The Black Stallion's Ghost by Walter Farley

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.
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œI 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 longerdistrusted 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.
    â€œRacing 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.”
    â€œI suppose so. Neither is the work for timid souls.”
    â€œTimid?” 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.”
    â€œTimidity 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.
    â€œThis is supposed to be Pegasus?” he asked the captain.
    â€œ
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 didnot 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?”
    â€œPerhaps 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.”
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œ
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