The Black Stallion Mystery by Walter Farley Read Free Book Online Page B

becomes.”
    Henry couldn’t help saying, “Perhaps you’re looking forward to all this but what about your horse? How do you think he feels?”
    The big man smiled at Henry’s obvious sarcasm. “Come,” he said, “I’ll be glad to show you.”
    Alec stared at the man’s back. At the other end of the room María would remain at the foot of the crucifix until González returned safely from the ring. Alec looked at her and then followed the two men out the door.

B LACK D ANCE
6
    As they left the house Henry asked González, “Is the object of this to kill the bull before he kills you?”
    “No one gets killed, Henry,” the big man answered patiently. “Not the bull or my horse or
I
.” He shoved his round hat far back on his head, straining the red chin strap which cleaved deeply into his chin. “You must think of this as Art and not Sport. The beauty of it lies in the skill and agility with which my horse avoids the bull’s charge. I use my lance only when necessary as is done in the fields.”
    “And your horse enjoys this?” Henry snorted.
    The smile on González’ face disappeared. “You do not believe me?” he asked coldly. “As a trainer don’t you know it’s impossible to train a horse to love cruelty? You will see for yourself how willingly El Dorado faces the bull. He has no fear, having spent most of his life within the shadow of the herd. It is his life just as your horse has been trained to race.” He turned from Henry saying, “But you will see all this for yourself. There is no need to discuss it any further.”
    The sky had clouded and a fresh wind rippled the grass between the house and stableyard. From the private ring came the mutterings of the penned bulls. González cocked his head and eyes in its direction and then glanced skyward—nervously, Alec thought.
    The boy’s attention quickly left González, however, for silhouetted against the whitewashed wall of the bull ring was El Dorado! A herdsman stood at the head of the black horse holding a long wooden lance over his shoulder.
    Henry had seen the horse too for he glanced at Alec and each knew what the other was thinking. They were several hundred yards from El Dorado and closing the gap quickly. There was no question in their minds that this was
not
the sire of the yearlings they had seen in America. They would have staked their professional careers upon it.
    “Is that El Dorado?” Henry asked suspiciously.
    “Of course. There is no other like him in Spain. He is all horse.”
    They neared the stallion. There was no doubt that his midnight-black body carried a strain of Arabian blood from the highlands of Central Nejd. Alec and Henry had seen enough such horses in Arabia to know. And they knew he would have the courage to stand his ground before lions and tigers as well as bulls.
But El Dorado was no race horse and could have sired none!
His quarters were too huge and his hocks too let down and too far under him. They could picture him crouching upon his heavy muscled hindquarters, ready to leap into the air upon an unsuspecting enemy or performing some intricate movement of a finished
dressage
horse.They knew he could turn on a dime with the agility and grace of a fine dancer, that every movement would be as quick and sure and wily as a jungle cat’s. He had been bred to accomplish such feats and he would have stamped his colts
as his
in one way or another regardless of what mares he was bred to. But to be asked to believe that he could have sired race horses such as the yearlings they had seen was ridiculous! Why was González lying? And if El Dorado hadn’t sired the Sales yearlings, what stallion had?
    Neither Alec nor Henry asked these questions of the big man. They knew they wouldn’t get the truth. They stopped before El Dorado, noting the Arabian head with the enormous purple-brown eyes. His neck was short and bulging with muscle. Quality and courage stood out all over him.
    González placed a hand on the heavily