One never caught up. Time taken out—even for racing—was never regained.

Alec thought longingly of the days when his every move did not have to be obedient and useful, when he could be off on the Black, to go where he liked and as he pleased.

“Why not ride bareback this morning?” he asked himself. “Why not leave the saddle and bridle behind? Why not ride him the way I used to?”

Alec reached up and grasped the stallion’s mane with both hands. He spoke to the Black as he backed up beside the horse’s head. Then he took two short, springy steps forward and swung his legs up while pulling on the mane at the same time. His body rolled and twisted in the air, reaching for seventeen hands of horse!

He landed astride the Black, his hands and legs communicating immediately to his horse in a language of their own. He could control the Black’s direction and pace by the pressure of a knee or calf, by the touch of a heel on his flank or a hand on his neck. Sometimes all that was necessary was a sound from his lips.

There would be no bridle or saddle today—no restrictions upon him or his horse. This was going to be a different kind of a day!

He squeezed his horse into a canter and cued him into a left lead. He made a large circle, hastening and smoothing the stallion’s strides until he had him almost in a full gallop.

“Too fast, too cocky,” he warned himself, slowing down the Black as they approached the closed gate of the paddock.

When they were outside, Alec turned the Black south and did not check his horse’s speed. He was happier than he’d been in a long time. He was not merely at home on the Black; he belonged entirely to him. It was as if he had no other existence. There was no room for anything else.

The stallion’s strides came swift and easy, between a gallop and a run, what racetrack people call a “breeze.” Alec settled down to enjoy the ride. In a short while he’d slow down the Black, but for the moment he let the wind water his eyes. He listened to the beat of the Black’s hoofs over the dirt road. The secret of his horse’s success lay not only in his great strength and speed but also in his perfect rhythm and unwasted motion.

Alec moved closer to the stallion’s neck and adjusted himself to the rhythm of the stallion’s strides. He felt a sudden urge to let him go into a headlong run, for the sound of the Black’s running hoofs had always broken the world apart for him! The taste of the wind, when the Black was in full flight, brought him greater joy than anything else in the world!

Alec spoke softly, a sound rather than a word, and the Black broke swiftly into full run. The triple, throbbing beat of his racing hoofs over the dirt road came faster and louder. He thrust out his small head as if ready to extend himself to the fullest; his haunches glittered in the early morning sun like black satin.

Alec’s eyes were as bright as his mount’s. The Black was reveling in his freedom from bit and saddle! Still, Alec knew he must keep him under control. He pushed away the stallion’s mane that streamed back at him, clearing his blurred eyes so he could see objects along the road. Instinctively he began estimating furlongs and began counting off the seconds, down to fifths of seconds, keeping time in his mind. Every jockey needed to know the pace of his mount, whether running at full speed or not, and Alec never stopped practicing because he knew it was not a question of talent but of hard work. Also, he didn’t want the Black to run himself into the ground.

After a mile, he slowed the Black to a walk. He let go of the mane and wiped the sweat from his face. They were close enough to the Everglades for him to be able to smell the rank odor that blew from the swamp.

Suddenly the air took on a warning bite. Alec had the same feeling he’d had earlier, an awareness that this morning was not like other mornings. But now another element had been added. He stopped the Black in his tracks.