II.

A RIDE ON THE BLACK STALLION.

Aaron was not ready as soon as the children were, but they waited for him with lamblike patience, considering their eagerness. Finally Aaron came out of his cabin and waved his hand as a signal that he was ready. The children ran to him, and together they went to the barn, where Timoleon had his stable. This barn had once been the corn crib. It was built of stout logs, hewn square and mortised together, and was in the middle of a five-acre field that had once been in cultivation, but was now overrun with Bermuda grass. Here Timoleon reigned in solitude, except when Aaron was with him. In this stable he remained securely imprisoned, save when Aaron took him out for exercise.

Timoleon was a horse renowned throughout the country—renowned for his victories on the race track and for his vicious temper. Even in his old age he was fleet and fierce, more dangerous, people said, than a tiger, and stronger than a lion. Fierce and strong, he was also beautiful. His coat glistened in the sun like satin. His mane was flowing and heavy, his tail long and full. His neck and shoulders were thick and powerful; his head tapering to the muzzle, his ears small and in constant motion, as when the night wind stirs the leaves of the willow; his nostrils red and flexible, and all his motions quick and graceful.

As Aaron and the children approached the stable, they heard Timoleon pounding against the heavy logs with his feet.

“I’m gwine back!” cried Drusilla. “He tryin’ ter git out now.”

But she kept along with the rest.

“What is the matter with him?” asked Sweetest Susan.

“He’s fretting,” replied Aaron—“fretting or playing.”

He went to the stable door and unlocked it, saying “What now?”

“Son of Ben Ali, what have I done?” cried Timoleon. “To-day I go hungry because the corn is on the cob, to-morrow I’ll be foundered because the corn is shelled. Is it, then, nothing to you that I am old and my teeth are bad? What have I done? As for the fodder, it is full of dust. To put my nose in it is to cough all night. In the desert, I have been told an old horse has new rice and cracked barley.”

Buster John looked at Sweetest Susan, and Sweetest Susan looked at Buster John. They were too much astonished to say anything.

“Even so, Grandson of Abdallah,” said Aaron, “what says the sun on the wall above your trough? Does it stand at the dinner hour? Why grumble, then, about corn on the cob that I have saved for the grunter?”

“What is the Grunting Pig to me, Son of Ben Ali? Or the sun on the wall? The dinner hour of those who are hungry comes best when it comes quickest. I have hurt my teeth on your nubbins. Take them away.”

Saying this, Timoleon snorted contemptuously. Then suddenly he gave a loud snort of surprise and anger. His quick and restless eye had caught sight of Sweetest Susan’s dress through a crack in the door.

“Son of Ben Ali,” he said, “what is this? You are not alone.”

“No, Grandson of Abdallah, I have brought three of my friends,” replied Aaron.

“Who are they, Son of Ben Ali?”

“Two grandchildren of the White-haired Master and their servant.”

“Why have they come?”

“As I have touched your knee, so they have touched my thumb. Once, twice, thrice.”

Timoleon turned from the door, walked to the far end of his stable, and then returned.

“The grandchildren of the White-haired Master are wise,” he said.

“So it seems,” replied Aaron.

“Then let me touch them with my nose, so that hereafter I may know them.”

Aaron opened the door and Timoleon strode out. He had on neither halter nor bridle, and the children shrank and cowered behind Aaron.

“Son of Ben Ali, what does this mean?” asked Timoleon.

“It means that they are children who have heard that the Grandson of Abdallah is a savage beast,” replied Aaron.

Timoleon with lowered head went to the children and pressed his muzzle gently against the shoulder of each—against Buster John first, Sweetest Susan next, and Drusilla last. They were all frightened, but Drusilla’s terror was such that her face, black as it was, took on an ashen hue. To make matters worse, Timoleon snorted suddenly and loudly when he pressed his nose on her shoulder. She gave a piercing scream, and fell on the ground in a heap. Timoleon sprang back as though an attack had been made on him. It was all so comical that Aaron laughed, and Buster John and Sweetest Susan relieved the strain on their feelings by joining him boisterously—almost hysterically. Drusilla, hearing this, rose to her feet with anger in her eyes.

“I dunner what you-all white chillun laughin’ at. Ef you speck I’m gwineter stan’ flat-footed an’ let dat ar hoss bite de top er my head off, you done gone an’ fooled yo’se’f. I know’d what he wuz gwine ter do, time I seed de white er his eye. His breff hot nuff ter burn yo’ han’. What he want ter come doin’ dat a way fer? I don’t want no hoss ter be huggin’ me wid his upper lip nohow. I’ll tell anybody dat.”

While Drusilla was quarreling, Timoleon was grazing near by, and Aaron and the children were still laughing.

“Ef you-all think it so funny, go dar whar dat hoss is, an’ let ’im nibble at you an’ blow his nose on you a time er two.”

“What does she say, Son of Ben Ali?” Timoleon asked, raising his head from the rank Bermuda grass.

“She says she thought you were about to bite off her head.”

Timoleon gave a snort of contempt, and addressed himself again to the dainty feast before him.

“Not too much of that, Grandson of Abdallah,” said Aaron. “You are too fat now. You need exercise. How long since you have had a gallop?”

“A month of Sundays, Son of Ben Ali.”

“To-day you shall have one. On your head I will place a halter, on your broad back I will strap your blanket. On the blanket I will place my friends and yours, the grandchildren of the White-haired Master. But listen! a stumble, and I’m done with you; any trickery, and the Son of Ben Ali will come near you no more.”

“So may it be, Son of Ben Ali.”

“I believe you, Grandson of Abdallah. You are to go by yonder gate through the lane to the great road. From there it is a mile and a half to the gate that opens on the avenue, leading to the house of the White-haired Master. At that gate I shall await you. Then up the avenue to the house you are to go, and three times around the boxwood circle where the avenue ends.”

“So it shall be, Son of Ben Ali. Have you not carried a noggin of water on my back and set me at a gallop without spilling a drop? So it shall be now, Son of Ben Ali.”

Aaron went into the stable and came forth with a halter. This he threw on Timoleon’s head, passing the loose end over the horse’s neck and tying it in the ring, thus forming reins for the rider to handle. Then he folded a heavy blanket four times, placed it on the horse’s back, and strapped it down with a surcingle.

“Not too tight—not too tight, Son of Ben Ali,” said Timoleon, backing his ears a little.

“Now, then, for a ride,” said Aaron, turning to the children.

“Oh, I’m afraid!” cried Sweetest Susan. “Mamma would be angry.”

“Try him here, in the lot,” suggested Aaron to Buster John.

Now Buster John was a pretty good rider for a youngster, and was somewhat proud of the fact. He had even helped to break a young mule to the saddle. So, after a little persuasion, he allowed Aaron to lift him to Timoleon’s back.

“Easy, now,” said Aaron.

The black stallion stepped proudly off. From a swinging walk he broke into an easy canter, which soon became a swinging gallop. Before he had gone around the field, Buster John had lost all fear, and from his gently undulating seat waved his hand gayly to Sweetest Susan.

“Oh, I wish I could go, too!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

“Why not, little Missy?” said Aaron. “I have seen you riding the Gray Pony without a saddle.”

“But he is as gentle as a dog,” explained Sweetest Susan.

“Why, so is Timoleon,” replied Aaron. “Try him. I will run beside him to catch you, if you fall. I’ll not run far before you will say, ‘Go back!’”

[Illustration: A RIDE ON THE BLACK STALLION]

By this time Timoleon came sweeping up to where they stood, and stopped. Buster John’s face fairly glowed with the delight he felt.

“Well,” said Sweetest Susan, unable to resist the temptation. “Well, I’ll go, but if I fall”—

Before she could finish what she had to say, the strong arms of Aaron had lifted her to a seat behind Buster John.

“How can you fall?” asked that bold youngster. “Hold fast to me. Put your arms around me, and when you fall, let me know.”

“You didn’t talk that way just now,” said Sweetest Susan. To this Buster John made no reply. Aaron stood beside the black stallion and stroked his neck.

“Grandson of Abdallah, show me what you are this day. Once around the field, and then to the lane gate.”

The horse took three long strides forward, and then broke into a canter as before. Aaron ran beside Timoleon a little way, one hand on Sweetest Susan’s elbow to give her confidence, but he soon saw that she had lost all fear, and so, still running, he went to the gate that opened in the lane and threw it back, and stood there. The black stallion, going in a steady gallop, swept around the field, and then came toward the gate. The children were laughing.

“Don’t forget, Grandson of Abdallah! You know my hand!” This was Aaron’s last warning, as Timoleon went through the gate. The Son of Ben Ali watched horse and riders for a few moments. Then he closed the gate and ran swiftly through the lot, going toward the head of the avenue that led to the big house. The lane, half a mile in length, led obliquely away from the house and from the avenue until it joined the public road. From that point, turning squarely to the left, the distance to the avenue gate was about a mile. From the stable to the avenue gate, through the spring lot—the way Aaron went—was not quite half a mile.

“If I go too fast, grandson of the White-haired Master,” said Timoleon, as they turned into the public road, “touch me on the shoulder. And don’t be frightened when I lift my head and tell the fools I am coming.”

As they came in sight of the negro quarters, Timoleon raised his head high in the air and neighed shrilly three times in quick succession. It sounded like a challenge to man and beast. That plantation had heard it many times before, and it had usually been the forerunner of some display of savagery on the part of the black stallion—sometimes a negro run down and trampled, sometimes a mule or a cow crippled; but always something. The sound of it was heard with dismay, except by Aaron.

It was no wonder, therefore, that the negroes came out of their cabins with alarm painted on their faces. It was no wonder they stood transfixed when they saw the horse flying along the road, his thick mane whipping the wind, with the two children on his back. They had no time to admire the strength and symmetry of the horse, and yet he presented a beautiful sight—his glossy neck arched, his long mane enveloping the children as in a cloud, the undulations of his magnificent form and his swift movements the perfection of grace.

Once more, as he thundered across the bridge that spanned the stream leading from the spring, the black stallion screamed forth his note of defiance. A man, coming along the road, went over the fence as nimbly as a squirrel. Cows grazing in the fields, near the roadside, hoisted their tails in the air and ran off to the woods. The mules in the horse lot ran around aimlessly, and then huddled themselves together in a corner. The Gray Pony went scampering through the peach orchard, hunting a place of safety.

Then the cry went up from the negro quarters, “Timoleon’s loose! Timoleon’s loose!” The cry was echoed at the big house. The children’s father laid down the book he was reading, and went out upon the veranda, followed quickly by his wife. The grandfather rose from his easy chair and joined them. They heard the tremendous clatter of hoofs on the hard road and the screaming stallion. They saw Aaron running up the avenue, followed by Drusilla. Calamity seemed to have swooped down upon the plantation. A negro woman, bolder than the rest, had managed to run to the big house. She rushed through it, without regard for ceremony.

“Mistiss, dem blessed chillun”—

She wanted to say were riding the runaway stallion, but she sank to the floor, speechless.

“Oh, my children! my children! Where are my precious children?” cried the mother.

At that moment Aaron reached the avenue gate, opened it wide, and the black stallion cantered through it, and came galloping down the drive.

“I see the children,” said the white-haired grandfather. “They are safe. They have been giving Timoleon his exercise. See! they are laughing and waving their hands!”

The mother looked, but the sight seemed to terrify her so that she covered her face with her hands. Only for a moment, however. She looked again, thinking they were wringing their hands and crying for help. But, no! they were really laughing. In front of the yard gate there was an ornamental circle, filled with neatly trimmed box-wood, privet and acacia bushes. Coming to this circle Timoleon turned to the right and galloped around it, the children waving their hands to their mother, father and grandfather. With his waving mane and flowing tail, his arched and shining neck, and his graceful movements, the horse presented a spectacle long to be remembered.

“Why, they are riding him with a halter!” cried the father, taking fresh alarm.

“How many times have I told you he is the gentlest horse I ever knew?” sighed the grandfather. “Ah, what a magnificent creature he is! What a pity he is penned on this plantation!”

Three times around the circle Timoleon galloped, and then wheeled toward the gate that led to the stable lot. The children waved a mock farewell to the still astonished spectators, who, standing on the veranda, heard Timoleon go clattering to the rear of the house.

The mother recovering from her fright, which was serious, became very angry, and this was not serious at all.

“That is Aaron’s work,” she cried, “and the children shall never go about him any more.”

“Aaron will thank you, if you’ll stick to your word,” said the grandfather. “I bought Aaron fifteen years ago, and I have never had occasion to undo anything he has ever done. I owe him a debt of gratitude that I could never repay if I were to live a thousand years.”

“I know, father—I know,” replied the children’s mother, more gently. “But he gave me a terrible fright just now.”

Timoleon galloped to his stable, and stood there waiting for Aaron. Sweetest Susan, holding to Buster John’s hand, slid to the ground, and then Buster John followed suit.

“You might take the halter off, little one,” said Timoleon, and he held his head so that the youngster could unbuckle the strap. Then the horse began to graze as contentedly as any farm animal. Presently Aaron came with a bucket of cool water from the spring. Timoleon buried his nose in it, drank his fill, and then washed his mouth by sucking up the water and letting it run out over his tongue and teeth. Then the blanket was removed and the Grandson of Abdallah stretched himself on the warm grass and had a good wallow. After that Aaron rubbed him off thoroughly, gave him a bait of oats, and, while he ate, went over his silky coat with a currycomb and brush, whistling all the while in a peculiar way.