“I’ll find out which stalls we’re in.”

After Henry had left, Alec turned to kneel upon the seat and press his cheek against the Black as the stallion pushed his muzzle through the window. Alec felt the stallion’s quivering lips and said, “We’re here, Black. You’re going to take it easy, aren’t you? You won’t give me any trouble as Henry thinks you will.”

Alec was still talking to the Black when Henry reappeared and climbed into his seat. “Stalls Nine and Ten in Row C,” he said.

As the van started forward Alec settled back in his seat again. They passed the long stands and went toward the many rows of sheds a half-mile away.

“We’re the first here, just as I thought we’d be,” Henry said.

Now, with the great stands behind them, they were able to see the track, and Alec looked at it for a long time before turning to the green infield with the lake in the center, over which glided a small group of white swans.

Bordering the track at the far turn were the sheds, and as they neared them Henry asked, “What row was it?”

“C,” Alec told him. “Stalls Nine and Ten.”

They passed rows A and B and turned down C.

“I guess they’re figuring on putting all the horses running in the International in this row,” Henry said.

Stalls 9 and 10 were only a short distance down the row, and Henry stopped the van before them. First out of the cab, Alec went to the bales of straw piled high beside the stall door. “Which stall will we put him in, Henry?”

“Either one,” Henry called back. “We’ll use the other for bunking down in until Satan gets here. But let’s get the tack out first,” he added.

They opened the back door of the van, pulling out the ramp. Whinnying, the Black moved his hindquarters uneasily and tried to turn his head toward them, but the rope held him close. Going into the van, Alec spoke to him and went to the tack trunk, which he pushed toward the door. Henry took hold of it, carrying it into Stall 9. Alec followed him, carrying the pitchforks, and went to the bales of straw. He took one and spread the straw about the stall. When he had finished, Henry had the pails and feedbags off the van.

“I guess we’re about ready for him now,” Henry said.

Carrying a lead shank, Alec went into the van. “Whoa, boy,” he said, walking to the side of the Black; and his hand ran over the stallion’s body. He fed the Black a piece of carrot before untying the ropes and snapping the lead shank onto his halter. Slowly he turned the stallion and led him to the ramp.

The Black pricked his ears far forward as he looked out of the van, and he hesitated at the ramp while Alec stepped upon it. “There’s nothing here to bother you,” the boy said, breaking off another piece of carrot and giving it to the Black.

The stallion stepped onto the ramp, then stopped again while Alec waited, talking to him all the while. Curiously the Black moved his head about, his eyes constantly shifting.

“No, it’s not home,” Alec said. “We’re a long way from there.” His hand moved down the long neck as he talked. He gave the Black another piece of carrot, making him reach for it. The Black moved forward again until his hindlegs came to the ramp; he stopped once more and Alec waited. Finally Alec moved farther down the ramp, holding out another carrot for the stallion. The Black reached for it, and as Alec moved away, the stallion let himself go, his hindquarters firmly gathered beneath him as he followed the boy down.

When the Black reached the ground, Alec gave him the carrot, then waited again while the stallion turned to the left, then to the right, looking at everything there was to see.

Henry came up, carrying a pail of water. The Black turned to him, his lips quivering; then he pushed his muzzle into the pail.

Alec said, “I’ll walk him up and down the row a bit, Henry. It’ll get him loosened up and used to the place at the same time.”

Nodding, Henry watched Alec lead the stallion down the row toward the road. He saw the Black shy away from a power motor that a workman had left running near one of the stalls. But Alec moved with him, then brought him to a stop.