The Black Stallion

The Black Stallion by Walter Farley

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Authors: Walter Farley
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fought for supremacy. The Black shrieked—louder than Alec had ever heard him before. His strength and experience were slowly overpowering the chestnut. His striking hoofs swept the chestnut stallion off his feet, and he fell to the dock. The Black went high in the air and his hoofs came down on top of him. Alec closed his eyes. A moment later the Black’s scream again came to his ears.
    He saw the Black standing over the chestnut, his eyes blazing, his body streaked with blood and with lather. What would he do next?
    The Black’s head turned toward the group of horses gathered in the corner. Majestically he strode toward them. They neighed nervously, but none moved. Slowly the black stallion walked around them—his eyes piercing, triumphant.
    Alec followed him. He heard voices yelling at him, “Keep away, boy, keep away till he calms down!” But he kept walking. The Black turned and saw him.
    The stallion stopped still. Alec came closer. The huge black body was torn and bleeding, but his head was high, his mane flowing. Alec watched his eyes—he had learned much from the stallion’s eyes. He saw a little of the wildness leave them. His nostrils stopped trembling. Alec spoke to him softly.
    A minute passed, then another. He picked up the rope, still attached to the Black’s halter. He drew up the slack and then pulled gently. The stallion’s head turned toward him. He hesitated a moment, and then turned back to the other horses. Alec waited patiently while the stallion surveyed his newly acquired band. Then he looked again at Alec. It seemed to Alec as if he was trying to make up his mind between them. He took a few more steps toward the horses—then he turned and walked quietly toward the boy.
    Shouts of astonishment broke out among the sailors. Alec attempted to lead the stallion toward the gangplank. The Black stopped and turned his head once again toward the horses. For a minute he gazed at them. The ship’s whistle blew. Alec pulled a littleharder. “Come on, Black,” he said. Another minute passed, and then the stallion turned again.
    The sailors fell away as they approached. When they reached the gangplank, Alec looked over his shoulder and saw a crowd gathering around the chestnut, who was slowly climbing to his feet. The man was running his hands over the horse’s legs. Then he walked him—the chestnut seemed to be all right. Alec was glad—for even though the chestnut had started the fight, it might have meant staying behind if the Black had hurt him seriously.
    Up the plank they went—onto the ship. One sailor, more courageous than the rest, called to Alec, “Follow me, kid—down this way!” He led the way to a box stall, and then moved a safe distance away.
    Alec led the Black into the stall, took off the halter, and spread the bedding around. He filled a pail full of water. The sailor brought him the antiseptic he’d asked for. He was young, not much older than Alec, and his face was filled with wonder. “I never in my life saw anything like that,” he said.
    “Neither did I,” answered Alec. He felt the Black’s legs and sides. “It would be swell if you could get me some clean cloths,” he said. “I have to be careful of these cuts.”
    “Sure thing!” the sailor answered. “We’re shoving off in a few minutes, but I’ll be back with ’em as soon as I can.”

H OME
7
    Alec heard the ship’s whistle give three short blasts. The last horse came into the hold, shying nervously as he passed the Black’s stall. The stallion reached his great head out over the door, his ears pricked forward, and his eyes moving from stall to stall.
    The boat trembled as the engines began to turn over. Alec bent down to wet the cloth in his hand. “It won’t be long now,” he thought. Carefully he cleaned a deep cut in the Black’s side where the chestnut had kicked him. He felt the stallion quiver as the antiseptic entered the wound. He was so big and powerful. Would he prove too much for

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