There was no one around to tell him what to do. The Black was his sole responsibility. It was almost as it had been in the beginning, so long ago.

He watched a great heron in long-legged flight against the blue sky and listened to its raucous cry. He followed it as it flew low over a grove of tall coconut palms, the fronds moving languidly in the soft breeze.

His gaze returned to his horse and he found the Black still lying on his back, his hind legs drawn up and forelegs spread outward. Alec smiled; it was a most unusual position for a horse who led such an active life. Perhaps the Black, too, was succumbing to the languor of this land.

Alec shifted his body in order to get into a more comfortable position on the fence. He wondered if this might not be an ideal place to raise horses. Henry Dailey had suggested as much before leaving to oversee the training of several two-year-olds in New York. Henry, his old friend and trainer, had suggested they might even purchase a small farm in this area as an annex to Hopeful Farm up north. They would move their young stock here and, perhaps, some of the older horses that needed a long rest in the sun.

It was not a new idea, Alec had reminded Henry, for the Ocala area in upper-central Florida had become very popular with horse breeders as a year-round operation.

“Too popular,” Henry had answered. “Land is more costly there, and we don’t need to be with the others. This area is worth considering. Think about it while I’m gone.”

There were advantages and disadvantages to it, Alec thought. The area was more suitable for the growing of sugar cane and vegetables than pasture grass. It was reclaimed swampland, the soil a black carpet of peat muck. Beneath it, of course, was the solid bedrock of coral limestone that shaped and held the Florida peninsula.

The rich farmland had been reclaimed by a flood control basin which the United States Army Engineers had constructed to contain the waters of Lake Okeechobee to the north. They had diverted the waters which normally had flowed over this area and drifted south to nourish the Everglades. It had meant thousands of square miles of new agricultural land and communities. But it also meant, Alec reflected bitterly, the ultimate death of the great swamp. More and more canals were being built, not only by the Army engineers but by private developers promising “residential neighborhoods where wild animals once lived.”

Alec turned and faced south, where he could see an endless tawny blaze of light that seemed to merge and mingle with the rays of the rising sun. He was at the doorstep of the wild Everglades, and after what he had read and heard of the immensity of the swamp, he wondered if bulldozers and draglines would ever be able to transform it completely into the realtors’ promised Garden of Eden. He stared in that direction a long time.

Finally, he roused himself, shaking his head and wondering why on this morning he should be drawn to the swamp, as if by a magnet, when he never had thought much about it before.

Perhaps, he decided, the peace, the languor, or whatever one wished to call it was changing his metabolism as it seemed to be doing to the Black this very moment.

He jumped down from the fence, determined to disturb the quiet of the morning. He rode the Black daily, and today must be no exception. The spring racing season would open soon in New York and they were scheduled to be there. Henry had given them a few weeks to freshen up from their hard winter campaign but no more than that.

He walked over to his horse, wondering if he’d be able to acquire another paddock for him. It was the first time he’d seen mares turned out in the adjacent field, and he did not want the Black distracted. It was difficult enough in the spring of the year without having a band of broodmares in the next field! He knew that mares generally coped with the breeding season better than stallions; they possessed patience, whereas stallions, once started on a breeding program, felt only the persistent drive to mate.

He was glad Henry had not been around to see the mares in the adjacent pasture. He’d have raised the devil. It was an oversight, Alec knew, and he’d be able to straighten it out with Joe Early, the ranch manager, later in the day.

The Black had rolled over on his side and was the picture of a horse completely at ease. His eyes were open, and when he saw Alec coming toward him with the lead shank, he scrambled to his feet.