Jack Woltz always slept alone. He had a bed big enough for ten people and a

Bedroom large enough for a movie ballroom scene, but he had slept alone since

The death of his first wife ten years before. This did not mean he no longer used

Women. He was physically a vigorous man despite his age, but he could be

Aroused now only by very young girls and had learned that a few hours in the

Evening were all the youth of his body and his patience could tolerate.

On this Thursday morning, for some reason, he awoke early. The light of dawn

Made his huge bedroom as misty as a foggy meadowland. Far down at the foot of

His bed was a familiar shape and Woltz struggled up on his elbows to get a

clearer look. It had the shape of a horse's head. Still groggy, Woltz reached and

Flicked on the night table lamp.

The shock of what he saw made him physically ill. It seemed as if a great

Sledgehammer had struck him on the chest, his heartbeat jumped erratically and

He became nauseous. His vomit spluttered on the thick flair rug.

Severed from its body, the black silky head of the great horse Khartoum was

Stuck fast in a thick cake of blood. White, reedy tendons showed. Froth covered

The muzzle and those apple-sized eyes that had glinted like gold, were mottled the

Color of rotting fruit with dead, hemorrhaged blood. Woltz was struck by a purely