The rhythmic pounding of hooves on the earth got steadily louder as the Black got closer to the edge of his enclosure. Alec noticed with thankfulness that he was running well- Henry would be relieved also that he didn't have to replace any shoes this morning.
A man who looked more prepared for a camping trip in the mountains than a stay in New York City arrived twenty minutes ago. Henry was showing him around the grounds and Alec could make out a few words as they approached.
"I think that Alec would greatly appreciate this challenge," Henry was saying, "the Black would love it as well, I'm sure. Ah, Alec, I'd like you to meet Frank Hopkins, the man who won the-" "The race across the Arabian desert." Alec finished. He had read about this man and his famous pinto, Hidalgo.
Frank Hopkins smiled tiredly. He didn't race anymore, not after the Ocean of Fire.
"I've heard of you too, Alec Ramsay and," he said, motioning towards the Black, "this fine animal here. As a winner of the race, I can invite you to participate in this race but the black giant next to me looks exactly like Al-Hattal, the sheik's stallion."
Alec glanced once at his horse before replying to Hopkins.
"The Black was born in Arabia. He's survived on his own multiple times in the desert. He's not a mustang but I have confidence in him. He's only eight years old."
"The mustang strain doesn't mean a wild horse faster than all other competitors." Hopkins reminded him. "It means a horse that can keep going day in and day out, that doesn't need bandaging, fussing with, and that can win endurance rides whether the rules are made to order or not. I can't guarantee anything but you're welcome to participate in the Ocean of Fire."
The Black reared on his hind legs, a shrill whistle erupting from his mouth.
Frank Hopkins looked once more at the small boy and his legendary horse. "I'll take that as a yes."