The Black Stallion by Walter Farley

find him before the early morning golfers start coming out,” he said.
    When they reached the middle of the fairway, Henry stopped. “You’d better go in the direction of that wood over there,” he said. “I’ll go down this fairway a piece toward that hill. If either of us finds him, give a yell.”
    “Okay, Henry,” Alec said. He started off in the direction of the wood. His feet were soaked. He stopped and started to remove his shoes, then thinking better of it, straightened up and continued at a fast pace. He went down into a large gully. At the bottom he turned and followed the gully as it wove in and out across the fairway. Soon he entered the wood. He climbed to the top of the gully and looked about. Henry was out of sight. The dew on the green grass glistened in the distance. The air was quiet and cooler in the shade of the big trees. Alec knew that on the other side of the wood was another fairway. He hastened toward it, following the path which he had traveled many times as a caddy during the summer months.
    He reached the other side and looked across the stretch of green carpet spread before him. The Black was nowhere to be seen. Alec whistled—but there was no answer. He started across the fairway. “Still have a lot of ground to cover,” he thought. “He’s liable to be any place.”
    For what seemed hours, Alec trudged up and down the hills of the course looking for the Black. The sun was higher now and hotter. He became more and more desperate as he saw no sign of the stallion. He removedhis white sweater and flung it over his arm. He reached the top of a high hill and looked below him. In the distance he could see some men playing golf.
    “Henry might have found him,” he thought hopefully. He had covered more than half the course and the Black surely wasn’t around here. Alec whistled again. If the Black was within hearing distance, he surely would recognize his whistle. But there was no answering call.
    Perhaps the stallion hadn’t entered the park at all. Perhaps he was still somewhere in the streets. But Alec felt the stallion was too intelligent for that. His natural instinct would lead him to the open spaces here in the park. He
must
be around somewhere! Alec began to climb back down the hill toward the fairway. He had covered his territory thoroughly. Then he stopped. He hadn’t been to the Hole where he and the fellows always went for a swim after their day of caddying. It was off the course, but there was a chance the stallion’s instinct had led him toward the water.
    He had to look there—he mustn’t let even a slim chance slip by. Alec turned in his tracks and went alongside the hill. His legs ached, and his wet feet weren’t helping matters any. He walked about a mile before he came to another wood. He followed a well-hidden path down into a hollow and then up again. It was at least nice and cool in here. The Hole was just ahead now. Alec quickened his steps. He reached the top of the hill and looked down. The water glistened below him. The pool wasn’t large and if the Black was there, he surely would see him. But there wasn’t any sign of him.
    The wood was quiet except for the staccato-like tapping of a hard-working woodpecker in a nearby tree. Hope faded within Alec—he had played his last hunch. It was the natural place for the Black to be—the only pool of water for miles around. He took one final look. Even the shadows on the side of the pool wouldn’t have been able to conceal the stallion. He just wasn’t there.
    Back along the path he climbed wearily. What had happened to his horse? He saw the Black lying dead in the street, killed by a car or by a policeman’s bullets. It just couldn’t be—it couldn’t end that way! Probably Henry had found him already.
    A sharp, cracking noise broke the stillness. He whirled. It came from the direction of the pool. He hurried back and looked down. On the other side, something was making its way through the thick