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him, his thoughts returned to the Black.
    It certainly would make things easy if Taylor had some quick, magical cure for the Black’s fit of shadow shying. But if the condition persisted, they were in big trouble. The Black’s racing career, perhaps even the survival of Hopeful Farm, hung in the balance.
    Alec snapped out of his daydream just in time to make the airport exit. When they reached the departure area, Henry put a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “Trust me, Alec,” he said. “I really think Wes can help us with this shadow business. He’s half horse himself.” Then he grabbed hisflight bag, waved good-bye to Alec and disappeared into the terminal.
    By the time Alec got back to the track, all the other horsemen were packing up. Many had come to Santa Anna just for the races on Cup day. Now it was time to move on. Alec loaded the Black, and soon the top-heavy van was teetering back and forth on its way out of the stable area. Alec waved to the security guards posted at the gate. “Good luck,” one of them called. After the bumpy road smoothed out, the van picked up speed. Before long Alec was cruising along in a steady stream of Sunday morning freeway traffic.
    He wondered how Morales was doing in the hospital. A couple of spills like that could end a jockey’s career. The thought made Alec feel uncomfortable. He wished he could get his mind off yesterday’s race and everything that had happened since. It wasn’t easy. He turned the radio on to distract his thoughts.
    Soon the landscape changed from suburban sprawl to rolling hills. Wes Taylor’s ranch was supposed to be about fifty or sixty miles from Santa Anna. After an hour on the road, the Black began to paw and scrape restlessly at the rubber matting covering the floor. Alec turned to look through the small window in the back of the cab. “I know, I know,” he called sympathetically. “Just hang in there a little farther and we’ll get you out of this tin can.”
    Alec dug a scrawled note out of his shirt pocket, the directions to Taylor Ranch. Somehow he managed to decipher Henry’s handwriting and spotted the freeway exit for Sky View Terrace. Gas stations, fast-food restaurantsand video stores lined the main street. Taylor Ranch was somewhere on the other side of the small town.
    Alec turned west onto a freshly paved two-lane street empty of traffic. Ahead of him rose the shoulders of a high canyon. Bunch grass and thick weeds covered a gentle slope bordering the right side of the road. To the left were open fields.
    The wide bottom land narrowed and steepened as Alec followed the road up toward the canyon. A billboard announced the approach to Sagebrush Village Estates, “A planned luxury community of the future.” Large ranch-style homes dotted the terraced landscape. Spacious lawns, gardens and swimming pools surrounded each of them. In one area of the development bulldozers and backhoes were parked beside houses still under construction.
    Past Sagebrush the road leveled off slightly. Acres of fenced-in pasture land replaced the luxury homes. Horses clustered together beneath shady oaks and grazed on patches of worn grass. Stately-looking Arabs mixed with compact Quarter Horses. A long dirt road bordered the far side of the pasture. This must be the place, Alec thought.
    The paved road came to a dead end at a wooden barricade in front of him. Alec slowed the van to a crawl. He turned left off the pavement and drove through an open gate. A sign nailed to the gate read TAYLOR LIVESTOCK, INC.—LIVESTOCK, PROPS AND LOCATION SITE .
    The dirt road ran straight ahead for nearly a hundred yards. It led past a ranch house, badly in need of paint,tucked among oak, pine and eucalyptus trees. A wide porch wrapped around two sides of the faded green building. The driveway ended beyond the house, where a number of small trucks were parked beneath the trees. Alec edged the van off to the