He jerked his head upward and held it still, his every sense keyed to the utmost.

“Black, Black,” Alec kept repeating while his eyes held those of the stallion. He saw every sign of impending recognition, but he could only wait and hope.

Now the Black was tense and rigid, with only his nostrils quivering. For many minutes he seemed undecided. His flashing eyes left Alec to move back and forth, slowly, as his head turned. He moved neither toward Alec nor away from him. He stood alert and confident in his strength.

Alec kept talking, caring little what he said. It was only the sound of his voice that mattered. His voice and scent were what the Black remembered.

The stallion turned to him again, listening intently, smelling with long, delicate nostrils; then he came forward, trotting with high head and tail.

Alec reached out to him, and the stallion did not move away at his touch. The boy’s arms swept around him and he buried his head in the long mane.

He heard Henry’s voice, but he did not turn to him.

“Take him out, while you got him,” Henry was saying excitedly. “Let’s get outa here before …”

The Black moved nervously at the sound of Henry’s voice. Alec took him by the halter. “Come on, fellow. We’re going home.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the Black moved with him. Henry had led the men away from the gate, but their gaze followed Alec as he took the stallion from the field.

Alec led the Black toward the van, Henry walking a little behind them.

“Nice and quiet just like he wanted,” Henry muttered to himself. “I shoulda known better than to expect it. But it could have been worse. If he’d gotten away, everyone on the field would have known it, an’ it’d be in the papers tomorrow. As it is, these Trans-World guys are just glad to get rid of him.”

Henry’s gaze swept over the Black as the stallion walked nimbly beside the boy. He was quiet now; there was none of the savagery displayed only a few minutes before. Nor was he fidgeting or capering nervously; only his head moved, and he turned it back and forth, observing everything about him. Yet he was a picture of pure blood and fiery energy, ready to burst into action at the slightest impulse.

Henry stopped in his tracks, for Alec had the stallion at the van and he was shying away from the ramp. Henry started forward; then, thinking better of it, stopped again and stayed behind.

Alec waited patiently for his horse, talking to him all the while. He turned him around in a circle several times, then led him to the ramp again and stepped upon it. The Black hesitated, then followed, his hoofs resounding on the wooden boards.

Running to the van, Henry pushed the ramp inside. He was closing the door when Alec called, “I’ll ride back here with him.”

“As if I didn’t know,” Henry said.

It was well over an hour later when Henry drove up to the barn in Flushing. He backed the van to a grassy knoll just to the side of the driveway, got out and opened the door. Alec pushed the ramp over to him and Henry set one end down on the knoll. The descent from the van was gradual, and Henry knew Alec wouldn’t have any trouble getting the stallion down. He went to the barn, opened the doors wide and switched on the lights. Napoleon raised his head, neighing softly.

“You’ve an old friend comin’ to see you,” Henry told him.