Satan has won the Triple Crown, yet Alec still misses the Black, who’s living in Arabia with Sheikh Abu Ishak. Unexpectedly, Alec receives word that the sheikh has died and has left the Black to Alec. A race between the Black and Satan is inevitable, but unexpected events put the horses in the path of a raging forest fire. Suddenly, they are racing for their lives. Satan has won the Triple Crown, yet Alec still misses the Black, who?s living in Arabia with Sheikh Abu Ishak. Unexpectedly, Alec receives word that the sheikh has died and has left the Black to Alec. A race between the Black and Satan is inevitable, but unexpected events put the horses in the path of a raging forest fire. Suddenly, they are racing for their lives. Satan has won the Triple Crown, yet Alec still misses the Black, who's living in Arabia with Sheikh Abu Ishak. Unexpectedly, Alec receives word that the sheikh has died and has left the Black to Alec. A race between the Black and Satan is inevitable, but unexpected events put the horses in the path of a raging forest fire. Suddenly, they are racing for their lives. Walter Farley 's first book,  The Black Stallion , was an instant hit when it appeared in 1941. Mr. Farley went on to write thirty-three other enormously popular books about the Black Stallion and other horses which were published in more than twenty countries. He died in 1989, shortly before the publication of his last novel,  The Young Black Stallion , written with his son Steven. Triple Crown 1 Alec Ramsay sat still and straight in his saddle, seemingly unaware of the thousands of eyes upon him. He wore black racing silks, and beneath his peaked cap the whiteness of his face made a startling contrast to his racing colors and the burly black horse beneath him. They were third in the parade to the post for the running of the classic Belmont Stakes. Alec wished they had drawn an outside position instead of the number 3 slot. He didn't like being so near the rail. Henry's instructions were to hold Satan until the field approached the middle of the backstretch before making his move. It would have been easier to do this from an outside post position. The parade had passed the clubhouse and was now opposite the grandstand. Alec didn't have to look to know that it was overflowing with people. The tumultuous roar from the stands took care of that. And he knew their eyes were upon Satan, wondering if the big three-year-old would win the Belmont Stakes, as he had won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, to take his place among the few great horses of the turf who had captured the Triple Crown! They wondered only because of the condition of the track. It was ankle-deep in mud after a heavy morning rain, and the early June sky was still overcast as a fine drizzle fell. The last remaining doubters of Satan's greatness asked themselves, "But can he race in the mud? He never has, you know." Alec's hand went to the thick, muscular neck of the colt as Satan sidestepped quickly to the middle of the track. He spoke to him, and the heavy ears swept back at the sound of his voice; then the restlessness left Satan's giant body and he was back in line as the field continued parading past the stands. From the pushing, heaving wave of people at the rail, a man shouted, "Hey, Ramsay! You think it's a horse show?" Alec heard the man's words, but his eyes never left the muddy track which he could see between Satan's pricked ears. "A Good Hands class maybe?" the man called again. Only then did Alec Ramsay become aware that he was sitting much straighter in his saddle than the other jockeys. The whiteness of his skin gave way to a sudden flush of color, but his seat remained unchanged. He couldn't have sat his horse any other way. "Bring him home, Alec!" someone else shouted. "Bring him home like you did in the Derby an' the Preakness!" The post parade ended when they had filed past the stands, and Alec allowed Satan to go into a slow gallop. He rose in his stirrups and leaned forward, his face pressed close to the colt's bulging neck. Henry had said Satan could race in the mud as well as on a dry track. Henry should know, for he had been training Satan all winter and spring while Alec had spent most of his time in school. Henry said they had worked Satan in all kinds of weather and the big-boned colt didn't know the difference between a dry track and a wet one. Alec had to take Henry's word for it. He'd raced Satan only twice this year, once in the Kentucky Derby and again in the Preakness. The track had been dry and fast for each race, and Satan had had no trouble winning by many lengths. He took the big black colt to the outside rail and went past the two horses in front of him. He let him go far around the turn, finding reassurance in the ever-lengthening and confident strides of the colt as he galloped fetlock-deep in the mud. And Alec thrilled to the swift and thunderous movement beneath his knees. But finally he rose still higher