“But, Henry,” Alec interrupted, “he isn’t a registered thoroughbred. There are no papers … we know so little about where he came from or anything. If they won’t let us race him any more because no one knows who his sire and dam were, I don’t see how anyone could use him for stud either and get away with it.”

“Some folks might be able to get around it,” Henry answered. “But let me finish. Now whether or not anyone could get around the lack of registration papers for the Black is beside the point. Nobody tried to steal the Black … they tried to kill him; or at least that’s what I think we’ll find when we’ve had this stuff analyzed.” His gaze shifted to the hypodermic needle, then back to Alec. “Why would anyone want to kill the Black?”

“Hey, Henry, I don’t see how anyone could be that cruel.…” Then a vivid picture flashed before Alec: that of the small Arabian port where they had docked on his way home from visiting Uncle Ralph in India and where he had first seen the Black. Again he was looking down from the deck of the old freighter, Drake, and beholding a sight that made his body tremble with anger: the glistening black horse, too big to be pure Arabian, high on his hind legs; forelegs striking furiously in the air; white lather running from his body. And around his savage head was tied a scarf, covering his eyes. Two ropes led from the halter and four natives were attempting to pull him toward the ship. Standing behind the stallion was a dark-skinned man wearing a white turban. In his hand he held a hard whip, which he raised menacingly. Then he let the whip fall on the Black’s hindquarters and the stallion screamed. It was unlike anything Alec had ever heard before; it rose to a high-pitched whistle, the cry of a wild, unbroken stallion! He bolted, and if Alec had ever seen hate expressed by a horse, he had seen it then. The stallion struck one of the men holding the rope; he went down and lay in a still, lifeless heap. Eventually they had gotten the giant horse on the ship and in his stall.

Alec looked at Henry and realized the old man knew what he had been thinking. “You believe it might have been the man on the boat? Is that what you mean, Henry?”

“Could be, Alec.”

“But the storm, shipwreck … he was drowned. I saw him go down with my own eyes.”

“And his name wasn’t listed among the survivors?” Henry asked.

“No … there were only a few, as you know.”

“The last you saw of him was when he fell overboard … that right, Alec?”

“He didn’t exactly fall, Henry. He jumped for an already filled lifeboat and missed … he didn’t have a life jacket and there was such a sea that I couldn’t see him after that. A few minutes later the Drake cracked up and I was in the water, too. I saw the Black and the rope on his halter and grabbed it. The next thing I knew I was on the island. You know the rest.…”