The Black Stallion

way if her foal were due very soon.
    But that night, when Tom went to bed in his room above the kitchen, he set the clock's alarm for midnight. He would look at the Queen at that time just to make sure she was all right. And at two o'clock and four and six, he'd do the same thing. Jimmy Creech had said she would have her foal this week, so he must look at the Queen every few hours. From tonight until she had her foal, whether it was to be this week or a month from now, he would keep this schedule that he had set for himself.
    The alarm at midnight awakened Tom from a sound sleep. Sluggishly he reached for the clock, groping until he found it in the darkness. Turning off the alarm, he lay back again, his eyes closed. Then, quickly, he opened them again and turned on the light. He reached for his overalls, pulling them over his pajamas; then he made his way down the stairs, picking up the flashlight as he went out the door.
    It was a moonless night and the air was cool. He walked over to the barn, the light flashing ahead of him. As he reached the door of the stall he saw the Queen's head, her eyes blinking in the light of his flash. He turned the beam away, talking to her. Leaning over the half-door, he flashed the light around the straw, then back to the Queen. Everything was all right, he decided. He had probably awakened her. He'd go back and let her get some sleep. But he stood there a few minutes longer, stroking her, before he left.
    At two o'clock and at four the alarm went off, and each time Tom found the Queen comfortable and regretted that he had awakened her again. Perhaps he was doing more harm than good, visiting her so often during the night. He didn't know. But he couldn't take any chances.
    No alarm awakened him at five o'clock, for he had set it for six. He looked at the clock to make sure of the time, then his head fell back on the pillow. But he found he could not close his eyes. He remembered very well that he had been dreaming. It had been more of a nightmare than a dream. He had lost Jimmy Creech's letter, and the Queen was having her foal. He couldn't remember what to do. He had run, looking for Uncle Wilmer, but Uncle Wilmer had refused to come because he said the mare couldn't have her foal for another month. So he had run to town to get a veterinary, but none of them could come. They were too busy and appointments must be made a year in advance, they'd told him. He'd been running through the woods, shouting for help, when he had awakened.
    And now he couldn't get back to sleep again.
    The sky outside his window to the east was a somber gray, and the sun wouldn't be up for another hour. Tom tried keeping his eyes closed, but it was of no use. He sat up in bed and turned on the light. Perhaps if he just took another look at Jimmy Creech's letter telling him what to do when the foal came, he'd be able to get to sleep again. Just one look to make sure he hadn't lost it.
    The letter was in the top drawer of his bureau, and he sat down on the side of his bed and read it again. Everything was there. He knew exactly what to do, without the aid of Uncle Wilmer, without a veterinary. He had it down pat now.
    He put the letter away, thinking,
Even if I'd lost the letter, I'd remember Jimmy's instructions. I've read it over enough times to know them by heart. Wipe the foal dry
—
that's the first thing I do. Make sure his nostrils are clear, so he can breathe well. Then make sure he nurses right away. He'll need all the nourishment he can get at that time. And feed the mare very light the first two days, giving her a hot bran mash right after she's had the foal. There's really not so much to remember. I can do it
.
    Tom let his head fall back on the pillow, figuring he could sleep until six o'clock. But sleep didn't come, nor was he able to keep his eyes closed. Instead he found himself gazing out the window to the west, toward the barn. It wasn't like him not to be able to sleep. Usually he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat. There must be something wrong with him; perhaps getting up so often during the night was responsible for it; perhaps—
    Tom felt the pounding of his heart, the swift surge of blood within his veins. He was out of bed and pulling on his overalls. He plummeted down the stairs, rushing out into the gray light of early morning. As he ran across the lawn, his gaze never left the stall door.
But the Queen's head couldn't be seen
.
    He flung himself through the rails of the paddock