.”

“Still, he could put a good dent in the guy,” Morgan insisted. “I sure wouldn’t want any part of him. If he’s like that now, think what he’s goin’ to be a few months from now, when he gets some beef on him.” Morgan paused, and his gaze turned to the black stallion, who was circling nervously around the white-bearded sheikh. “Why, he’s apt to be as bad as that devil. Nope, I’ll stick to the nice tame ones,” he concluded.

They had almost reached the ship when the colt rose again. Once more the Bedouin let him go up, then closed in. But this time, as the colt came down savagely with his teeth bared, he turned upon the man. No cry of pain came from the Bedouin’s lips as the colt’s teeth sank into his shoulder, but those who were close enough were able to see him grow pale beneath his dark mahogany skin. Moving his hand quickly, the Bedouin brought it hard against the muzzle of the colt, and was free.

The sheikh signaled to one of his men, who ran forward, moved to one side of the colt, and grabbed the halter. Then he and the bitten tribesman led the colt past the multitude and up the plank into the hold of the ship.

“And that,” muttered Morgan, “is that. Packaged neatly for delivery in New York. Wonder who the lucky person is?” he added sarcastically.

“I’m wonderin’, too,” Harrity said. “From what I’ve heard of these Bedouins they prize their horses above life itself. There are few good ones that have ever left Arabia.”

“Most likely this one isn’t any good,” Morgan said. Then he added, thoughtfully, “Still, I’d like to know where these desert Arabs are sendin’ that little devil. It’s a cinch no one just walked into their front yard and bought a horse. Think I’ll go down to the hold and find out.