As he crossed the room, numerous objects hanging on the walls of the office caught his eye. They were bronze plaques which had been awarded to Satan in years past. The great horse had showed his heels to the best animals on the track. None of them could hold a candle to him. None could outstay him. None could outsprint him.

Maybe Satan would be glad to quit the track, to forget forever the chunks of earth flying in his face, blinding him as he made his move from behind the front runners. Maybe so. But how about Henry? Could he give it all up, even for a short time?

At the window Alec looked out upon the large empty paddocks between the stallion barn and the county road. The morning sun was unusually hot for the middle of November, and he could feel its warmth through the glass. He opened the window, then strode across the office and went out the door.

He stood in the wide corridor of the stallion barn. He sniffed deeply the scents he loved, the smells of well-oiled leather and soap and hay and manure. He listened to the sound of the Black rustling his straw. Finally Alec moved again, walking past the light and airy box stalls, all empty save one.

He stopped before the end stall. The heavy oak door was closed but he could see the Black through the iron-barred windows. Quickly Alec opened the door and went inside the stall.

This was the boss, the great sire of Satan. The stallion stood in the rays of the sun which came through the large top window to the rear of his stall; his black coat caught and reflected the brightness of the morning.

“Hi, fellow,” Alec said. “Let’s go outside.”

The Black stood with his head high in an attitude of conscious grandeur. But then he neighed and pushed his nose into Alec’s chest with the playfulness of a very young colt. The boy scratched the soft muzzle, even pulled the long tongue whenever it emerged from the stallion’s mouth. It was one of the games they played.

As Alec snapped the lead shank to the halter, he spoke softly. “They’re coming back today. Satan and Napoleon and Henry. It’s going to be like old times again.”

The stallion pulled against the lead shank, anxious to leave his stall. Alec didn’t keep him waiting. They moved quickly onto the wooden floor of the barn’s entryway and then out through the end door into the sunshine.

Going past the paddocks toward the Black’s own field a quarter of a mile away, Alec kept the stallion at a walk. Yet the boy was constantly aware of the flicking of the small ears, the burst of energy that would explode like a giant firecracker the moment he turned the Black loose in the field. Alec continued talking to him but never forcing him. Ask him nicely and the Black would do what he wanted. Try to push him around or force him and it would be all off. There never had been a battle of wills between him and the Black; there never would be.

The half-mile training track lay directly ahead of them, and Alec led the stallion to the fenced field to the right of it.