His fist opened. Lovingly he surveyed the pearl pocketknife he held there. The inscription on it was in gold: To Alec on his birthday, Bombay, India. He remembered, too, his uncle’s words: “A knife, Alec, comes in handy sometimes.”

Suddenly a large hand descended on his shoulder. “Well, m’boy, you’re on your way home,” a gruff voice said, with a decidedly English accent.

Alec looked up into the captain’s wrinkled, windtanned face. “Hello, Captain Watson,” he answered. “It’s rather a long way home, though, sir. To England with you and then to New York on the Majestic.”

“About four weeks’ sailing all in all, lad, but you look like a pretty good sailor.”

“I am, sir. I wasn’t sick once all the way over and we had a rough crossing, too,” Alec said proudly.

“When’d you come over, lad?”

“In June, sir, with some friends of my father’s. They left me with my uncle in Bombay. You know my Uncle Ralph, don’t you? He came aboard with me and spoke to you.”

“Yes, I know your Uncle Ralph. A fine man, too.… And now you’re going home alone?”

“Yes, sir! School opens next month and I have to be there.”

The captain smiled and took Alec by the arm. “Come along,” he said. “I’ll show you how we steer this ship and what makes it go.”

The captain and crew were kind to Alec, but the days passed monotonously for the homeward-bound boy as the Drake steamed its way through the Gulf of Aden and into the Red Sea. The tropic sun beat down mercilessly on the heads of the few passengers aboard.

The Drake kept near the coast of Arabia—endless miles of barren desert shore. But Alec’s thoughts were not on the scorching sand. Arabia—where the greatest horses in the world were bred! Did other fellows dream of horses the way he did? To him, a horse was the greatest animal in the world.

Then one day the Drake headed for a small Arabian port. As they approached the small landing, Alec saw a crowd of Arabs milling about in great excitement. Obviously it was not often that a boat stopped there.

But, as the gangplank went down with a bang, Alec could see that it wasn’t the ship itself that was attracting all the attention. The Arabs were crowding toward the center of the landing. Alec heard a whistle—shrill, loud, clear, unlike anything he had ever heard before. He saw a mighty black horse rear on its hind legs, its forelegs striking out into the air. A white scarf was tied across its eyes. The crowd broke and ran.

White lather ran from the horse’s body; his mouth was open, his teeth bared. He was a giant of a horse, glistening black—too big to be pure Arabian. His mane was like a crest, mounting, then falling low. His neck was long and slender, and arched to the small, savagely beautiful head. The head was that of the wildest of all wild creatures—a stallion born wild—and it was beautiful, savage, splendid. A stallion with a wonderful physical perfection that matched his savage, ruthless spirit.