The Black Stallion and Flame

by Walter Farley

  “Henry’s all right. You needn’t worry about him. He just looks scared. I guess I’m more scared than he is. The Black and I were in a spot like this once before. I thought I’d forgotten it, but I haven’t.”

  “I hope you’re right,” the navigator said, “and that it was a spot something like this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you got out of that one.”

  The green navigation light at the end of the wing blinked on and off regularly, making a tiny glow in the darkness outside.

  “You don’t think our chances are very good then?”

  “You want it straight or should I quote confidently from the company manual?” It’d be better if they all knew what they faced, the navigator decided.

  “I want it straight,” Alec answered. He was looking out the window rather than at the man. The heavy overcast had obliterated even the green light now. All he could see was the trailing edge of the wing slicing through the murk. It made him think of a knife slicing through the heavy icing of a birthday cake. And that made him think of home, when he was trying not to.

  Finally he said, “What you mean is that we’re going to ditch. Is that it?”

  The navigator nodded and his eyes remained on the youth’s face. “We will if we don’t find some land soon. We have gas left for less than an hour and we don’t even know where we are. Our radio communication system has been knocked out.”

  “Isn’t there any clear air space beneath this stuff?”

  “There wasn’t a while ago. No bottom. No top either since we’re not pressurized. The skipper will try again soon, I guess. You’ll know when he does.”

  “The wind seems to have died down some.”

  “As I said, I think we’ve seen the worst of it. There’s more body to the air now. She’s handling better.”

  The big engines were no longer straining but growling in defiance of the storm.

  “Maybe we’ll be lucky and find something below,” Alec suggested hopefully. “I-I mean something besides water.”

  “Maybe we will. We’ve been flying long enough to be over something more solid by now.” The navigator unfastened his seat belt and stood up, still holding the other’s gaze. He decided that whatever happened, the kid could take care of himself if given half a chance. He only hoped they’d be able to give him that much of a start. There might be waves as thick and high as mountains.

  “If we do have to ditch,” he went on, “it shouldn’t be too bad. And our rafts will be loaded with everything we’ll need until they pick us up.”

  Alec wanted to ask who “they” might be but didn’t.

  “I’ll tell the others now,” the navigator said, moving away.

  “But what about the horses?” Alec called after him. “What can we do for them?”

  The navigator turned back, a grim smile on his lips. “That’s almost funny,” he said. “I asked the skipper the same thing and he laughed at me—because there’s nothing in this world we can do for them except hope they get a chance to swim for it.”

  Alec’s eyes turned to Henry Dailey as the navigator went over to speak to him. He remembered Henry’s words at takeoff. “Altitude is for the birds, Alec, an’ if the good Lord had meant us to fly he’d have provided us with wings. But I’ll go along with you in agreein’ that a night’s flight to the U.S. is a lot easier on a horse than a week’s trip by boat. So I’ll jus’ sweat this one out as I’ve had to do before. I won’t shirk my chores but don’t think for a moment I’m goin’ to be good company. I’m not. I’m goin’ to crawl into the shell that I’ve spent some sixty-odd years growin’ and stay there until we land.

  “I’ll be figurin’ out how we might have won some of those big European classics if the Black hadn’t picked up his bad stone bruise. Oh, I’m not really worried about him none. He’s gallopin’ all right an’ I guess he could go on all day long if he had to. It’s not that he’s bad but he’s not quite right. I want to give him a lot of time to get over his trouble. You don’t take chances with this kind of horse. So I’m goin’ to plan what’s in store for him when he’s sound again. I’ll have a ball, all right, an’ before I know it we’ll be across the Atlantic.”

  Now Alec looked at his friend and wondered just how protective Henry’s shell really was. It was difficult to close one’s ears to the sound of the propellers and the wind screaming in the night, difficult not to listen to the uneven pounding of the engines and to ignore the severe thuds and jolts followed by the sickening drops.

  Henry sat with his eyes almost closed, the perspiration on his brow oozing down the deeply etched lines of his face, and his big-knuckled hands gripping the sides of his seat.

  Alec turned away, certain that Henry was prepared for any emergency even if he didn’t look as if he were. One didn’t ride fast horses, both on the flat and over jumps as Henry had done, without developing confidence in an ability to get out of jams.

  Alec glanced at the tall black stallion, standing almost listlessly in his box a few feet away. If Alec had any protective shell like Henry’s it was his horse who provided it, and he turned to him now for solace.

  The strong wooden box was reinforced with metal and lined inside with straw and sack padding. Alec spoke to the Black in their secret language and the stallion raised his head, pulling against the tie-shank. The effect of the injections would last a little longer, Alec knew. It had taken two shots to quiet the Black—but without them the stallion would have battered down the sides of the box. As it was, much of the padding was strewn about the floor.

  The Black closed his eyes again. He was extremely sensitive to words and sounds, including clicking of the tongue and whistling. Alec made good use of his knowledge of this, both in praise and reproach. Various pitches of his voice meant different things to the Black, and at home Alec had a secret book in which he kept the musical notes of their special language.

  Even with his head down and eyes closed the tall stallion looked every bit the champion he was. His small, delicate ears were cocked forward as he dozed and the long nostrils were dilated as if to catch the slightest scent of danger. His giant body was tough yet satin-smooth. His strong legs were clean and bare of shipping bandages while bulging sinews stood out prominently beneath the skin.

  The Black snored and dreamed of other nights and times, of running fresh and free. He hated to be pampered, to be bathed and washed and wrapped in blankets while his hoofs were cleaned and trimmed. Much, much better for his hide to be washed cool by strong winds and rains and warmed by many suns and for his hoofs to be trimmed on flying rocks. He was all stallion and he knew it—strong, arrogant and cunning. Every savage instinct in him constantly sought release from the domestic life he led. Only his love for Alec and the boy’s love for him kept him under control. Yet there were times like this when he dreamed of another kind of life, one he had known long ago.

  Alec turned to the broodmares and yearlings. They were standing in boxes similar to the Black’s, two abreast and stretching almost the whole length of the cabin. Farther aft was the rest of the cargo, most of it huge wooden crates of machinery. Everything was carefully balanced to enable the plane’s big engines to conquer gravity while hauling over seventy thousand pounds across the ocean. Despite the storm none of the crates seemed to have shifted.

  Alec glanced out the window. There was no break in the heavy overcast but the winds had died as suddenly as they’d come up hours before. Perhaps the captain would find an opening below. The slight pressure in his ears told him they were descending. They might even find land. He had to think that way now.…

  Alec turned back to the horses and to the groom who had charge of the mares. The man had unusually long arms, which hung loosely against the sides of his slight, frail body. His skin was very tanned, and he had prominent cheekbones and a long, narrow hooked nose. His appearance was not improved by an Adam’s apple the size of a small red balloon, which worked continually up and down while he listened to the navigator,
who had moved over beside him.

  Alec sincerely hoped that the navigator would be able to convince this man that everything was going to be all right. For here was a case of somebody seeming to be paralyzed by his own fear. The groom hadn’t budged in his seat for hours.

  Earlier in the flight Alec had spoken to him. The man was excellent at handling horses, but he had told Alec that this job—caring for the mares and making certain they reached their destination—was only a temporary one. His charges were pure-bred Arabians being sent as a gift to a young Caribbean breeder. That was all he would say.

  Alec had looked forward to meeting the new owner of these fine horses. The prospect had helped make up for the fact that he and Henry would have preferred flying a more northerly and shorter route across the Atlantic. But air traffic was heavy at this time of year and cargo space in demand, so they had thought themselves very lucky to get space on this plane.

  Leaving the groom, the navigator came forward, his face showing signs of nervous strain beneath the bright dome light. “Remove the life vests from under your seats and I’ll show you how they work,” he said.

  Henry glanced up and grunted. “Gettin’ wet feet doesn’t appeal to me. Water’s for washin’.”

  “Don’t wish us into the drink before you know we have to ditch, will you?” the navigator said sharply.

  “I won’t,” and Henry grinned feebly.

  The navigator glanced out the window. “This stuff seems to be clearing. The propellers are turning smooth as silk.” He lit a cigarette nervously, betraying his feigned air of confidence.

  Alec motioned toward the groom, whose head was lowered as if he’d suddenly gone to sleep. “You’d better wake him up,” he said.

  Henry glanced back. “Imagine him bein’ able to sleep with all this noise goin’ on!”

  “If it stops he’ll wake up soon enough,” the navigator said. “An engine’s silence is the biggest noise there is.” But he went to the groom and shook him until the man opened his eyes.

  Alec listened to the even rumbling of the engines and felt a sense of great loneliness for them all. Nothing sounded wrong. If anything, the ship had suffered only minor damage in being buffeted by the storm. Nothing was wrong that some gas wouldn’t help. The lack of it was the joker. The smooth, droning engines must be pulling the last of it out of the tanks.

  “You’d better put your vests on now,” the navigator ordered, his voice hushed, almost inaudible above the engines.

  There was no sense in fooling themselves. They were all afraid. They were ready and prepared for the worst but terribly afraid. The odor of their fear filled the cabin.

  “If necessary we might stretch out our run by getting rid of some of our cargo,” the navigator continued. “Anything to lighten our load. It’ll be up to the skipper.”

  Alec wiped the moisture from the palms of his hands onto the sides of his pants. He didn’t dare speak. He just looked at his horse and sweated some more. No longer was he sure of himself. His red hair was wet and matted, and he wondered if he’d be able to coordinate his movements when the time came so he could get the horses clear of the sinking plane, too.

  Henry slipped the life vest over his head, a sad smile on his face. “If we’re going into the drink I might as well be comfortable,” he said.

  Alec smiled grimly at Henry’s remark and put on his own vest. He straightened in his seat and told himself to remain calm. It was all right to be afraid but not to cringe.

  “Remove your shoes,” the navigator said, “and any sharp objects on you—pencils, pens, clips, clasps and the like. We don’t want to cut any holes in the raft and, for the life of us, let’s be sure to keep the horses clear of it. Their hoofs could send it down fast. It would be better to—” He paused and found Alec Ramsay’s eyes upon him. “We won’t leave ’em behind,” he said kindly. “If we have time, we’ll get them clear of the ship. Just keep them away from our raft, that’s all.”

  The aircraft sank lower and lower into the depths of the night. There was no further turbulence. No wind screamed. No rain beat furiously against the windows. Only the heavy overcast remained and the plane sped through it, consuming time, consuming fuel. For how much longer? Was there no bottom to this murk to enable them to see what was below?

  “We might not have to use these vests at all,” the navigator said, “but we might as well learn how they work.”

  “Sure,” Henry said facetiously. “We got nothin’ else to do.”

  The navigator didn’t smile. He put his arms through the loops of the vest and pulled the yellow straps tight in front. “Now there are two ways to inflate your vest,” he said, “but don’t do it until you’re out of the ship. If you do, it’ll only slow up your movements and you just might need every second to get clear.”

  He looked at each of them and then continued, “The first way to inflate the vest is to pull these.” He tapped two plastic knobs on either side of the vest. “They automatically fill the vest by releasing capsules containing carbon dioxide. Now—”

  “If that’ll work why bother tellin’ us about the other?” Henry asked.

  “Just in case something should go wrong you can blow air into the vest through these tubes.” The navigator held up the tubes. “Open this valve, turn the lock, push down the mouthpiece and blow. When you’ve filled the vest let go of the mouthpiece to keep the air in and turn the lock back to where it was. Nothing to it.”

  “Nothin’ at all,” Henry agreed. “But I’m not worried so much about stayin’ on top of the water as I am about someone not findin’ us.”

  “We’ll use flares,” the navigator said, rubbing his bloodshot eyes, “and we’ll have a hand-operated radio to send out distress signals. It shouldn’t be too long before somebody picks us up and, as I said before, we’ll have everything aboard the raft but steaks.”

  Alec glanced at the groom to see how he was taking it. The man had his life vest on and seemed to have himself under better control.

  “There are two main exits,” the navigator continued. “This door here, the way you came aboard, and one up forward for the crew. Besides them we have eight escape windows, all plainly marked as you can see. Just remove the plastic cover from the handles, lift up and push. No trouble.…”

  The plane rocked and Alec’s body swayed with it. He’d been in other emergencies … so had his horse … together they’d get clear … some way. The metal floor felt cold under his stockinged feet and a chill swept over him. For added warmth he pulled the life-jacket straps together in front, thinking how much like a baseball catcher’s vest it was. Now if he could just convince himself that he was getting ready to play ball with the gang … if he could just do that and wait easily for the pitch to come …

  The plane swayed again and Alec felt the pressure of its descent in his ears. He caught Henry watching him. “Land ho!” he yelled jokingly, not liking the sound of his voice at all.

  The old man thought, Alec’s scared but not frozen stiff with fear. He’ll move fast when the time comes. I just hope I can stay up with him.

  The navigator spoke again, his voice more solemn than before. “Better make sure your seat belts are tight. Take this in stride and you’ll be all right.”

  Henry grunted, trying to get the seat belt over his heavy stomach and life jacket. “A fat chance I have to get away from the post when you’ve got me weighted down with so much lead. No track handicapper would be allowed …”

  The plane broke free of the overcast and below could be seen the tossing black sea.

  ANGRY SEA

  3

  The navigator went to the flight deck but returned almost immediately. “There’s not much gas sloshing around at the bottom of our tanks,” he told them quietly, “and no land below, so it looks like we’re going to have to ditch. Just remember not to hurry. We’ll have plenty of time. We’ll shove one raft out this door, lower the ditching rope and drop into it. You all okay?”

  Alec burrowed his head in the
high collar of his life vest and swallowed hard. “Sure,” he said jokingly, “except for my feet. They’re cold. This floor wasn’t meant for going around without shoes. I’ll bet it’s chilly outside.”

  “Now I want to tell you something else,” the navigator warned. “There’ll be two jolts when we ditch. The first will be kind of easy and you might get to thinking it’s over—but don’t. That’s the time to brace yourself; the jolt that follows separates the men from the boys. It’ll probably go dark then but don’t move until I tell you to.”

  “Providin’ we have ears to hear you with,” Henry said grimly.

  “Providing I’m there to yell,” the navigator replied, just as grimly. “But the important thing is to keep calm and wait for the ship to come to a complete stop before moving.”

  “We will,” Alec said. “Don’t worry.”

  “The skipper says for us not to bother throwing anything out the hatches now,” the navigator went on. “What cargo we could move wouldn’t save us any fuel to speak of. It’d be meaningless in flying time and it might only upset our balance. If the skipper can bring us down under control we got a good chance …”

  “How good?” Henry wanted to know.

  “About fifty-fifty if I remember my manual figures right.”

  “Those aren’t such bad odds,” Henry said.

  “Nope. The impact won’t be too rough if we keep ourselves strapped. Getting out’s the worst.”

  “How much time do we have before the cabin floods?” Alec asked.

  “Depends on the sea and how we hit. Ditched land planes have been known to float hours, sometimes days.”

  “But they’ve been known to go down fast, too?”

  The navigator nodded, his eyes studying the boy. He had to know whether to depend upon him or not. “As fast as three minutes,” he said finally.

  “How much time does the manual say it should take us to get out?” Alec persisted.

  “About a minute and a half … ninety-six seconds, to be exact. But I think it’ll take us at least two minutes. I don’t know.” The navigator grinned sheepishly. “I’ve only done this once before and that was in a swimming pool during flight training.”