“Yes, you would have to enjoy it to live in the shadow of maiming and death with each race. What do you weigh?”
“About a hundred and fifteen.”
“I am almost twice that and I would not enjoy it.”
“You have other talents,” Alec said, smiling. With the talk of horses all tension had left him.
“Yes, I prefer to make a horse rather than break one. The mouths of all your horses are as hard as the iron you put in them.”
“Not necessarily,” Alec said, surprised at his quick anger. “The Black’s mouth has not been made hard. He responds to the slightest touch and I use my hands and legs the same as you … not as well, perhaps, or the same way,” he added more cautiously. “Yet I think we get the same results.”
The captain smiled at his outburst and it seemed to Alec that the difference in their ages was fast disappearing.
“If what you say is true, Alec, your horse not only serves you as a racehorse but shares his life with you.”
They were interrupted as Odin crossed the room, opened the door without a glance in their direction, and went out. Alec noted that he was no longer wearing the crimson robe with the gold braid, but the black felt hat still covered his head. However, without the robe and the spear-tipped rod, he did not look so ominous.
The captain’s gaze left the closed door and returned to Alec. “You are alone with your horse in Florida?” he asked.
“Alone?” Alec repeated. “No, not exactly.” He offered no further explanation, thinking that if the captain was inquisitive enough about him and his horse, he might be able to trade information. He wanted to know why a famous horseman like the captain was living on a remote hammock in the Everglades.
“You said Odin goes where he pleases. Aren’t you worried?” he asked.
“No. I also told you he is very capable. He knows the swamp better than I do, and he is familiar with the Seminole tongue, so he has made friends in the nearby Indian village.” The captain paused, as if undecided whether to continue. A light flickered in his dark eyes; then, having made his decision, he went on. “Like the Seminoles, Odin is suspicious of the outside world. Lately, his antagonism seems to be directed toward the white men who are draining the Everglades. It is for that reason I told him you were my friend and asked you to take his hand.”
“I can understand his feelings,” Alec said. “But I don’t believe the engineers will ever conquer the swamp. It’s too immense.”
“Perhaps you are right,” the captain said quietly, “but they’re making progress. I, too, resent and challenge this conquest by the white man. It will not be long before—”
The captain stopped abruptly as if, perhaps, he had said too much. There was a haunted look in his eyes and Alec wondered what had caused it.
“But enough of such talk, Alec. We must continue with our discussion of you and your horse. You said you were not alone?”
Alec smiled to himself. The trade of information had begun and now it was his turn.
“I’m not alone in that we’re staying at Sugarfoot Ranch,” he said. “We’ve been there a little over a week, resting up after racing at Hialeah Park in Miami. My partner and trainer, Henry Dailey, went up north a few days ago to look after some two-year-olds, but he’ll be back within a week. Then we go to New York to prepare for the spring racing season at Aqueduct.”
“I see,” the captain said, his eyes once more becoming hard and cold. “Then you are alone with your horse.”
Alec felt his uneasiness return. He didn’t know what the captain meant. They’d be expecting him back at the ranch by afternoon, and he certainly wasn’t alone. Whatever thoughts the captain had were locked up tightly inside him. Yet Alec found that he no longer distrusted him as he had earlier. Slowly he was acquiring more and more information and the pieces were fitting together. Soon he’d come up with the whole picture.
“Racing is a rough business,” he told the captain. “We’re on the go most of the time. I suppose it’s much like circus work.”
“I suppose so. Neither is the work for timid souls.”
“Timid?” Alec repeated. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. But you’re right. If you’re going to race timidly, you might as well stay home.”
“Timidity has no place in the circus either,” the captain said quietly. “Let me show you some old prints I have here.”
He went to a trunk near the fireplace and removed a thick folder. From it he took some pictures and spread them on the table. Alec saw horses and riders leaping through hoops of fire and over the backs of elephants and tigers. The prints dated back to the early 1800s. There was one that intrigued him more than the others. It showed a beautiful white horse wearing simulated wings and flying over four horses standing below.
“This is supposed to be Pegasus?” he asked the captain.
“Oui, Alec. It was performed by Antonio Franconi in 1800 in London. The mythical winged horse was very popular with audiences of the time.”
Alec noted that the large wings were attached to a light girth strap. Truly, the horse appeared to be flying, and he could understand why it had been a successful act. The pity of it was that such a mythical figure would not be accepted in today’s circus because people did not accept fantasy as part of their world. The simulated wings on a leaping horse would only evoke laughter, not excitement.
When Alec mentioned this to the captain, the man asked, “But you, Alec, do you believe there is some basis of fact to mythology?”
“Perhaps more than most people do,” Alec said honestly. “At least I’ve thought about it a lot, especially Pegasus. I used to ride a make-believe winged horse as a kid. He took me all over the world.”
“I suspected as much,” the captain said. “And now that you’re no longer a child, what do you think of such mythical creatures? Were they only imaginary? Was there no basis of fact for them?”
Alec thought a minute and then said, “I’ve read that primitive men credited many animals with powers far beyond their own. I think it was even believed that their gods took on animal form when they descended to earth.” He smiled. “I suppose that’s how Pegasus came about. Is that what you mean?”
“Oui, in part, Alec,” the captain said, his gaze returning to the print before him. “But you must remember that until quite recently mankind continued to believe in a magical world in which animal and human shapes were interchangeable.” He picked up the print, studying it. “Not all the animals were as beautiful as Pegasus. Some were so horrible that men would die in terror at the very sight of them.”
The captain’s voice was solemn but Alec could not take him seriously. It was part of an act, put on for his benefit, he decided. He laughed and said, “They were fairy tales, Captain, told since the beginning of time. People don’t believe in them any more, not in this day and age.”
“That’s part of the trouble,” the captain said.
Alec believed him to mean that for this reason there was no place for a horse with simulated wings in the circus ring.
The captain added, “However, it is possible that some legendary creatures were based on animals which did actually exist.”
“I can believe that,” Alec said. “The fierce dragon was the result of prehistoric man finding fossils of dinosaurs or any of the other reptilian monsters.”
“But what of the supernatural animals?” the captain asked quietly. “What of the gryphon, half eagle and half lion? And the hippogriff, who had the body of a horse, the wings and beak of an eagle, and the claws of a lion? Medieval writers had no doubt that such animals existed.”
“Purely imaginary,” Alec answered, “no different from the centaur—half man and half horse—and all the other creatures of fable created by the ancients.”
“Perhaps so,” the captain said, picking up another old print and passing it on to Alec.
It showed a man in a circus ring, dressed as the devil and driving what must have been at least twenty horses while standing on the backs of
the two in the rear.
“Another imaginary figure,” Alec said, pointing to the devil-clad man. “But it’s quite a feat, driving that many horses. I wonder if he actually did it.”
“He did,” the captain said. “My great-grandfather saw him perform in the Paris Hippodrome in 1860.”
There were hundreds of prints in the bulging folder, all of performing horses and some going as far back as the Circus Maximus at the time of Christ. To anyone it would have been a fascinating and valuable collection; for Alec, a serious horseman, it was the like of which he had never hoped to see. And with the captain explaining the techniques of the training involved, the hours passed without his being aware of it.
The long rumble of thunder interrupted his concentration on the old prints and made him conscious of the time. He glanced at his watch and rose quickly to his feet. “I had no idea it was so late,” he said. “It’s after four and I must be going. Thanks for lunch and everything.” He glanced at the prints. “Maybe I can come back?” He put it as a question, sensing that the captain preferred solitude to the company of another person. In a way they were very much alike, disdaining the company of other men for that of their horses.
Yet, Alec thought, how strange it was that he wanted to return when he had been so alarmed before. He looked into the captain’s dark, unblinking eyes as the man rose to join him.
“You are welcome any time,” the captain said, “but I had hoped you would stay even longer.”
The rays of the sun were still streaming through the small windows, but there was another clap of thunder in the distance.
“I don’t want to get caught in a storm,” Alec said. “I’ll get back late as it is. They’ll be worrying about me.”
Alec opened the door and the heat outside was scorching. To the south, just above the saw-grass spears, a heavy blanket of clouds shone in a bizarre light.
“I doubt it will rain, as much as we need it,” the captain said, following Alec down the steps. “Perhaps some wind and heat lightning but no rain certainly. I feel none in the air.”
Alec shrugged his shoulders. “The lightning will be quite bad enough,” he said. “I don’t mind getting wet—it’s lightning that really shakes me up.”
“You’re afraid?” the captain asked, a note of surprise in his voice. “You who have the courage to race?”
Alec smiled at the comparison but did not slow his strides. “A storm and a race are two different things,” he said, “calling for two different kinds of courage, if you wish to call it that. I’m afraid of lightning because I’ve seen too many animals killed in pasture by it, and my horse and I have had some terrible experiences in storms. They’re not easy to forget.”
“Then I wish you would stay,” the captain said hopefully. “You may be right about this storm. See how the thunderheads are coming this way!”
Alec glanced at the sky to the south, then back to meet the captain’s searching gaze. He wasn’t afraid of him any longer, but something brooded in those eyes. They held a hooded look, as if the man wanted something but would not divulge what it was.
Was it that he and the captain were wary and suspicious of each other, friendly but on guard? There was no doubt that the captain wanted him to stay, and perhaps that had been his intention when he’d shown him the old prints. But why did the captain want him there when it was evident that he was most happy alone? Otherwise, he would not be in such a remote place.
There was much Alec wanted to know but he had run out of time. Perhaps, as he’d told the captain, he’d come back another day. His strides lengthened until he was in a half-run. He wanted to reach his horse and get away immediately. It would give him time to decide whether or not he should return at all.
THE STORM
6
Thunder rolled and the fast-moving clouds began to blot out the afternoon sun. Alec ran faster toward the shed where he had left the Black. A storm at sea had brought him and his horse together and he’d never forget it. There had been other storms during his travels, almost as bad, and he knew how he reacted to them. It was not a softness he was ashamed of but an acceptance of a new way of life. His fear of storms was locked tightly inside him and he could do nothing about it.
“At least wait until the storm passes,” the captain said, running alongside.
“I think I’ll be able to make it.”
“As you wish,” the captain answered.
A ragged, violet lightning flash split the sky as they approached the shed. It shook them both and Alec could not hide the fear in his eyes.
“You’ll never be able to outride it,” the captain said. “You and your horse will be much safer under cover. It might well be over in a few minutes.”
Alec looked southward. The wind was increasing and lightning flashes were crackling over the saw-grass sea. If he started out and lost his sense of direction he’d really be in trouble. Yet if he stayed he doubted he’d be able to get away until very late. It did not look like the kind of storm that would be over in a few minutes.
His decision to remain was made just as another flash of lightning came from the cloud cover almost directly overhead. It was dead white, and Alec had no time to involuntarily duck his head or even collect his wits as a thunderbolt crashed, seemingly a few feet to his right. It roared in his ears as he and the captain made a mad dash for the shed doors.
A second blaze of lightning brightened the area when the captain pulled open the doors. “Vite, Alec, quickly, inside!” he shouted. They stepped inside and closed the doors behind them.
The Black nickered and Alec went to him quickly. Storms affected the Black just as they affected him; each offered the other solace at such times. Whenever possible, Alec was with him during a bad storm. His hand rubbed the muscled ridge of the Black’s neck.
There was another crash of thunder, and the light coming through the open window was eerie. Frequent flashes brightened the sky and Alec could see huge thunderheads marching up from the south.
“Rain should come soon now,” he said. “It might not be so bad then.”
The captain did not take his eyes from the window. “I smell no rain, only the electricity in the air,” he answered.
A spurt of violet fire brightened the shed and they saw a tall cabbage palm split in two and fall to the ground. There was another flash and still another. The earth and sky were being joined in flaming white charges while thunder crashed incessantly.
Alec’s fingers tightened on the Black’s mane. He could not tell his horse there was nothing to fear, that it was not like the first time. Actually it was worse, except that they were not in a ship at sea.
One did not forget a ship rolling helplessly in monstrous seas and raging winds while jarring cracks of lightning split her open. A dead ship, her engines long quiet, going deeper into the water.
“I have never known the fear of a storm,” the captain said quietly, as if intent on distracting Alec’s thoughts. “We circus people are used to all kinds of dangers, traveling and living in so many strange countries as we do. One must go where one can earn a living.”
Alec turned to him. He knew the captain’s words were meant to be warm and friendly, to get his mind off the storm. His fear must be quite apparent, then.
“Your mare must be a good traveler,” he said, willing to talk about anything that would pass the time.
“Oui, she has had to be,” the captain answered, “as it is with all circus animals. However, she is better than most, I believe. She is a seasoned traveler, very worldly indeed.”
The Black moved uneasily as a loud rumble of thunder shook the shed. Alec steadied him with his hands. The thunderheads seemed to be closer, pressing down upon the hammock. Still there was no rain—only the wind and lightning and thunder.
“Perhaps you don’t fear it because you have never known what a tropical storm is like,” Alec commented.
“Perhaps so, Alec,” the captain answered. “It is not often that we travel so far south. Usually we
are in Europe at this time of year. But in so much of the Continent today there is no time for the circus. In Germany, for example, the circus is almost dead. Perhaps it is due to television—or, perhaps, to there not being enough children. The circus is for children, you know. In Ireland last year it was very good. There is not much television in Ireland and there are many children.”
Amid the crashes of thunder, the lightning made the world of saw grass outside leap vividly into sight, with one green ball of fire after another brightening the darkness. It was weird and frightening. One lightning bolt missed the shed by what seemed like a few yards, and for a dizzy moment Alec felt the tingle of static electricity in his body.
He heard the captain’s voice and was astounded to find him still talking about his work.
“Do you think Americans will be pleased with my act?” the captain asked.
Alec was quick to note the slight hesitancy in his voice that betrayed his worldliness and contempt for the storm.
“I think they’ll like your mare very much,” he said. “Americans love horses and will appreciate one so well trained as yours.”
He had no sooner spoken than a great flash of lightning bathed the inside of the shed in an eerie garish light. He held his breath, expecting the earth to erupt beneath his feet; his hands tightened around the Black’s neck.
The roof of the shed toppled but was held from falling by two wooden beams.
Alec looked up at the sagging roof. “It’ll hold,” he said. “A tree must have fallen on it.”
When the captain spoke, his voice was charged with emotion he could not control. “It would take a man of iron not to fear such force as this,” he said shakily. “We are indeed in the hands of the gods.”
Alec turned to the window and watched the giant black thunderheads move overhead. He expected them to bring heavy rain and provide a respite from the fearful bolts of lightning. They marched by in what seemed to be never-ending columns and brought only a slight drizzle instead of the deluge he had expected. The lightning never lessened in its intensity. The saw-grass world was lit up with successive flashes, and Alec knew that if it did not rain, the Everglades might well be destroyed by fire from the bolts.
The Black Stallion's Ghost Page 5