The Black Stallion Revolts (Black Stallion, Book 9)
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After the Black attacks another horse, Alec realizes that the once-wild horse needs more space and freedom, so they head out west to a huge ranch. But a terrible accident separates the two, leaving Alec with amnesia and the Black alone to reclaim the wild life to which he was born. As the Black struggles to survive, and as Alec struggles to remember who he is and his connection to the magnificent stallion in the canyon, a gripping adventure story unfolds.
crawled toward the road. Soon he would reach it. He would lie there, waiting for other headlights to find him, to stop, to give him peace. He reached the road on will alone, and stretched the full length of his agonized body upon it. There was nothing more to do but wait. If only he could sleep while he waited! He had his head turned sideways, his eyes closed. He didn’t know what made him try to open them again, but he was aware that when he did they formed two narrow slits in his cut and
save a small, private land party organized by Henry Dailey, who refused to give up because “Alec is not dead. If he was I’d feel it. A part of me would be gone, would have died with him, and I’d know.…” And far from Wyoming, too, grazed a tall black stallion, the sire of Satan. He wasn’t the Black of four weeks ago. Now his fine mane and tail were matted and heavy with burrs, brush, and pine needles. His unshod hoofs were worn and hard from running at top speed over rocks, boulders and
long while. Have you forgotten that?” “I tell you I haven’t forgotten anything,” the old man said. Some of the harshness was gone from his voice. “I know further that he’s your horse completely, that no other person in this world can do as much with him. But Alec …” “Do you remember my telling you what happened the first time I ever saw him,” Alec interrupted, “the day they were loading him on board my ship when it stopped at that Arabian port on the Red Sea?” Henry shook his head in disgust.
overtaken Hot Feet. He became nothing but a black, whirling blur in the watchers’ eyes. They couldn’t make out the boy on his back, for the was one with the horse. Faster and faster he came toward them, his strides lengthening more and more. They knew they had never seen a horse run like this. He was like nothing real. This was no horse, there was no rider … nothing but a blackness moving across the plateau with electrifying speed. It whipped past them, low and long, and the air twisted about
Herbert was talking rapidly, insistently. Allen let him go on for a long time before saying, “Well, all right, Ralph. I guess we can work it out. Shall we make the race over a quarter of a mile, then? … Sure, that’s fine, Ralph. You’ll put up five quarter mares as your end of the purse and I’ll put up Hot Feet. I’d sure hate to lose my little horse, Ralph, but I don’t think I will. This black horse is pretty fast as horses go around these parts.… Sure, Ralph, I know you’d hate to lose your