The additional “room inside” and the compactness of body structure gave her stamina as well as force.

Alec decided that she might well possess the best of many breeds—or, at least, the best for the kind of work she was doing. Her height was just under sixteen hands, and her weight was proportionate to her size, solid but not heavy. She was a mare he would have liked to own.

His gaze and thoughts returned to her rider as the man dismounted. Alec’s first reaction was that he had been right—the man was well over six feet tall.

“My name is Captain Philippe de Pluminel,” he said.

Alec took the man’s offered hand. “Mine is Alec Ramsay.” He smiled, hoping the captain would smile back and, perhaps, explain what he was doing with such a highly trained horse on a remote hammock in the Everglades.

No smile appeared on the man’s masklike face. Yet Alec found that it did not frighten him any longer. He recalled other horsemen who allowed no emotion to show on their faces so as to reveal nothing of themselves or their motives. Alec decided that he would let the captain divulge as much or as little as he chose without any prodding from him. If he read the dark face correctly, this was a man of experience, used to command and, most of all, impatient with anyone who questioned him too closely. And, apparently, Alec’s name meant nothing to the captain—just as the name Captain Philippe de Pluminel was not familiar to him.

The mare became excited again, tossing her head and blowing through large dilated nostrils. The captain quieted her while keeping his eyes on the stallion.

“Your horse, Monsieur Ramsay,” he said finally, “is superb. I have seen him before but only on the television. It was while I was in Sweden last month.” Then his unblinking black eyes turned to Alec. “And you … yes, you were riding him in the race I saw. But I did not think …” He paused, his eyes revealing an emotion for the first time.

Alec was used to people looking surprised when they first met him. He was no one’s idea of a prosperous and well-known rider. For one thing, he appeared too young, although most times he didn’t feel it. And today he was wearing the most tattered jeans and worn-out boots he possessed. But the captain’s bewildered look made him feel better about being there. The man was human after all.

“I apologize,” the captain said, smiling for the first time. “I should have known right away, seeing you with such a horse.”

“Not at all. You didn’t expect to see me, any more than I did you.” Alec paused and found it easier to meet the man’s eyes. It was time for a question of his own. “And you … do you live here?”

There was no hesitation in the captain’s reply; it was as if the barrier between them had been dropped quickly. The smile remained on his thick lips as he said, “Only for a short time. My home is in France, but then”—he shrugged his shoulders—“anywhere the circus plays I call home. I have a contract with your Ringling Bros. Barnum and Bailey Circus beginning in April.”

Everything was falling in place. The winter training quarters of the Ringling Circus was in Venice, Florida, not far to the north. The captain and his mare were probably on their way to it, whatever his reason might be for stopping off at this remote hammock.