The sailors gathered around him. “Is there someone else with you on this island?” the captain asked.

“Only the Black, sir.”

The men looked at one another, and then the captain spoke again, “Who’s the Black, son?” he asked.

“He’s a horse, sir,” Alec answered.

And then he told them his story—of the storm and the shipwreck, the hours spent in the raging sea holding desperately to the rope tied to the stallion’s neck, their fight against starvation on the island, his conquest of the Black, and the fire which that night had reduced his shelter to ashes. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he once again lived through the twenty days of hardships and suffering since the Drake had gone down.

When he had finished there was a moment of silence, and then one of the men spoke. “This lad is imagining things, Captain. What he needs is some hot food and a good bed!”

Alec looked from one face to another and saw that they didn’t believe him. Rage filled him. Why should they be so stupid? Was his story so fantastic? He’d prove it to them, then—he’d call the Black.

He raised his fingers to his lips and whistled. “Listen,” he shouted. “Listen!” The men stood still. A minute passed, and then another—only the waves lapping on the beach could be heard in the terrifying stillness of the island.

Then the captain’s voice came to him, “We have to go now, son. We’re off our course and way behind schedule.”

Dazed, Alec’s eyes turned from the island to the freighter lying at anchor, smoke belching from its two stacks. It was larger than the Drake.

The captain’s voice again broke through his thoughts. “We’re bound for South America—Rio de Janeiro is our first stop. We can take you there and radio your parents from the ship that you’re alive!”

The captain and Pat had him by the arms; the others were in the boat ready to shove off. Desperately Alec tried to collect his thoughts. He was leaving the island. He was leaving the Black. The Black—who had saved his life! He jerked himself free, he was running up the beach.

Their mouths wide open, the sailors watched him as he stumbled up the hill. They saw him reach the top and raise his fingers to his lips. His whistle reached them—then there was silence.

Suddenly, an inhuman scream shattered the stillness—a wild, terrifying call! Stunned, they stood still and the hairs on the backs of their necks seemed to curl. Then as if by magic, a giant black horse, his mane waving like flame, appeared beside the boy. The horse screamed again, his head raised high, his ears pricked forward. Even at this distance they could see that he was a tremendous horse—a wild stallion.

Alec flung his arms around the Black’s neck and buried his head in the long mane. “We’re leaving together, Black—together,” he said. Soothingly he talked to the stallion, steadying him. After a few minutes he descended the hill and the horse hesitatingly followed. He reared as they approached the sailors, his legs pawing in the air. The men scrambled into the boat; only Pat and the captain stood their ground. Fearfully they watched the Black as he strode toward them. He drew back; his black eyes glanced nervously from Alec to the group of men. Alec patted him, coaxed him. His action was beautiful, and every few steps he would jump swiftly to one side.