“That’s a big order when you’re talking about the most publicized race horse in the whole wide world.”

Alec Ramsay got to his feet. “Not so big, Henry. I think I know what the man means.”

Henry saw the strong blue light in Alec’s eyes. It was the look that was always there when he talked of his horse.

“He snores,” Alec said, smiling at their visitor. “Sometimes so loud we can’t sleep at all, not if we’re near him and we usually are, here at the track. At the farm it’s a lot better, because the stallion barn is a good distance from the house and we have solid oak barn doors.”

Alec turned to the Black, his hand tracing the multitude of veins that stood out beneath the velvet-soft neck.

“Yes,” the visitor said gratefully, “that’s what I meant.”

Alec went on, “He dreams, too. He’ll move his legs and sometimes even his tail while he’s sleeping. Often, too, he’ll snort. I believe he thinks he’s racing or at least running, for he dreams most of all the night following a race.”

“Last night it was awful,” Henry interrupted. “I went runnin’ into his stall thinkin’ he was dyin’ or tearin’ the place apart. Instead I found Alec tryin’ to tell him the Brooklyn was already over an’ he’d won it.”

“So that’s the way it goes with us,” Alec said. “Nothing ever dull or very quiet for long.”

“It sounds that way,” the visitor offered. “Please go on.”

Henry spoke before Alec could continue. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this short, Mister. It’s four-thirty and time for our horse to be fed.”

“He’s a terrific eater,” Alec added. “Three meals a day he takes. Six quarts of oats, four whole and two crushed. Maybe thirty pounds of hay, too, special from the farm—timothy and a little clover thrown in for dessert. And sometimes I give him a salad for good measure—lettuce with a little endive, romaine and leaves of the chicory plant. He likes it a lot.”

The visitor nodded eagerly, hoping Alec would go on, but Henry was already on his feet and bringing the session to a close.

“Here’s what you want to remember even if you forget all the rest he’s told you,” the trainer said quietly. “Him and his horse have woven a spell around each other that no one in this business can understand, much less break. Just as wonderful as Alec’s love for the Black is his love for Alec. It’s as simple as that and it’s the only reason we’re here talkin’ about a great race horse. If it wasn’t for Alec the Black would be unraceable. Now he gets mad only when Alec leaves without him.

“On the other hand,” Henry went on, even more seriously than before, “Alec wouldn’t be the rider he is without the Black. On other horses I can fault him. But not on the Black. Alec grows there an’ he knows it. So does his horse. They’re for each other and each other alone.