He stood still until he was certain the Black’s wild eyes were on him, then he walked forward, his bare feet making no sound.

Still pale with rage and terror, the man cried, “Take the whip, Alec! Use it on him if you have to!”

Without taking his eyes off the Black, Alec said, “If I did, he’d kill me, Henry. The same as he would have killed you.” He continued walking forward, talking to the stallion in a soft, low voice, and never raising it or his hand in a gesture of any kind. Only once did he interrupt his murmurings with a soft-spoken command. When he got close to the Black, he put his hand on the lathered halter. The stallion trembled, and for a moment his eyes gleamed brighter than ever. Alec gave the low command again, but the stallion drew back his head in an abrupt gesture of defiance.

Keeping his hand on the halter, Alec moved along with the stallion until he came to a stop. The boy waited patiently, his eyes never leaving those of his horse, his murmurings never ceasing. With a motion of his head, he indicated to Henry that he was to leave.

Alec turned the Black toward the upper end of the paddock, diverting his attention from Satan and Henry. With his free hand he tried to soothe the tossing head, and finally he got the stallion to take a few steps up the paddock. Then the Black stopped again, trying to turn his head.

Alec held him close, and waited for a while before leading him forward once more. Satan and Henry had left the paddock. It was a little easier now. The Black followed Alec for a moment before stopping again, this time to utter his short, piercing blast. Alec stood quietly beside him, the wind billowing his pajamas. He knew that in a little while the Black would calm down, and he would be able to take him into the barn. But right now he must go on as he was doing, talking to him, soothing him, and waiting.

He walked him again, and as he did, he tried to understand the reason for the Black’s sudden, vicious attack on Satan. For many months his horse had been all a well-mannered stallion should be. Why, then, had he reverted to the role of a killer tonight? And what were he and Henry going to do about it?

REVOLT!
2

Alec stood outside the heavy oak door of the Black’s stall. He heard him rustling his straw, and through the iron-barred window watched him move restlessly about. The fierce light had left the stallion’s eyes, and Alec knew that in a few minutes it would seem as if he had never shown rage, as if his fury had never been aroused. Yet within him that savage, natural instinct to kill would live, smoldering and waiting for some spark to set it aflame again. It would never die.

Alec turned from the Black to watch Henry in his never-ending walk up and down the long corridor, his voice still raised in furious tirade against the stallion. As with the Black, it would take a little while for Henry to quiet down, thought Alec. He’d be able to talk to him sensibly then. But not now. Now he could only listen, and wait.

Henry came down the corridor. “He would have killed Satan! In another minute he’d have done it!” He turned on his heel quickly with only a glance at Alec. Again he walked up the corridor, his bare grass-stained feet making no sound. “He would have killed me, too! Just like that!” He snapped his large, rugged fingers.

Henry passed Napoleon’s stall. The old gray had his large head down as though he were assuming all blame for the night attack and thought that Henry’s loud denuciation was meant for him alone.