Free The Black Stallion Legend by Walter Farley

lean, like a young panther.
    The boy hunter disappeared from view and Alec turned his gaze to the high country above, wondering if it was in that direction that he would find the Indian village. Up there the scrub gave way to tall trees, junipers, oaks and piñons. All were in shadow even though there were still several hours left of daylight.
    To the east, the desert would still be glistening in the brilliant rays of the sun. Alec’s horse was out there somewhere. Would he ever see him again?
    It was an hour before the Indian boy returned, carrying a dead rabbit in his hand. He waved it inAlec’s face but his eyes were on the eastern sky as he said, “Rain will come soon. We must move now.”
    With the boy’s help, Alec got to his feet and together they walked to an overhanging cliff. Beneath the cliff was a small campsite, high enough on the valley wall to give a view of the desert. The site had obviously been used often, for ashes of other fires remained in a small pit.
    Alec heard the coughing of thunder over the desert and looked toward it. Dark clouds climbed into the sky while lightning exploded within them like bombs.
    The boy had a fire going, burning bits of tree bark from his backpack. He said nothing but his black, shiny eyes seldom left Alec.
    A strong wind scurried ahead of the storm, meeting the cool air of the hills. The torrential rain would come soon.
    The boy said, “Rain is good for our land. It brings water to the arroyos. Water is wealth in the hills.”
    From their campsite, Alec could see the sheep quietly grazing below. All was very peaceful despite the ominous blackness over the desert.
    “What’s your name?” Alec asked after a long silence.
    “Alph.”
    “Mine’s Alec.”
    The boy sipped from another can of cola, then abruptly offered it to Alec.
    “Thanks,” Alec said, taking the cola. Drinking it, he felt as if he’d been put into a new world where he had begun his life all over again.
    The boy was watching Alec with his mouth wide open and grinning. Despite whatever suspicions he’d had at the beginning and the vast differences between them, it was evident to Alec that Alph wanted to talk to relieve his loneliness.
    While they were eating their meal of cooked rabbit and tortillas, the boy said curtly, if not viciously, “All this land is ours. You do not belong here. You cannot take it from us.”
    “I don’t want to take it from you.”
    “But your people do. They have big shovels digging up our mesas and canyons, taking our water.”
    “I have no part in it.”
    “Your people are killing us. My old father says so. He tells me everything about your oil, coal and gas companies. You destroy our grazing lands and leave us with nothing.”
    “They aren’t
my
companies.”
    “My old father tells me about your federal courts, even the Indian Bureau, which cannot be trusted. I go to no bureau school. I tend my sheep and listen to my old father, who is the wisest of all.”
    “Your father is chief of the clan?”
    “My
old
father is chief. He is the father of my father’s father. He is the oldest of all. He knows all. He says this world will be destroyed because many of our own people are as bad as your people. They lease our land. They make tourist junk and sell it to your people. They are brown outside but white inside. They have gone over the edge into your world. They see only your dollars. We will live. They will die.”
    Exhausted from his long, angry tirade, the Indianboy stopped and sat back on his haunches, his eyes searching Alec’s.
    Alec said nothing. Such accusations were similar to those of the world he had left behind. Was it no different here?
    Finally Alph spoke again, his voice more solemn than angry. “What has happened to the breed of white man?” he asked. “You take more from our land than you will ever need. You destroy the way it should be for all time. Why?”
    Alec had no answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “There are many things I don’t