Actually it was a meadow carpeted with cropped grass, a slab of green on the edge of the endless swamp. He heard the splash of a bird in the distant water, then the scream of an osprey as it rose above the saw grass. It was a mysterious cry in the vast void of emptiness. Alec paused a moment beside the huge trunk of an oak tree.

At the far end of the meadow he saw the gleam of a silver body and heard the soft beat of hoofs. Cautiously he moved in that direction, aware that his excitement matched that of the stallion at his side.

When he reached the edge of the clearing he saw a tall black man riding a gray mare.

THE CAPTAIN
4

Alec clamped a hand across his horse’s nostrils, stilling the neigh that was about to come. “No,” he said softly.

His eyes followed the man riding the gray mare. He wore the clothes of a southern farm laborer—sun-bleached trousers and a gray cotton shirt. On his head was a wide-rimmed straw hat, his thick hair falling below it, as blue-black as an Indian’s. But despite his appearance, the man failed completely to look the part of a farm laborer.

No one but a professional horseman could sit in the saddle as this man did. He was still and unmoving while his mare trotted with the most airy steps, gliding across the grass, turning as if magically summoned one way and then another.

Alec knew the man must be guiding her but there was no obvious movement of his hands or legs. He used no whip or spurs; his calves and thighs were directing his horse.

Alec’s heart was racing now. The mare was as light-footed as a ghost, and, in fact, if she had been a ghost he would not have been more astonished by what he saw! Here, deep in the Everglades, he was watching the disciplined movement of haute école! He had never before seen a horse schooled in these movements perform in the United States. Only in Europe—at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna, Austria—had he watched the famed Lippizaner stallions in this advanced art of training and horsemanship.

This was no Lippizaner but a horse of many strains, including Arabian; yet she performed the dancing steps as well as any horse Alec had seen in Austria. If the man riding her knew he was being watched he gave no indication of it. He sat like a statue in the saddle, his black face cold and masklike. He moved her in a wider circle, coming closer to Alec. His guiding movements were still not visible and yet the cadence of the mare’s hoofs picked up as if she had been eagerly awaiting the change of pace. Suddenly she was spinning around on her hind legs, pirouetting in place.

The man was part of his horse as she moved at full speed while fixed to one spot. Alec realized that many years of intensive training must have been spent on the mare for her to perform this difficult movement.

Finally the mare came out of the pirouettes and made a slow circle. It was only then that Alec saw her rider’s first movement, although it had nothing to do with cues to his horse. He raised a hand to pull his straw hat more firmly down on his head so as not to lose it.

Alec ignored the man’s wide-rimmed hat as he did the laborer’s clothes. One who knew the art of haute école riding and training as this man did would not make his living working in the cane fields!

The mare swept diagonally across the circle, shoulder in, then shoulder out coming back, her hoofs skimming effortlessly over the grass.

Alec knew she was being subjected to the light pressures of her rider’s hands and legs. Every nerve in her was awaiting the next signal from him.

Alec forgot where he was, forgot everything but the fact that for the first time in his life he was witnessing a supreme exhibition of horsemanship. Never had he seen such unity of horse and rider!

Spellbound, he watched the mare move across the ground in flowing turns and glides and figurations he had never seen before, all in a strangely wonderful dance made even more magical by the ghostly silence of the Everglades.

Then the tempo of her hoofs increased and Alec knew the exhibition was coming to an end. She made a high leap, her hind legs and forelegs stretched out so that she looked as if she were truly flying! When she came down, she rocked back and forth on her hindquarters before rising in a levade of supreme grace, staying up longer than Alec had ever thought possible, her neck arched while she reached for the sky with her forequarters. She came down slowly and stood still.

The black stallion’s clear, high neigh rang through the stillness of the hammock too quickly for Alec to stop it. The silver-gray mare turned her ears in his direction and answered. But her rider did not so much as glance toward the intruders.

The Black pawed the ground and neighed again. Alec did not try to quiet him, for his eyes were on the rider. The man had turned in their direction; slowly, he doffed his wide-rimmed hat.

“Hello!” he called.