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Authors: Walter Farley
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hoofprints that were there. Finally one said, “Take a look, Milt, these are the last ones we’re goin’ to see of his.”
The other man said nothing, only raising his head to look ahead at the desolate and tortuous terrain: miles upon miles of bare, gutted rock, spreading into the great woods where no horse, not even a shod one, would leave a track.
“He’s gone to the north, all right,” the first man spoke again, “just like they thought.”
Picking up his rifle, the other turned. “Come on, Luke. We ain’t goin’ on with no tracks to follow. We’ll go back and tell ’em so. Let someone else decide what to do. We gets paid to track.”
“An’ there ain’t no tracks no more,” Luke said, following.
The airliner was hours out of New York City, yet no word had passed between Henry Dailey and Alec’s father. The tragic news, coming early that morning, had drained them spiritually and emotionally. They were two old men and there was nothing left for either without Alec.
Henry put his hand on Mr. Ramsay’s knee. “We’ve got to believe he’s alive,” he said.
“Do
you
believe it, Henry?” Mr. Ramsay’s words could hardly be heard. “The reporters … they said the search has been going on since last night.” His trembling hands went to his face to cover it, and sobs racked his long, thin body.
“We got to believe he’s alive. We got to.” Henry was silent for a long time, but his hand never left his friend’s knee. Finally he said, “Remember, Alec’s got the Black with him. Remember that, Bill.”
Mr. Ramsay’s voice was muffled by his hands, but Henry heard him say, “Thank God for that. Thank God. It’s our only hope.” Then his hands came away, and his glazed eyes found Henry’s. Bitterness crept into his voice. “But why did he take Alec away? Why didn’t Alec stay in the plane? Why?”
Henry couldn’t face those eyes. He turned away. “I don’t know, Bill. The horse was in bad trouble. A colic attack, from what I can make out of what the reporters told us. Maybe Alec was trying to help him after the plane came down. I don’t know.”
Neither said anything more. The sky darkened with the swift coming of night,
another
night. Henry tried to close his ears to the sobs from the seat beside him.
I’ve got to keep believing they’re alive
, he told himself.
If I don’t I’m goin’ to be no good to them or myself. They’re out there tonight, alive, and waiting to be found. They’re out there
together.
Remember that, and I’ll be all right. They’re together
.
But the Black was spending his second night highon a southern range, many miles away from where they were looking for him. Still farther to the south, and in another state, Alec Ramsay was awakening from his long sleep in the back of the rumbling trailer truck.
T HE L ONG N IGHT
6
The truck swerved abruptly, throwing Alec against a corner of one of the wooden boxes. He felt the wheels leave the road, riding crazily on what must have been soft and deep-rutted shoulders, and then the truck began slowing down. He got his feet beneath him, but before standing he touched the swelling on his head again. It was sore and throbbing, but the severe pain was gone. His sleep had helped. How long had he been riding? It wasn’t important.
All that mattered was that he was afraid to ask himself,
Who am I? What has happened to me?
He was afraid because he knew he still did not know the answers. And just now he did not want to disturb this peace, this comfort which came with the relief from his violent pain. So he thought only of the slowing truck, and pulled himself upright.
Opening the back canvas, he looked out into the night, its darkness broken only by the white road that trailed like a ribbon. On either side of it weremountains. The same mountains, the same night, he believed. The truck came to a stop, and he raised a foot to the boards. He felt the severe pain again as he pulled his body upward. He tore his lips
The other man said nothing, only raising his head to look ahead at the desolate and tortuous terrain: miles upon miles of bare, gutted rock, spreading into the great woods where no horse, not even a shod one, would leave a track.
“He’s gone to the north, all right,” the first man spoke again, “just like they thought.”
Picking up his rifle, the other turned. “Come on, Luke. We ain’t goin’ on with no tracks to follow. We’ll go back and tell ’em so. Let someone else decide what to do. We gets paid to track.”
“An’ there ain’t no tracks no more,” Luke said, following.
The airliner was hours out of New York City, yet no word had passed between Henry Dailey and Alec’s father. The tragic news, coming early that morning, had drained them spiritually and emotionally. They were two old men and there was nothing left for either without Alec.
Henry put his hand on Mr. Ramsay’s knee. “We’ve got to believe he’s alive,” he said.
“Do
you
believe it, Henry?” Mr. Ramsay’s words could hardly be heard. “The reporters … they said the search has been going on since last night.” His trembling hands went to his face to cover it, and sobs racked his long, thin body.
“We got to believe he’s alive. We got to.” Henry was silent for a long time, but his hand never left his friend’s knee. Finally he said, “Remember, Alec’s got the Black with him. Remember that, Bill.”
Mr. Ramsay’s voice was muffled by his hands, but Henry heard him say, “Thank God for that. Thank God. It’s our only hope.” Then his hands came away, and his glazed eyes found Henry’s. Bitterness crept into his voice. “But why did he take Alec away? Why didn’t Alec stay in the plane? Why?”
Henry couldn’t face those eyes. He turned away. “I don’t know, Bill. The horse was in bad trouble. A colic attack, from what I can make out of what the reporters told us. Maybe Alec was trying to help him after the plane came down. I don’t know.”
Neither said anything more. The sky darkened with the swift coming of night,
another
night. Henry tried to close his ears to the sobs from the seat beside him.
I’ve got to keep believing they’re alive
, he told himself.
If I don’t I’m goin’ to be no good to them or myself. They’re out there tonight, alive, and waiting to be found. They’re out there
together.
Remember that, and I’ll be all right. They’re together
.
But the Black was spending his second night highon a southern range, many miles away from where they were looking for him. Still farther to the south, and in another state, Alec Ramsay was awakening from his long sleep in the back of the rumbling trailer truck.
T HE L ONG N IGHT
6
The truck swerved abruptly, throwing Alec against a corner of one of the wooden boxes. He felt the wheels leave the road, riding crazily on what must have been soft and deep-rutted shoulders, and then the truck began slowing down. He got his feet beneath him, but before standing he touched the swelling on his head again. It was sore and throbbing, but the severe pain was gone. His sleep had helped. How long had he been riding? It wasn’t important.
All that mattered was that he was afraid to ask himself,
Who am I? What has happened to me?
He was afraid because he knew he still did not know the answers. And just now he did not want to disturb this peace, this comfort which came with the relief from his violent pain. So he thought only of the slowing truck, and pulled himself upright.
Opening the back canvas, he looked out into the night, its darkness broken only by the white road that trailed like a ribbon. On either side of it weremountains. The same mountains, the same night, he believed. The truck came to a stop, and he raised a foot to the boards. He felt the severe pain again as he pulled his body upward. He tore his lips
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