As a trainer you should, for it is my horse who has the greatest skill of all. Seldom do I need to use the lance to keep the bull from him. He is as swift as a racer, as powerful as a Percheron, as nimble as a polo pony. You must see him at work to appreciate him!”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Henry said.

“I’d prefer showing him to you,” the big man said evenly. “You have come many miles to see him and it is only right that—”

“You mean it’s El Dorado?”

“Of course. And tomorrow morning I shall ride him into this ring. You will be most pleased with his work.”

That night Alec and Henry went to bed in a room so vast that it was the equal of two large-size living rooms back home. Long hand-hewn beams ran from one end of the ceiling to the other and many brightly colored rugs were scattered across the wide floor boards. On the bright green walls were lavishly framed portraits of horses and bulls. Over Alec’s bed hung a stuffed bull’s head, the polished horns reaching out like two huge grasping arms.

“How’d you like to be in the same ring with him?” Henry threw the question at Alec from across the room.

“I feel that I am,” the boy answered uncomfortably, his gaze on the sharply tapered horns which were spread out over his head. To get away from them he turned on his side and looked over at Henry, sprawled out luxuriously on his oversized bed. Henry had closed his eyes. No wonder, Alec thought. A meal such as they’d had would have made anyone sleepy—roast beef and fried shrimp, bacon, omelets and chicken, salad, and caramel custard and fruit. He hadn’t eaten as much as Henry.

Alec’s gaze traveled on to the embroidered draperies and the richly carved chairs with gilded heads of bulls on the arms and backs. It must cost Angel Rafael González a great deal of money to live—and yet from what he’d told them today he was at his happiest defying death. What other reason would he have to pit his skill and horsemanship against a fighting bull?

Restlessly Alec left his bed and went to one of the open windows. The night was hot and full of spiced scents but he was aware only of the smell of sour silage from the bull pens and of deep grumblings from the bulls. Had he and Henry found the sire of the Black only to lose him to a bull in the morning?

Without turning from the window Alec said, “Henry, we’ll know the moment we see this stallion if he’s the sire of the Black or not. Now if he is …” But Henry was already in a deep sleep and beginning to snore.

Alec switched out the light but stayed at the window. It wasn’t late and he wasn’t ready for bed. He wanted to know if El Dorado was the Black’s sire before tomorrow morning.

Alec dressed quickly without waking Henry. He left the room and went down the wide marble stairs to the patio, where a fountain was splaying water into a pool below. The splashing covered the sound of his feet running across the flagstone floor. He slowed down as he approached the grilled iron gate, and opened and closed it carefully. Now he was free of the house and courtyard. It was pitch-black but soon the moon would be up to help guide him on his way.

He followed the drive until he could make out the main wall in the darkness beyond. As he came closer he wondered if he’d find the entrance gate locked. It wasn’t. It swung open easily beneath his touch.

After walking a short distance down the road he came to the pasture fence.