Free The Black Stallion Mystery by Walter Farley

more than the flying dust and dirt that peppered his face. He talked to the Black, seeking solace in his horse.
    They waited in strained silence, but as the sun rose so did their spirits. The wind, too, quit blowing so hard. Yet as more time passed and still no one came to meet them, they began to feel imprisoned and trapped. Theyexchanged steady looks, each seeking to read a means of escape in the other’s eyes.
    “It’s early yet,” Alec said.
    “It’s been a long time,” Henry countered. “We’d better go. We can try to find somebody or at least a sign of somebody havin’ been here before … maybe tracks even.”
    “Which way?” Alec asked.
    “Whichever way he’ll take us,” and Henry gestured in the Black’s direction. “This is wild country, but we have a horse who knows the wild. We’ll let him show us the way. If there are other horses around he’ll find them.”
    They turned to watch the tall stallion and listened to the familiar sound of his teeth tearing the grass. At that moment nothing interested the Black so much as his own hunger. Soon, though, he would scent the wind. Stretched before him was a maze of gorges, ravines, canyons and washes. Which path would he choose and where would it lead them?

B LACK W IND
9
    The Black raised his head, suddenly restless and alert. The wind blew in gusts and despite the climbing sun the morning continued to be icy cold. Alec went to his horse, cupping the Black’s muzzle in both hands for warmth and comfort.
    Henry said, “Send him on his way. See if he doesn’t lead us to some tracks.”
    Alec set the stallion’s head into the mountain wind. “Let’s go, black horse,” he said, watching the ears.
    As he walked beside the Black, his confidence returned. It might take a little time, he told himself, but they’d find their way to safety. Only when he lifted his gaze to the unreal shape of the peaks looming above did he have any doubts. He frowned as his eyes squinted into the blaze of the morning sun and suddenly he felt terribly
alone
beneath the vastness of the mountains and sky. His hand tightened on the Black’s leather lead shank.
    The stallion turned to the north of the sun, andsoon he began snorting and neighing, talking the language of the wild.
A few moments later they came to a road leading from the valley
.
    “What’d I tell you!” Henry said, running forward.
    The fine dirt and dust were marked with the hoofprints of many horses. Henry studied the edges of the prints and said, “They’re pretty old.”
    “Perhaps made by the Sales yearlings?” Alec asked.
    “Could be,” Henry answered. “They’re light enough.”
    Alec pointed down the road. “Look, Henry, wheel marks!”
    They studied the deep marks in the soft ground. “A carriage or a wagon,” Henry said, “and a heavy one. The hoofprints here are different, too. These were made by heavier horses and more recently.”
    They followed the winding tracks up the side of a mountain, stopping often to reexamine the ground. It was deathly quiet except for the pull of the Black’s hoofs in the earth. The sun climbed higher and reddened their faces. By midmorning they came to a small plateau where a rushing stream broke the stillness. Here the Black paused, drinking for a long while and without hurry. And here, too, in the soft banks of the stream, were the marks of many hoofprints.
    “Let’s eat something,” Henry said, opening the saddlebag which hung loosely across the stallion’s back.
    Grasshoppers jumped from beneath the Black’s hoofs. A bird circled lazily above them, and in the distance they heard the loud wail of an animal. A bit of dried meat and beans … How long was this foodsupposed to last them? Alec wondered, chewing thoughtfully.
    “Might as well get going,” Henry said impatiently when they had finished.
    The Black paced into the high, bright sun, glad to be on his way again. The narrow road went winding and twisting upward, often offering no