The Black Stallion Mystery (7 page)

The big man’s heart pounded a little faster. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come to the middle of the ring so soon, he thought. But before he had time to change his mind the black bull charged again. El Dorado jumped as the ivory-smooth horns reached for his underbelly. González used his lance, toppling over the bull.

The big man rode El Dorado to the
barrera
, breathing
hard. He was angry, not with the bull or his horse, but with himself. He’d been caught unprepared. He had had to use the pole like a common herder to protect himself and his horse. He must do better!

He took a long, deep breath as the bull charged again. This was a master bull,
a toro de bandera
, one of the best he’d ever raised! Eagerly González swung his horse around, leading the bull in a crazy, twisting run that brought the beast closer and closer to rider and horse. As the bull tired, González let him come only a hair’s-breadth away before avoiding his charge.

Satisfied as he now was with his work, González had another worry on his mind—the weather. He glanced nervously up at the sky, which was still overcast and held the promise of rain. It was not a good omen. Neither was the wind, which began whipping the Spanish flag on the pole at the northern end of the ring. Even as these thoughts ran through his mind several drops of rain struck his hands and trickled off. The wind ruffled the sand around his mount’s hoofs. Soon the footing would be wet and slippery. He’d better not work as close to the bull as before. He called to the bull across the ring, “Whuh-hey! Whuh-hey!”

Yet despite his shrill challenge, the big man nervously unbuttoned the top button of his jacket to touch the gold chain and cross about his neck. He pulled down his old leather hat with the red chin strap as the drops turned into a thinly driving sheet of rain. Then, tightening his legs about El Dorado, he rode forward to meet the bull.

Behind the
barrera
Alec’s gaze shifted uneasily from the man and horse to the leaden sky and then back to the bull. The spectacle in the ring was unlike anything he’d ever seen before and he wished that it were over. The rain should have put an end to it, but how could such an encounter be called off? Who was to tell the bull that it was over?

Alec watched the beast standing in the center of the ring. He was breathing hard but he held his head high and his small eyes never left the man and horse. His lust to kill seemed greater than ever.

Alec was glad of the strong wooden
barrera
that shielded him from the bull. How must González feel? He’d seen the big man glance nervously at the sky and touch the gold cross before riding forward. Was González becoming less confident as the bull became wiser in his ways of attack? If so, couldn’t he have the
toril
door opened so the bull might leave the ring?

The horse moved toward the bull, his hoofbeats
steady and confident. At a touch of rein and leg he jumped nimbly away when the bull charged, turning with the bull as the black beast slid and twisted past him in the sand. Then he kept close to the bull, avoiding the horns by sidestepping and allowing his opponent no distance to charge. Finally he swept around the bull and crossed the arena.

The bull wheeled around after the horse but didn’t follow him. Instead, he stood quietly in the center of the ring for several minutes. Then he came on again, his head low and driving. But before his horns could scoop the horse into the air El Dorado was gone.

The thin rain had turned into a downpour. Once more the bull stood his ground quietly, watching horse and rider with his tail swaying back and forth. When he finally swept into action, he did not charge in a straight line as before. Instead he moved to the left with the horse, the curve of his horns swinging up in a semicircle and missing El Dorado’s hindquarters by inches. He was learning to fight in the ring, to go with his target rather than to lower his head and charge blindly by instinct.

Alec glanced at González and saw immediately that the big man was visibly shaken by his narrow escape. Alec himself was sickened by the whole business. The duel had become almost too terrible to watch and he wanted to leave but these final desperate minutes held a compulsion for him that he couldn’t shake off. He felt nothing but pity for the man in the ring. González needed help. Was that why he was staying? Alec asked himself. To lend a hand if something happened? He stole a quick look at Henry, whose face was ashen. It told more plainly than
words how he too felt about the drama that was being enacted.

Rain splattered from González’ hat as he looked down at the sand. There was no point in going on, the big man decided. The bull had learned too fast and too well, and El Dorado was slipping. He glanced past the bull to the red
toril
door, signaling to have it opened.

The herdsman above the door shouted, “Whuh-hey, Toro! Whuh-hey!”

But the bull did not turn toward the herdsman or the open door. His eyes remained on the horse and rider. After a few seconds he charged again.

González scowled with the coming of the bull and touched his horse nervously. He watched the bull turn with El Dorado and lower his head. Bracing himself in his right stirrup, González took aim with his lance and struck hard at the bull, but he jabbed too soon. The blunt end of the pole struck the bull high on the withers and slid off without stopping him. El Dorado reared just in time to avoid the horns that swept beneath his forelegs. Hooking suddenly to the right with his head held high, the bull whipped the pole out of González’ hand. It fell to the sand as the horse whirled away and the bull turned, renewing the attack.

As González twisted in his saddle his hat flew off and landed in the wet sand. He rode across the ring as if to use the open door himself, but the bull quickly blocked his way. Breathing hard, González brought El Dorado to a stop, his eyes upon the bull—and they were suddenly filled with fear.

Whatever emotion or impulse had driven the big man to fight brave bulls had run dry, and his fear was
quickly transferred to his mount. Where only minutes before strength had flowed between horse and rider nothing was left now but sheer terror. Both sought escape from the ring and the bull.

González rode cautiously along the
barrera
trying to go around the bull. His seat and hands were those of a careless rider wanting to bend close to the neck of his horse and
run away
.

Across the ring the black bull bided his time as if he knew he was in complete control. His eyes were afire, brightening more and more as the annoying calls of the herdsman above the open door rang in his small ears. Finally he lowered his wide horns and charged the horse.

An icy terror froze Alec as he watched the bull sweep through pools of rain water. Thunder rolled from the clouds, drowning out the beat of his hoofs. It was the forked lightning streaking the sky that shattered Alec’s immobility. The boy’s hands moved across the top of the
barrera
. He saw González make a desperate effort to avoid the circle of horns and El Dorado rearing and coming down close to the
barrera
. The bull slipped in his eagerness to reach the horse and fell to both knees. El Dorado stumbled against him and almost went down. The force of the impact sent González forward in his saddle; frantically the man sought something to hold on to but found himself clutching at the air. As Alec pulled himself over the
barrera
González was thrown upon the black haunches of the bull and then slid to the ring.

While Henry screamed at him, Alec took several running strides across the wet arena. He picked up the large round hat and thrust it in the bull’s face, shouting at González to jump the fence.

As the bull struggled to his feet in the mud and slime, he butted the leather hat, almost tearing it from Alec’s grasp. By this time El Dorado had already swept through the open
toril
door and González was waiting for Alec before climbing the
barrera
.

Just then the sharp horns pierced the hat and tossed it up in the air. It landed between the bull’s black forehoofs. Luckily the bull went for the hat again rather than for the boy. While Alec rushed to the fence the bull lowered his head and slashed at the hat until it lay in shreds.

Later Alec and Henry stood quietly in González’ bedroom waiting for the big man to speak. María, who was also present, didn’t need to be told what had happened in the ring. She had only to look at the man’s eyes. They were hurt and ashamed.

“You cheated Death today,” she said. “You may not be so lucky again. There will not always be someone in the
barrera
brave enough to rescue you.”

Irritated, González said sharply, “Go about your work, María. I do nothing that is not of my own choosing.”

The woman did not leave. From outside came the barking of dogs in the silence of early evening. In the distance could be heard the tinkle of cattle bells and the occasional bellow of a big bull.

Alec turned from the open window to the man. He lay there in bed, listless and worn out and uninterested in everything, his eyes dull and staring at the ceiling. Except for the shaking up he had suffered when the bull heaved up beneath him he had not been hurt.

What if those curved horns had found their mark? Alec wondered. He would never forget the fiery eyes and the flared nostrils as the bull had gone for the lure instead of González or himself. But even more vividly he recalled the previous night when death had seemed imminent time and time again. He wanted no more of the black bulls.

Henry had gone over to the bed. “You owe Alec a lot,” he said quietly to Angel González.

“I know that.”

“Enough to tell him who sired those colts? It wasn’t El Dorado.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Alec moved over to the bed, as surprised as Henry by the man’s ready confession. He waited for González to go on.

“Then what stallion was it?” Henry persisted.

“I’ll take you there. I was told to expect you … although not quite as soon as this.”

“By whom?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. It is only a few hours’ flight.”

“To where?”

“That too you shall learn presently.” González turned to the woman. “María, call Luis. Tell him we fly to the Pass tonight.” His dark gaze returned to Henry. “That is, unless you’d rather not go?”

“We’ll go,” Henry answered without consulting Alec. “Don’t worry about that none.”

“I’m not worrying,” the big man said. “I’m not worrying at all. I’ve been there many times.”

The giant aircraft wailed in the night, its four engines straining against a strong headwind. Except for a few small lights the cabin was dark. Alec stood beside the Black’s stall, his hand on the stallion while Henry sat in a nearby bucket seat.

“He’s getting to be a flying horse,” Alec said, trying to sound casual.

The trainer’s face was pressed close to a window despite the pitch-blackness of the night. A fork of lightning shattered the darkness and Henry groaned. “Lucky for us we didn’t leave him behind,” he said. “This is no short trip of a few hours like González said.”

“How long’s it been?” Alec asked.

“I don’t know. My watch has stopped. But it should be daylight before long.”

A roll of thunder rocked the aircraft and then a heavy sheet of rain began to beat against the window. “It’s not so pretty out there,” Henry commented.

Alec rubbed the Black’s neck. The stallion was
quiet. There was nothing to worry about. Not yet, at any rate. “Have you been able to make out what we’re flying over?” he asked.

“Not now. There was water for a while, plenty of it. Maybe we’re crossing the Atlantic again,” Henry suggested with feigned lightness.

“More likely the Mediterranean Sea,” Alec said, going to the window. He waited for the lightning to strike again and when it did he thought he could make out mountains below. Down there big and little things seemed to merge, but at least he knew they were no longer over water. Turning to Henry, he said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if we were over Italy and going on.”

“Have it
your
way then,” the trainer retorted, still attempting light humor. “It’s as good a direction as mine.”

They closed their eyes, hoping the time would pass more quickly, and finally they dozed fitfully. When they awakened the rain had stopped and the plane was descending. Towering and jagged mountain peaks rose outside the windows, and suddenly they felt more alone than ever. They shivered as with cold and the aircraft went through a heavy layer of rolling clouds.

A few minutes later the night was clear again and they looked below for the flickering lights of a city or village or house. They saw only the jagged mountains surrounding them on all sides. The Black snorted and thunder rolled again. As the plane flew lower its engines whined louder than ever.

Henry said, “They’re buzzing somebody down there.” He peered into the swelling blackness. “Where do you think we are anyway? Not that it matters.”

“Maybe the Balkans.”

“Why there?”

Alec didn’t answer.

There was a sickening drop to the aircraft, then a distinct braking of the wing flaps as they went into a steep glide. The plane was landing somewhere. Alec reached for the Black’s halter.

Now the jagged rock and pointed crags were very close. The plane shot past a gleaming waterfall and went on, dropping lower and lower until a narrow pass or rift between two lofty mountains could be seen.

“The Pass,” Alec said as the plane swept through it.

“I guess this is it then,” Henry agreed.

There was a slight screech of rubber tires finding hard ground. The aircraft rolled almost to a stop, turned, and taxied for another mile before the engines were shut off. Then there was complete silence.

Alec and Henry put their faces to the window but could see only looming shadows. Angel González joined them without a word. His heavy figure was stooped and he looked suddenly like an old man.

Henry looked at him strangely and asked, “We’re to get off here?”