“It’s called the Gibson Girl. Maybe you know the reason better’n I do, hey ol’ buddy?”

Henry tried to smile. “Yes, I guess I do,” he said, his eyes finding the curved waterproof case. “It has something to do with her lines.”

“Anyway,” the copilot went on, “she’s a very remarkable little girl. We’ll crank her up an’ our SOS will be heard for more than a hundred miles. Any ship or plane will be able to take a bearing on it.”

“If there are any ships or planes within a hundred miles,” the navigator pointed out.

“Ol’ happy buddy, buddy,” the copilot said. “Making us feel real good about everything this morning, aren’t you?”

“Cut it out, you two,” the captain ordered. “Anyone hungry?”

They all shook their heads.

“Just as well, I guess,” the captain continued. “We’d better go easy on our emergency rations. It might be a long time before we’re picked up.”

“At least we’re going to get dry,” Henry said, turning again to the sun. “It was so cold there for a while.…”

“I just hope it doesn’t get too warm for us,” the captain said, his gaze following Henry’s. “We’ve got to be very, very careful with our drinking water.”

“Water, water everywhere and not—” the copilot recited until stopped by the captain’s eyes. A cloud drifting across the sun cast a shadow over the small raft and suddenly the cool air felt very damp and penetrating.

The copilot tried all over again. “Well, what I meant is that now all we have to do is wait.” He wiped his hands on his pants and began cranking the Gibson Girl.

Henry’s gaze remained skyward. There was a big bird up there; for a moment he’d thought it was a plane. Might be a good omen at that … a bird had to have a nest on land, didn’t it? Maybe if they were real lucky they’d find its home. But for now, as the copilot had said, all they could do was to wait … and, Henry added to himself, to pray.

The man-o’-war bird did not swoop to the sea to investigate the life raft. After hovering high over it for several minutes, it flew on. Far to the west it traveled before dipping lower and lower and lower toward the sea. Finally it hung motionless not more than a hundred feet above the water.

Below swam a small group of horses.

*  *  *

The Black, leading the band, was very tired. And he was afraid. Water was not his element and he’d spent terrifying hours in the darkness fighting to stay afloat in a cold and high-running sea. Only when the black night had been broken by pale gray streaks of dawn had he taken heart. But with the morning had come, too, an overwhelming sense of loneliness. He neighed repeatedly, looking for the one he loved, and swam on trying to find him. But no familiar scent filled his nostrils—only the odors of the sea, iodine and salt.

The waves lifted him high, then swept him down into deep troughs with walls of water closing out the gray dawn. The sun rose, a pale disk scattering isolated patches of fog until they looked like flimsy veils hanging close to the sea. As the Black felt the pull of currents on his body, instinct told him not to fight them. He let them take him where they would. The soft wind blew persistently, its warm breath soothing.