He’ll come over.”

A few minutes later Satan took the carrot from Alec’s hand and moved to the door while the boy and trainer patted him.

“I’m sorry it had to happen this way,” Alec said.

“I’m sorry, too,” Henry returned.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, Alec. Just now I don’t think it’s going to work out … as I said it wouldn’t.”

“Maybe the Black will get used to the others … within a few days, I mean.”

“Maybe,” Henry repeated.

“Then we’ll keep him here and see?” Alec asked anxiously.

The trainer shifted uneasily on his feet. “I don’t know, Alec … really, I don’t. It might be better for everyone if we took him away now. Things might not get better an’ they could get worse.”

“But maybe …” Alec began.

“I’d like to see him race as much as you would,” Henry interrupted. “More now than before we came here.” Pausing, he added, “But you saw what he did to Satan, and he could do the same to the others. The Black brings out the instinctive savageness and hatred in every stallion to fight his kind. Up to now, these horses know but one thing an’ that’s to race as they’ve been trained to do. Racing is something the Black hardly knows anything about.… Fighting is what he knows best.”

“Then what do you think we should do, Henry?”

“Let’s wait a week for the others to get here. Let’s make sure I’m right before we take him away. He just might come around, Alec, the way you think he will.… He just might.”

Turning down the row to the Black’s stall, Alec knew he wasn’t really so sure that his stallion would come around. No, not at all. And perhaps both he and Henry were making a mistake in keeping the Black here for another week.

As Henry had said, things could get worse, much worse.

FIGHTING STALLION!
12

The following week saw the arrival of all the horses entered in the International Cup race. Phar Fly, the Australian champion—a robust blood bay stallion with glossy black mane, tail and stockings—was the first to arrive; then came the European horses. Sea King, from England, was a gray, small in height but long-bodied. Cavaliere, from Italy, was a rich brown stallion with four white stockings, standing seventeen hands in height. His entire physique signified power. Avenger, from France, was a round, chunky little dark bay horse, dainty to the point of femininity, his action effortless and birdlike. The last to arrive at the track was Kashmir, from India, a sorrel with white face and feet; sixteen hands strong he stood, alert and confident, high-spirited and fractious.

And with their arrival came the owners, trainers, exercise boys, grooms and reporters. No longer was the row quiet, belonging only to Alec and Henry, for now from morning until night horses and people filed up and down the row.

The top of the Black’s stall door was left open for only a few hours each day. And during that time Alec and Henry would stand close by, watching him, ready for anything he might do.

“He’s got to get used to seeing them around,” Henry had said earlier in the week. “A few hours a day will be enough until we think he’s ready to be with the others.”

But the Black’s hatred of the other stallions did not lessen with each passing day. His shrill challenging whistles were screamed constantly, even from behind closed doors.

A week before the big race, Alec stood beside Henry at the track rail, watching Lenny Sansone work Satan. Working out with the burly colt were Cavaliere and Avenger.

Satan was moving fast, coming down the backstretch, and Henry had his watch on him. The black colt swept thunderously into the turn, moving close to the rail. Leveled out, with his ears flat against his head, Satan came off the turn and passed them.

The light of a trainer’s joy and pride in the part he had played in molding such a horse shone in Henry’s keen gaze as he watched Satan. He pressed the stem of his watch and glanced at it. “He’s ready. They’ll have to really go to beat him,” he said, making no attempt to keep his enthusiasm from Alec.

“What’d he do it in?”

“Forty-five.”

“The Black went that,” Alec reminded Henry.

“I know,” Henry said. “But what good is his speed? What good is it, when we’ve got to gallop him nights and keep him penned up during the day?”

Cavaliere passed and they watched the big brown stallion who had won the Italian Derby as his rider let him out going down the stretch.

“His action is a lot like Satan’s,” Alec remarked.

“Yeah,” Henry said, “but there’s the one you want to watch, Alec.” He was pointing to Avenger as the small champion from France moved down the backstretch.