He kept the bit from her, but her mouth was always reaching for it. He heard the roar of planes flying overhead but never looked at the sky. But above her tossing head he saw the tiers on the roof of the great stands; they were crowded with cameras, even now focused on the horses as they entered the gate.
Wintertime and Lone Hope were still outside their stalls, along with the filly. The rest were inside the gate and waiting. There was a handler for each horse still outside, and one man called, “Hurry up that filly, Ramsay.”
The starter, standing on his platform just ahead and to the left of the gate, said, “Don’t have him rush her, Milton. No hurry. We’ve got time. Bring her up slowly, Ramsay. And Watts, you ride Wintertime up slowly too.” The starter was making an attempt to be indifferent to the importance of this race. But his sagging grim face betrayed the softness of his voice and his patient instructions. He knew there could be no slips in this start.
The filly’s handler took her by the bridle. He looked up at Alec and said, “Shucks, what’s the Derby but another hoss race.” His face was just as white as the starter’s.
She went into her stall without making any fuss. Alec was surprised, even disappointed, that she’d walked so readily inside. He hadn’t counted on it. They’d have to spend a few minutes now waiting for Wintertime and Lone Hope to come into the gate. The door behind was shut and the stall quarters were close. The handlers were moving about the framework of the gate, helping riders to keep control of their flighty mounts.
“Nino Nella,” the starter called from his platform. “Keep your colt’s head up. Help him, Kelley.” Golden Vanity was twisting in his stall.
Alec stroked the filly’s neck. “Easy, girl. Easy now,” he kept repeating.
The television cameras, ready to pick up the start of the classic, were just ahead and off the track. The center field was black with people, like the stands to the right. Only the long stretch was clear, a yellow empty road soon to be filled.
Wintertime and Lone Hope were still outside the gate. Were they having trouble? Or were their riders intentionally making the others wait, hoping nervous gate antics would tire them out?
Alec continued stroking the filly. She was good. She was quiet. It would be all over in a matter of minutes once they left the gate. Two minutes and very few seconds. More than a hundred thousand people had gathered to watch a race that would end in those flashing minutes. Some had been here all week, waiting for it, and still others had waited all year.
But it was no different for the horses. Nine of more than a hundred early Derby nominations had made the post, and now they, too, were waiting.
Wintertime had entered his stall, but Lone Hope was giving his handler trouble and remained outside the gate.
The line to Alec’s left was quiet. Olympus was on the rail. He was a light bay, unraced and untried. His jockey was a grim-faced veteran of twelve Derbies who had never had a winner. Maybe this one would be it!
The burly Eclipse was next. He had been one of the top two-year-olds. And this year, at three, he had already won the Experimental Number Two, and had come in second to Silver Jet in the Wood Memorial. Ted Robinson was up, and trying for his fourth Derby win. Young in age, old in experience, he was as nervous now as the rest of them.
Rampart, like Olympus, was untried. But his jockey was another veteran.
Silver Jet, waiting in the stall on the filly’s left, had been the champion two-year-old. This year he had won the Flamingo and the Wood Memorial. His rider was Dan Seymour, old in age, old in experience. But the Derby wasn’t just another race for him either. One had only to look at him to know.
Golden Vanity was on the filly’s right. The Derby favorite, twisting and restless in his stall, seemed anxious to be turned loose. Nino Nella was up and white of face. He looked scared and frightened, no longer cocky.
Break-up, too, had been untried in fast company but he had a competent rider in the saddle.
Lone Hope finally entered the next stall, still fighting his handler and jockey. Another surprise entry; another of the lesser lights!
In the outside stall stood Wintertime, third in Experimental Number One, third in Number Two, second in the Blue Grass Stakes to Golden Vanity, second again to Golden Vanity in the Derby Trial. Billy Watts, in the saddle, was young and frightened.
Boys became men riding a Derby, or they remained forever boys.
Alec got ready to go. He let the filly have the bit. The door had closed behind Lone Hope. There was a deathly silence, except for the voice of the announcer, who said needlessly, “The horses are at the post.”
Everyone waited for the break, not wanting to miss a thing that happened during the next two minutes.
The starter was watching Lone Hope, waiting for the colt to settle down now that he was in the gate. He reared and came down to stand still. The starter said, “I’ll wait a moment. Let him settle down now.” But Alec recognized the ring in his voice. Even as he slapped the filly’s neck the bell rang and the doors flew open, freeing the Derby horses.
THEY’RE OFF!
Black Minx jumped first out of the gate along with Silver Jet. But in her eagerness or excitement at being free she broke from Alec’s guiding hands and swerved toward Silver Jet. She straightened as her left shoulder hit his right shoulder and bounced off. Startled, she pulled up stride, still lunging in toward him. His heaving flanks struck her on the chest.
Alec felt her take the impact, flinching but never losing her balance. He pulled her away from the gray colt. She steadied, her strides coming smoothly once more. He had her clear of interference now and sat down to ride, moving the reins easily against the corners of her mouth and whispering, “Whoa, girl. Whoa!”
Only Silver Jet was ahead. No other inside horse had broken as fast as the filly. Even Golden Vanity was behind.
His filly had narrowly escaped a fall, but now she was free and full of run! He kept her directly behind Silver Jet, remembering Henry’s instructions and hoping that a few other horses would come up to them and go past. He had wanted to get her out near the front at the break. But third or fourth position would be best until the end of a mile.
They were only a few strides from the gate. The first run down the long stretch was just beginning. The stands were a tumultuous roar but Alec heard nothing but the beating hoofs, the straining bodies, all around him.
Golden Vanity was surging up on their right, his great body stretched out, and Nino Nella rocking fast in his saddle. In a burst of blinding speed he passed, catching up to the gray colt ahead.
Alec saw Dan Seymour use his whip once, urging Silver Jet to greater speed and accepting Golden Vanity’s early challenge for the lead. The filly picked up her stride too, and Alec’s teeth tore his lips. He didn’t want her to become involved in the duel of speed that had already begun directly ahead of them. This was only the first quarter-mile of a long race. He regretted getting her out of the gate so fast. Even more, he regretted his inability to hold her back, to rate her and save something for the grueling, punishing end of the race.
She was stretched out in head and legs, and he could do nothing to slow her down except to whisper his whoa’s less often, to move the reins less frantically against her mouth. She didn’t gain an inch on the flying leaders, but neither did they draw away from her. They passed the finish line for the first time. The crowd’s voices shattered the heavens, for the great duel between Golden Vanity and Silver Jet had begun with still a mile to go.
The call came over the loudspeakers, “At the quarter, Silver Jet on top by a nose. Golden Vanity, second. Black Minx, third. Lone Hope, fourth. Eclipse, fifth. Rampart, sixth. Wintertime, seventh. Break-up, eighth, and Olympus, ninth.”
Alec heard part of the call, but no other colt could be seen to his left or right. He sent Black Minx closer to the rail, saving ground. He knew she was going all out much too fast, too early. He knew it wasn’t the race Henry had planned for them. And he didn’t know the filly’s left foreleg was o
pen and bleeding from a blow by Silver Jet’s right hind hoof at the break. If he had known, he would have taken the bit from her, and the Derby would have ended there for them.
They swept into the first turn two lengths behind the leaders, the filly still holding ground despite the furious pace being set for her. Behind, Alec heard the pounding hoofs of the field. A head neared the filly’s flanks going into the turn, a red-hooded head, and Alec knew Wintertime was there. The blood bay colt must have come up fast at the end of the stretch run, for he had been seventh.
The filly’s strides were made for the turns. She pulled up on the leaders, and Wintertime’s head fell back. A length in front of her, Golden Vanity passed Silver Jet, taking the lead from him. But Seymour used his whip once more and the gray colt drew even again with the chestnut favorite.
Alec saw Nella glance in surprise at finding Seymour beside him again. They were entering the backstretch and the sprinting duel was still in progress. Apparently Seymour had instructions to keep Silver Jet with Golden Vanity, to outsprint him, to break him down if he could.
The noise from center field, from the backstretch rail, from the packed roofs of the barns, became a bedlam. Silver Jet was staying with Golden Vanity. Head and head, eye and eye. Here was the duel for which all had hoped but never expected to see!
Alec pressed his head close against the filly’s straining neck. He hardly touched the reins or called to her any longer. The terrific pace was suicide for all three of them—the chestnut, the gray and his filly! No horse could endure a mile and a quarter at such speed. Horses before them had made a sprint of the Derby, but never such a fast and blinding sprint as this! Soon they’d crack beneath the strain and go to pieces. The Derby would be won by some colt now running behind them!
They had gone a half-mile. The call came from the loudspeakers, but Alec couldn’t catch the position of the colts in back. It made no difference. He heard Golden Vanity’s time called. It was forty-six and one-fifth seconds, the fastest half-mile in Derby history! He was more certain than ever that the race was over for all three of the leaders.
In the middle of the backstretch, another colt came up alongside. Alec saw Eclipse’s white face at the filly’s flanks. He wanted the burly colt to come up closer, to pass, to move in front, and perhaps slow down; he wanted him to keep the filly behind him and compel her to save something for the long race still to be run. But Ted Robinson on Eclipse made no bid to take his colt past. He stayed behind the filly and just outside, content to wait for the homestretch.
Three lengths ahead, the bitter duel between Golden Vanity and Silver Jet was going on. Seymour had his gray colt close to the rail and was now a long neck in front of the chestnut. But just before going into the last turn, Nella made another move. Golden Vanity responded with a tremendous burst of speed. He moved ahead of Silver Jet, flying into the turn on top with the shrill screams of thousands of voices to urge him on.
Silver Jet fell back before this fresh and heartbreaking onslaught of supreme speed. As the roar of the crowd filled Alec’s ears, he felt his filly respond to the terrible challenge ahead. She pounded into the far turn, every muscle straining, and Alec could do nothing to hold her down. Eclipse fell back, Robinson content to wait still longer before making his move.
By the middle of the turn, Black Minx was close to Silver Jet’s heaving flanks. Two lengths ahead of them ran the chestnut colt. Golden Vanity was nearing the pole at the head of the homestretch, the end of a mile; he still had a quarter-mile to go down that long, long stretch to the finish line.
Alec kept the filly behind Silver Jet, never giving her a chance to get clear of him. Seymour was handriding now. The duel with the chestnut had been lost. The jockey was saving what was left in his gray mount, hoping it was enough to carry him down the stretch, hoping that Golden Vanity couldn’t maintain his speed for another quarter of a mile. Alec stayed there, trying to save his mount too.
The pounding of hoofs behind them came ever closer and more thunderous as they swept off the turn and entered the stretch run. Here before them was the actual “Run for the Roses”! Here the colts would struggle down the last quarter-mile of the longest run in their young lives! Here was the final testing ground, a great classic to be won or lost!
Suddenly the pack from behind was upon them. Surging heads and bodies stretched far across the track, but still a stride behind. There was a flash of multicolored silks, of flashing whips and spurs. The very ground rocked with the beat of hoofs and the stomping of thousands upon thousands of human feet. The air was filled with the screams of the multitude, deadening the shrill cries of the jockeys.
Seymour was again using his whip on Silver Jet. Alec pulled Black Minx clear of the gray colt and urged her on with hands and feet and voice, forgetting completely that she had never responded to his urging before.
He didn’t know which colts were stretched across the track and closest to him. Eclipse? Wintertime? Lone Hope? Olympus? Rampart? It didn’t matter. The race was now in its final stage.
Just after the mile pole Black Minx had her nose at Silver Jet’s saddle. But there she hung as Seymour got more speed from his tiring gray colt. The jockey never looked at Alec, nor Alec at him. Their heads were extended, close to their mounts and straining with them. Their eyes were only on the long-striding chestnut colt ahead.
Halfway down the stretch, Golden Vanity neared the mile-and-an-eighth pole. Was the chestnut colt faltering? Alec asked himself. Were his great strides becoming shorter? Certainly Silver Jet and his filly were not going any faster yet they were pulling up on the chestnut leader! Slowly at first, then even faster, even though Nino Nella was using hands and feet against his mount as though his very life depended upon it.
At the mile-and-an-eighth pole Golden Vanity quit with shocking suddenness. He quit as fast as he had been running before. He staggered and slowed, like a car out of gas. And nothing Nino Nella did could enable his colt to pick up stride again.
The pandemonium on either side of the track reached new heights as the crowd became aware of the favorite’s sudden collapse. Golden Vanity couldn’t carry his blinding speed more than a mile and an eighth! He never had; Nino Nella had always kept him under wraps from the mile pole on, and he couldn’t go the Derby distance! The spectators’ frenzied eyes left the staggering chestnut, seeking the new champion in the field that was surging forward, closing in and engulfing the beaten favorite.
Alec had Black Minx’s nose at Silver Jet’s neck as they flashed past Golden Vanity. Alec’s head was bobbing now as he tried desperately to get her in front of Silver Jet. Yet he felt certain that the race was over for him, and for Seymour too. They had stayed with Golden Vanity all during that terrible early pace. They had killed off the Derby favorite but they had destroyed themselves as well. Those behind—those riders who had saved their colts—would be coming on now, all-out in the final drive to the wire. Already there were heads stretched across the track from them, all so close, a neck behind but no more, and the finish line still so far away.
Less than a furlong to go, an eighth of a mile, just two hundred and twenty yards! But it seemed an endless distance, one of torture and strain, of heart and courage.
Alec didn’t realize he was pumping his legs shockingly hard against Black Minx. He was not aware that she was actually responding to his urging, that she had done so all during the long-stretch run. He knew only that she was gaining on Silver Jet, that her nose was at the gray’s head; then she was out in front! A hundred yards to go and there was no colt in front of them!
She was straining her utmost, trying to maintain her speed, trying to respond again to his urging to keep on. She was running on heart alone.
The stands were one continuous shattering roar, and suddenly they became a screaming madhouse. Alec saw the white, pushing face on his right. Eclipse! Watch Eclipse, Henry had said. Watch him! Watch him! Watch him! Oh, filly. More, more, more! Head and head they bobbed as one. Eye and eye. She kept going. She neve
r fell back. She took the challenge, met it, staved it off and went on. She pushed her head in front of Eclipse. Now she was a neck ahead! The burly brown colt was beaten—with the wire less than twenty-five yards away.
Courage. The greatest test of all is to repel challenges from behind.
Henry’s words flashed through Alec’s brain as he saw the wire so close and Eclipse beaten. But he never got a chance to breathe, to think about winning. A red-hooded head was far on the outside of the track. A head that pushed relentlessly forward until it inched ahead of them with only a few strides to go. Wintertime, being moved by Billy Watts in the final surging sprint of a champion!
Alec let out a yell, strained forward, lifted, pleaded. And from deep within the black filly came a last response. She rallied, her muscles and heart gathering in one final effort. She won back the inches lost to Wintertime in those last few strides. Then she and the blood bay colt swept as one beneath the finish wire.
Alec collapsed in his saddle, his hands flat on the filly’s wet, throbbing neck. He let her slow down as she pleased. He didn’t know if she’d won. Neither did young Billy Watts on Wintertime, nor the screaming, shrieking thousands who had watched, nor the judges whose job it was to decide. The camera alone would give the answer, and the electric signboard flashed the words PHOTO FINISH.
Alec knew only that his filly was as game as they come, as game as her great sire.
“ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN …”
22
Alec turned her around and came back with the others. But only Billy Watts and Wintertime stayed on the track with him and the filly to accept the tremendous ovation of the crowd. Neither rider approached the runway to the presentation stand where a small group, including the Governor of the state, was awaiting the winner of the Kentucky Derby.