For me, too, when I saw the yearlings come out of it.” The agent smiled.

“John …”

“Yes, Henry?”

“Of course he turned over the necessary registration papers to you.”

“Of course. How else could I sell them?”

“May I see them?”

“They’re in the house.”

“All three sired by the same stallion?” Henry asked anxiously.

“You didn’t have to ask that, but the answer is yes. His name is El Dorado.”

“Does this González fellow have him?”

“He said so.” John Hudson smiled. “I believe you’d like González, Henry. He seemed to know all about you an’ the Black an’ Alec.”

“Did he give you the impression he might part with this El Dorado?”

“No, but I don’t think he’d turn a good price down. He seems to live pretty high and was interested in last year’s Sales figures. I guess he’s something of a playboy although you’d hardly know it to look at him. He’s very big and rather ugly—except for his eyes, that is. They’re black and piercing like an eagle’s. They never seem to leave you. But somehow they don’t make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not interested,” Henry said, walking toward the horses. “But I would like to see those papers if you don’t mind, John.”

Later, on the way back to their barn, Henry said to Alec, “If we’re smart we’ll do something.”

“About El Dorado?”

“Of course. I don’t know if his colts will run the way they look but they could. We ought to try to buy El Dorado before another breeder does.”

“But that isn’t all you’re thinking about, is it, Henry?” Alec asked quietly.

“No.”

“Maybe the Black’s sire isn’t dead after all. Isn’t that it? Desert Arabs don’t always keep written pedigrees, and names can be changed.”

Henry nodded. “We’d better find out before somebody else does,” he said. “Since we were thinkin’ of goin’ to Europe anyway, we’d better make Spain our first stop.”

BLACK ANGEL
3

The Trans-Ocean cargo plane crossed the Atlantic at altitudes of fifteen to twenty thousand feet but because of the pressurized cabin its occupants felt no discomfort. Even the occasional bump that marred a flight’s smoothness was no different from the ones they had felt a few hours before on the ground. The cargo was mixed—eighteen dogs, four calves, three goats and one horse. The horse was the Black and with him was Alec Ramsay.

The tall stallion stood in a specially built traveling stall furnished by the airline. It was very strong, the stout wood being reinforced by metal. Inside, it was lined with straw and sack padding so there was no danger of the horse’s hurting himself if he kicked or pawed.

Alec had been watchful for any signs of restlessness during the trip but the Black had been quiet. His main interest was watching the other animals in their boxes. Even the almost incessant barking of the dogs hadn’t seemed to bother him. So Henry had been right, Alec mused … the Black’s unfamiliar traveling companions had been more of a comfort to him than a trial. It was a good thing, for they’d had no choice but to take the first air freighter they could get if they wanted to reach Angel Rafael González before other breeders did so.

Three days had passed since Alec and Henry had seen the yearlings at John Hudson’s. Within two more days the colts would be taken to Saratoga, where almost every horseman in the country would see them.

Henry hadn’t dawdled. He’d used every connection and pulled every string he knew. Passports had been secured within a day. The Spanish Consul in New York was only too happy to cooperate in every way possible, hoping they’d see fit “to race the great Black at the Hipodromo de Madrid.” There had also been a series of cables between Henry and Angel González, with the trainer requesting that they be shown El Dorado.

González had been most gracious and eager to welcome “such famous horsemen whose interest in El Dorado and his colts was very gratifying.” He would be happy to have them as his guests for as long as they cared to stay in Spain.

Everything had worked out very well, Alec thought, almost too well.