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Authors: Walter Farley
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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 wasquiet. 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?”
The big man nodded, hunching his shoulders still more as he thrust his hands into his pockets. Going to the door, he opened it and with Henry’s help lowered the mobile ramp from inside the plane.
Tired of his confinement the Black left the plane eagerly, his head held high and nostrils quivering. He listened to the long wail of a distant animal. There were no stars to be seen overhead, no moon, nothing butshadowy peaks and rocks and crags. The green and red lights of the plane blinked on and off.
Henry said angrily, “What’s this anyway, González? There’s nobody
“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 wasquiet. 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?”
The big man nodded, hunching his shoulders still more as he thrust his hands into his pockets. Going to the door, he opened it and with Henry’s help lowered the mobile ramp from inside the plane.
Tired of his confinement the Black left the plane eagerly, his head held high and nostrils quivering. He listened to the long wail of a distant animal. There were no stars to be seen overhead, no moon, nothing butshadowy peaks and rocks and crags. The green and red lights of the plane blinked on and off.
Henry said angrily, “What’s this anyway, González? There’s nobody
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