“I’ll tell you the whole story later. I owe my life to him.”

His mother seemed to have regained control of herself. “But he’s so dangerous, son—he threw you down—” But she stopped, puzzled, as she met the calm, self-reliant look in the eyes of the boy who was holding the horse. This couldn’t be her son, the boy who had left her only five months ago!

“What are you going to do with him, now that you’ve got him?” asked his father.

“I don’t know, Dad, but I do know where I can keep him!” The words poured out of his mouth. He knew that he must convince his parents right now, once and for all, that the Black must be his—for keeps. “There’s that old barn in the old Halleran place up the street where the Daileys are living now. I’m sure they’d let me keep him there for almost nothing, and he’d have a whole acre of ground to graze in! I’ll work, Dad, after school, to make money to pay for his feed. Let me keep him, won’t you?”

“We’ll see, son,” said his father quietly. He smiled reassuringly at Alec’s mother. “We’ll take him home and see how it works out. Only remember, Alec, he’s your responsibility—yours to take care of and yours to feed. You’ve got a big job on your hands. I’ll see to it that he gets to Flushing, but from then on it’s up to you!”

A young man made his way cautiously around the Black and walked up to them. He carried a camera in one hand, with the other he removed his hat, disclosing hair as black as the stallion’s body. “Pardon me,” he said to Alec, “I’m Joe Russo of the Daily Telegram. I’d like to take a few pictures and get your story. I understand you’re the only survivor of the Drake that went down off the coast of Portugal.”

Alec pointed to the Black. “He was there, too,” he said.

“Say, this is a story!” Joe Russo exclaimed. “You mean that horse was on the boat, too?”

“Yes,” Alec answered. “He certainly was.”

“What happened when the boat sank?” Joe asked, genuinely interested. He wrote hastily with his pencil.

“It’s too long to tell you now,” Alec replied. “Besides there is so much to be done around here.…” He turned to the Black, who was moving restlessly.

“Let me help you with him,” Joe said with all the persistence of a young reporter. “You’re going to need a van to get him home, and I think I know where I can get one. Then later on you can give me the whole story!”

“Okay,” Alec said, grateful for any assistance with the immediate problem of getting the Black home.

NAPOLEON
8

An hour later Alec led the Black into a covered truck that Joe Russo had secured to carry him home. His mother had gone ahead, driving the family car. “You won’t get me to ride with that horse!” she had said. His father sat in front with Joe Russo and the driver. Alec, afraid to leave the Black alone, stood in the rear with him. The stallion snorted as the truck began to move into the street. His eyes were still covered with the sweater.