Not until he had run himself out would he respond to the reins. But it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered except the watch ticking off the seconds until they reached the tall elm.

The Black bore down upon the turn, and as he swept into it, Alec’s hand touched his neck and the stallion moved close to the inside. Alec heard himself clucking to the stallion, urging him on to still greater speed as they passed the halfway mark. Once again the bridle path straightened and the homestretch was ahead of them!

Alec called to the stallion, but his words were lost in the wind created by the straining body. Tremendous strides brought them down to the elm tree with lightning swiftness. There was no need to urge the Black to run faster, for he was going all out. The tall elm tree was but a hundred yards ahead … then fifty, ten and five! Alec’s thumb pushed the stem of the watch as they swept past.

The race was over, but there was no slackening of the Black’s speed. After going another quarter of a mile, Alec drew back on the reins, but still there was no response from the stallion.

A park road now ran parallel to the bridle path, but Alec knew there were no intersections for three miles and the Black would have run himself out long before then.

The stallion ran another quarter-mile before there was any noticeable shortening of stride. Alec drew back on the reins again, and gradually the Black slowed. He had the stallion almost under control when he saw a car coming down the road. The Black leveled out again at sight of it, and it wasn’t until they had passed the car and left it far behind that Alec managed to bring him down to a slow gallop.

Alec’s hand moved down the lathered neck. “Take it easy now,” he said softly. “It’s over.” He settled back in the saddle as the stallion responded to his commands and went into a long, loping canter.

It was only then that Alec’s gaze dropped to the watch he held in the palm of his hand. Had he any doubt that the Black had beaten Satan’s record of one minute fifty-eight seconds?

“No,” he answered himself. “Certainly Satan never could have run faster than the Black has just gone. I have proof of it right here in my hand.”

His fingers unclenched to disclose the face of the watch. Alec looked at it with incredulous eyes.

One minute fifty-nine seconds! The Black’s time was one whole second behind the record Satan had set yesterday!

He drew the watch closer to his eyes. He couldn’t believe what the hands told him. Satan couldn’t have run faster! No horse could!

But Satan had. The proof of it was here … right here in his hand.

The Black slowed to an uneasy crabstep, his head moving to the left, then to the right. Alec’s hand went up and down his neck, but even as he stroked the stallion he frantically sought excuses for the Black’s failure to break Satan’s record.

Perhaps something was wrong with the watch.

No, it couldn’t be that, he decided. He’d had it at the jeweler’s for cleaning less than a month ago. It was accurate.

Then it was the bridle path. It was much too soft. It wasn’t meant for speed. Satan had had a lightning-fast track … good and firm, the way he liked it.

Yes, there was no doubt but that the Black could have made faster time on a track. But he had to remember that the Black had had no other horses with which to contend, while Satan had. Satan had been pocketed coming into the homestretch. The radio commentator had mentioned Lenny Sansone’s getting him out of it.