Then he was out of the stall and running past the row of empty stalls toward the rear of the barn. Finally he came to a room and sprang inside, sniffing and with his eyes alert.

A voice came from the end of the room. “It’s a Sebastian. Here, come to Tony.”

The dog ran toward the man, who sat on a chair holding long leather straps across his lap. Sebastian threw his front paws upon the man’s knee and let him rub his head.

“Heesa feelin’ good, no?” Tony laughed. “Heesa feelin’ like the wan young fella he is. Sì, Sebastian!” His hands rubbed the back of the dog’s ears. “Where sucha small puppy like you get so longa ears, Sebastian? Maybe just a leetle bit of whatya call da bloodhound in you, no?”

The dog barked, his gaze leaving Tony, moving to the far corner of the room, and then back again. With a burst of speed he was out of the room, running past the stalls and through the door.

Outside in the bright sunlight he stopped, as though undecided which way to go. He turned his head, looking across the street at the brown house which he had left. Then he looked in the opposite direction, at the green field adjacent to the barn. His eyes followed the wooden fence that encircled the field until they came to the hollow at the south end. Without further hesitation, he ran to the wooden barred-gate entrance to the field, dashed underneath the lowest crossbar, and went tearing across the long grass toward the hollow.

As he reached the top of the hollow, he barked and his hooked tail wagged furiously. Then he ran down toward the boy who was sitting in the grass, and swarmed all over him.

Alec Ramsay grabbed the dog as he leapt into his lap, and Sebastian’s long tongue sought the boy’s face. Alec’s hands moved underneath the dog’s shoulders and he turned him over on his back, holding him between his knees. The dog wriggled at first, but then relaxed as the boy’s fingers found his chest. “Hey, Seb,” and Alec smiled. “You’re not supposed to be out. It’s too hot for you. Do you want to get sick again?” But there was no sound from Sebastian as he stretched his head back, allowing Alec to scratch his neck.

They stayed there for some time, the dog content to be in the boy’s arms. And as Alec stroked Sebastian, his gaze very often would leave the dog, move across the high, uncropped grass, and come to rest upon the heavy underbrush at the low end of the hollow. There were thistles growing there now, plenty of them. He’d have to fence it off before his horse could graze in the field as the Black had once done. Alec’s brow wrinkled. Would he ever see his horse running around in this field? Would Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak keep his promise to send him the first foal of the Black, or Shêtân, as the sheikh called him? Shêtân. It meant devil in Arabic. The Black was no devil … not to him, anyway.

But it had been many months since Alec had left Arabia and the black stallion, and during that time there had been no word from Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak. Yet the sheikh had promised, and Alec couldn’t believe the Arab chieftain would go back on his word.

The dog stirred as Alec moved his knees. “C’mon, Seb,” the boy said. “I guess we’d better get going.” He lifted the dog and placed him upon his feet before standing up himself.

What weight Alec Ramsay carried was all in his broad shoulders, chest and arms.