Another week passed. Alec’s mother left to visit her sister in Chicago. The match race was only one week off.

Alec felt a little discouraged as he made his way toward the barn early one morning to give the Black a workout before he went to school. Time was growing short—if they only had another two weeks …

He met Tony coming out of the barn with Napoleon.

“Hello, young fella,” he said. “Ah, thees is da life.” He pounded his short, stocky arms against his chest and breathed in the early morning air.

“Yeah,” Alec said. “Sure is, Tony.”

Tony backed Napoleon into his wagon and started harnessing him up. “What’s-a da matter, young fella? You look kinda down in da dumps.”

“I’m all right, Tony,” Alec answered. “Guess I was just thinking.”

“Too much-a thinkin’ doesn’t do nobody good,” Tony said wisely as he climbed into the seat.

“Guess you’re right, Tony. See you later.”

“You betcha,” came the reply.

Alec led the Black out of his stall and went over him with a soft cloth. Then he snapped the long lead rope on his halter and led him out into the early morning sunshine. The stallion ran around the boy, kicking his heels high into the air. Then he came closer and playfully tried to nip Alec. “Feeling pretty good this morning, aren’t you?” Alec asked.

A few minutes later he threw the saddle on him and rode him into the field. Somehow he always felt different when he was astride the Black. It was like being in a world all his own. Forgotten were his problems, the city around him—it was like flying in the clouds.

A half-hour later he slipped down from the stallion’s back and led him back into the barn. He had just finished feeding him when Henry came in. “I’m almost late for school, Henry,” Alec said. “Would you mind giving him the once-over with the cloth—?” He stopped as he saw a wide grin on Henry’s face.

“Sure,” Henry said, “but read this before you go, lad!” He handed Alec the morning paper.

Alec turned quickly to Jim Neville’s column. His heart seemed to stop when he read the headline: MYSTERY HORSE TO RUN IN CHICAGO MATCH RACE. He swelled all up inside, and for a minute he couldn’t see the paper—then it became clear again.

“Yesterday,” Jim Neville wrote, “I received one of the most sporting letters that I have ever had the pleasure to receive. It was from Mr. E. L. Hurst, owner of Cyclone. His letter was short and to the point. He suggested that since the match race to be held in Chicago next week is just for the good of racing and the proceeds are all going to charity, he saw no reason why my mystery horse should not run against his horse and Sun Raider. Mr. Hurst said that he sincerely believed that Cyclone had never been pushed as fast as he could go, and there was no horse on earth that he feared. If the owner of the mystery horse believed that his horse could beat Cyclone, he would not object to his trying as long as it was also satisfactory to Mr. C. T. Volence, owner of Sun Raider.