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head.
    When they had reached the gate, the pier official said to Alec, “Take him through, kid, and get goin’. Lots of other stuff comin’ off that tub.”
    Winking at Alec, Henry moved over beside him.
    “He’s it, Henry!” Alec almost shouted. “He’s everything we hoped for. I know he is. I can feel it right here in his muzzle even!”
    “Y’keep a good hold of it,” Henry cautioned. “There’s enough noise and commotion around here to drive any horse loco, let alone this one. Keep over here, Alec, away from those trucks.”
    The colt tried to rear, and dragged Alec a short way; then the boy had him under control again. But the colt’s ears still lay back, and his eyes continued to blaze.
    And it was his eyes that Henry looked at more and more often as they walked along. They were smaller than his sire’s, and the glare from them was fixed and stony. They bothered Henry. For throughout his life theold trainer had prided himself on being able to tell much about a horse from his eyes. And he didn’t like what he saw in the black colt’s. Too much lurked there … craftiness, cunning, viciousness, yes … and something else, too. Something which Henry couldn’t figure out. Something which he could only feel … and it was sinister. He’d never seen it in the eyes of any horse before, even the Black. And he wondered if, possibly, this colt could be a throwback to his wild forebears … horses who had roamed the desert and the little-known lands beyond the Rub‘ al Khali, arrogant and ruthless, fearing neither man nor beast and harboring a savage, smoldering hatred of both.
    Alec was talking half to himself, half to Henry. “Every inch of him is the Black,” he muttered. “Every last inch of him. He’s going to have the same broad chest and long, slender neck.” Turning to Henry, he said excitedly, “Look at the arch on that neck, Henry. And the small head! And he’s going to be big! You can tell that by his frame, Henry. Big! Like the Black!”
    Henry didn’t say anything. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t going to be so easy after all … as easy as he’d told Mr. Ramsay it was going to be. Those eyes did something to the colt.
    Tearing his gaze from the black colt, Alec looked at Henry quizzically. His friend’s face was sober, thoughtful. It was strange that Henry was so quiet. This is the son of the Black! he almost shouted. His horse! The beginning of everything! Alec found himself wondering again. Had Henry changed, now that he was a big-time trainer again? Had he seen too many of Boldt’s fine colts to become excited over any othercolt? But this was not just another colt. Certainly Henry knew that!
    Alec studied Henry’s face as the old man walked beside him, his square jaw shoved out like a toy bulldog’s, the furrows in his wrinkled brow deeper than Alec had ever seen them. Something was wrong, Alec knew. Was it that Henry wanted to continue working for Boldt rather than go through with their plans? Did he regret having signed only a year’s contract with Boldt, instead of the three-year contract the wealthy race horse owner had offered? Alec knew his present contract would terminate in two months; they’d planned it that way so Henry would be free just in case the horse did arrive. Was that what was bothering Henry? Did he want to renew his contract with Boldt, and make big money instead of going through with the original plans? Plans that could fail if the colt didn’t have the speed of his sire?
    Alec’s face was tense as he turned back to his horse. The colt swerved, attempting to break away, but Alec’s grip was firm and he brought him back. If that’s what Henry wanted, he thought, he wouldn’t stand in his way. But somehow he’d raise and train the colt himself, and the day would come when Boldt, Henry and everyone else would know the speed of his horse.
    They neared the van. Alec saw his father standing there, with Sebastian straining at his leash to get to