Man O'War

  “I call him Red.”

  “Every chestnut horse in every stable is called Red,” the man said.

  “He’s redder than most,” Danny said, “and bigger than most.”

  “Big Red then,” the man said quietly.

  “Yes,” Danny agreed. “Big Red.” He kept repeating the name over and over until finally he slept.

  Early the next morning Louis Feustel showed up at Man o’ War’s stall with a short, heavyset man at his side.

  “This is Harry Vititoe, Danny,” the trainer said. “He’s breaking our colts. Take Red out, please.”

  Danny snapped the lead shank to Man o’ War’s halter. He knew the time had come for some very important lessons in his colt’s life. “Easy, Red. Easy,” he said softly. “Show them how nicely you can act.” But there was anxiety in his eyes as he met the gaze of the short man walking beside them.

  “Don’t worry,” Harry Vititoe said quietly, as if he saw a need to soothe Danny as much as the colt. “I don’t want a fight on my hands any more than you do. We’ll go slowly and carefully. The less nervousness and excitement the better.”

  “Don’t push him,” Danny warned, “or he’ll fight back.”

  “I won’t,” Vititoe said reassuringly. “Fighting puts too much strain on the muscles and ligaments of a young horse, aside from everything else.”

  Danny nodded. He liked this man, for, like his voice, his eyes were patient and understanding. And yet, just as important, his hands were strong and experienced. Whatever Vititoe did within the next few days would stay with Man o’ War for the rest of his life.

  A short distance away Mr. Riddle was standing beside Louis Feustel. There was a closed paddock nearby and the trainer told Danny to take the big colt to it.

  For a while they only watched the colt, and Danny was very proud of Man o’ War as he walked him around the paddock. His colt was eager and playful but tractable too. He was having no trouble with him.

  “I hope he doesn’t live up to his name,” Danny heard Mr. Riddle say nervously.

  “Notice how he’s right up against the halter,” Vititoe remarked. “I doubt that a bit will slow this one down any. We might have a fight on our hands before we’re through.”

  “I hope not,” Feustel said with concern. “He’s got brains, this one has.”

  “He also has Hastings blood in him,” Mr. Riddle said quietly. “He might fight like a tiger, as Harry says.”

  “But he’s got Fair Play in him, too,” Feustel answered. “I was with Fair Play a long time.”

  Harry Vititoe laughed. “Then you should know he wasn’t much better than Hastings, Louis. Fair Play had only disdain for people.”

  “That’s not the same as hating people,” Feustel answered. “Hastings hated everybody, with no exception.”

  Danny brought Man o’ War to a stop and straightened his long red mane. His colt was quiet and well mannered but alert and ready for anything. Who knew how much fire from his sire and grandsire burned within Man o’ War, and whether or not it could be controlled?

  “And don’t forget, too,” Louis Feustel was saying, “he’s got Rock Sand in him. There never was a nicer, better mare.” He waved Danny closer, and Harry Vititoe slipped through the rails of the paddock fence.

  Danny waited for Vititoe to come to them. This man, weighing about one hundred and twenty pounds, had ridden with the best jockeys at one time. And soon, if all went well, he would be the first to ride Man o’ War.

  The ex-jockey smiled at Danny and put a gentle hand on the colt’s withers. “There’s no hurry,” he told both Man o’ War and Danny. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Maybe there won’t be a battle at all.”

  The man’s hand continued to move over the big yearling, over his neck and back, haunches and legs and feet. Man o’ War scarcely moved. He had known such handling all his life and there was no reason for his becoming upset now. Danny was very proud of him.

  It was only when the man ran his hand up toward the ears that the colt drew back.

  “He doesn’t like having his ears rubbed,” Danny said quietly.

  “Not many colts do. But he’ll have to get used to it, if we’re going to put a bridle on him.”

  Again the man’s hands moved to the colt’s ears. When he touched them, Man o’ War went straight up in the air, almost tearing the lead shank from Danny’s hands. Then the colt bolted, pulling the boy along the ground. Danny felt the dirt burn his legs as he was dragged helplessly across the paddock. He managed to hang on until Man o’ War came to a stop.

  Climbing to his feet, he went to Man o’ War and placed a hand on the colt’s quivering body. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “You didn’t mean anything by it. You just didn’t know.” He led Man o’ War back to the others.

  “Do you want some help, Danny?” Feustel asked. “Or do you think you’re better off alone?”

  “Alone,” Danny answered, “for now, anyway.”

  Vititoe was beside Man o’ War again. “He moves awfully fast for such a big, stout colt,” he said.

  “He doesn’t want to be broken,” Mr. Riddle said.

  “What colt does?” Vititoe asked. “This one will learn. He’s smart.”

  Danny saw the bridle that the ex-jockey now held in his hands. “You’ll never get it over his ears,” he said.

  “I will if I take it apart,” Vititoe answered. “I won’t pinch his ears this time.”

  “Do you want his halter off?”

  “No, keep it on him, and the shank too.” Vititoe was taking the bridle apart. “I have to do this often. Most colts are a little head shy, and this way we don’t have to force the headpiece over the ears. Nothing to it, Danny.”

  “I hope not.”

  The man looked up to meet the boy’s anxious eyes. “Like I said before, we’ve got plenty of time. What we don’t do today we’ll do tomorrow. Brute force never works with this kind of colt; it would only ruin him here and now.”

  Danny nodded, his eyes on the bridle. “I thought Red was used to having his head handled, but I guess not.”

  “You did fine,” the short man said. “Bridling a colt is always ticklish business. We just have to sort of kid him along, pet him, talk to him. Before he knows it he’ll have the bit in his mouth.” Vititoe had the headpiece unbuckled from the rubber bit. Carefully he slipped it over the colt’s head without touching his ears. It was no different from having a halter put on, and Man o’ War did not flinch or stir.

  But the rubber bit still had to be put in the colt’s mouth. Danny looked at it, wondering if Man o’ War would take it quietly.

  “Maybe the worst is over,” Vititoe said hopefully. “Most colts object more to the headpiece than the bit.” He began slipping the bit into Man o’ War’s mouth, talking to him all the while.

  Danny waited, his heart pounding. Suddenly the big colt jerked back from Vititoe’s hands and reared to his full height again. Danny held on to the lead shank as once more Man o’ War plunged across the paddock. This time Danny managed to stay on his feet, bringing the colt to a stop against the fence.

  “It’s only a piece of rubber,” Danny told him, trying to keep his annoyance from his voice. “It won’t hurt you. You’re smart enough to know that.” He led Man o’ War back to the others, still talking to his colt.

  Again Vititoe tried putting the rubber bit in Man o’ War’s mouth, but the big colt jerked his head back just when they thought he might take it.

  “He’s determined to have his own way,” Feustel said.

  “I don’t want you to force him,” Mr. Riddle told Vititoe. “We’d get no place if we did. He’s smart enough to learn that we’re too many and too strong for him.”

  “I hope so,” Feustel said. “If he doesn’t, we’ve got another Hastings on our hands.”

  “Don’t let it get you down, Louis,” Vititoe said. “We’ve got plenty of time and that’s usually the answer.”

  Danny turned and looked at the ex-jockey. It
was his job to break Man o’ War and he should be more concerned than anybody else with the problems confronting them. Instead, he seemed the least perturbed.

  “That’s enough for today,” Vititoe went on. “Tomorrow we’ll make it.”

  But Harry Vititoe was mistaken. It was no better the next day nor on the one that followed. It seemed that Man o’ War had no intention of ever taking the rubber bit. Each day was a nerve-racking experience for everybody concerned with the colt’s breaking, and Danny took it harder than anybody else.

  Far into the night he would talk to his colt, wondering what had gone wrong to make Man o’ War so obstinate. “Perhaps,” he said, “it’s in you to fight the way your grandsire did. I thought you were smarter than that. How are you ever going to race without some control over you? Tell me that. And you want to race. Don’t tell me you don’t. Then be smart enough to give in a little. They’re going to keep working on you until you do. It’s just a question of time.”

  Finally the day came when Man o’ War allowed Vititoe to slip the bit all the way into his mouth. Mr. Riddle and Louis Feustel stood by, watching. For a moment no one spoke, then Vititoe began attaching the checkpieces to the bit rings. “We don’t want it too tight or too loose,” he told Danny as Man o’ War began champing on the rubber bit.

  The bit was secure, and Man o’ War stopped playing with it. He bolted forward with a giant leap, pulling the lead shank from Danny’s hand and flying around the paddock all by himself! They could only watch, stepping out of his way and listening to his snorts of rage at the irritating piece of hard rubber in his mouth.

  “Leave him alone,” Vititoe told Danny as the boy started forward. “Let him get used to it. He can’t hurt himself.”

  So along with everyone else Danny Ryan stood behind the paddock fence watching Man o’ War. He continued fighting a long while but there was no way he could get rid of the bit.

  Stop fighting, Red, Danny pleaded silently. You can’t beat these men. You’re just making it hard on everybody, including yourself.

  Man o’ War raced past them, the loose lead shank flying behind him. He stopped at the end of the paddock and reared and shook his head furiously, trying to spit out the bit again.

  “He’s a demon,” Mr. Riddle said. “He’ll fight us every step of the way. This is only the beginning.”

  “I know,” Harry Vititoe agreed quietly. “But we’ll never break him if we’re rough on him. It’ll just take more time than I expected.”

  Danny watched Man o’ War twisting in the air, and his heart cried with the futility of it all. If only there was some way he could make Man o’ War understand that he could submit to these men and still retain all his masculine pride and arrogance! “Use your brains, Red, please,” he kept repeating over and over.

  But as the morning wore on, Man o’ War’s constant fight with the bit continued. It was as if all he wanted was to be left alone, to go his own way, to live his life as he pleased. Yet Danny knew it was in this colt to race. It was only a question of time before Man o’ War realized that he must submit to some control, even a rider on his broad back, if he was to run again as he had done in the pastures at home.

  “You’ve got to be smart to race, Red,” he said. “You’ve got to learn.”

  It was early in the afternoon when Man o’ War quieted down and became interested in Danny’s extended hand. Louis Feustel and Mr. Riddle had gone to do other work, and only Harry Vititoe was in the paddock with Danny.

  “That’s enough for today,” the ex-jockey said. “Take him back to the stall, Danny. We’ve made some progress and tomorrow we’ll make a little more. It won’t be easy but we’ll get there eventually.”

  During the days that followed, it often seemed to Danny that despite Vititoe’s words of encouragement Man o’ War would never be fully broken. He fought every inch of the way, and only Vititoe’s infinite patience and experience offered any hope that one day Danny would see his colt on the racetrack.

  “I never had one as tough as him,” the ex-jockey said. “But he’s not dumb. He knows what’s going on. He’s learning the hard way, one step at a time.”

  Danny learned, too. He came to value the virtue of patience as never before in his life. When he would have quit, Harry Vititoe went on. He watched the man wait quietly for the big colt’s daily tantrums to cease and then gently school him in the use of the long reins that were now attached to the bridle. He persuaded Man o’ War to walk forward a few yards, then back up. Slowly, ever so slowly, they were making progress just as he’d said days ago.

  One morning there came another advanced step in the breaking of Man o’ War. Danny had the bridle on him when Vititoe came into the stall and said, “We’ll put the saddle pad and surcingle on him today. He’s ready for it.”

  Man o’ War displayed no objection to the pad when the man placed it gently on his withers. Danny patted his colt to calm him and let him know nothing terrible was happening to him. “He’s used to my putting weight on his back,” he said. “He shouldn’t object to the saddle either.”

  Vititoe nodded and reached for the broad girth band dangling on the off side of Man o’ War. “He might object to this,” he said, tightening the band gradually about the colt’s stomach. “We’ll keep it a little loose. There, now.”

  “Easy, Red, easy,” Danny said, comforting his colt. The surcingle was snug enough to keep the saddle pad from slipping but not tight enough to annoy Man o’ War. Still the colt objected to it. He shifted uneasily about the stall, Danny moving with him. “Easy, fellow, easy,” the boy kept repeating.

  With a motion of his head Vititoe indicated that Danny was to follow him out of the stall and leave Man o’ War alone. “Nothing is going to be easy with this colt,” the man said, watching from outside.

  Man o’ War shook his big body. There was no room to plunge and run in the stall.

  “He can’t hurt himself,” Vititoe said. “He’ll get used to it in a few minutes.”

  They continued watching, and finally Man o’ War became more interested in Danny than in the band about his girth. He nuzzled the boy’s hands, looking for carrots.

  Danny said, “But it will be different when you get up on his back.”

  “I’m afraid it will,” the ex-jockey said.

  “Have you broken all the other colts?”

  Vititoe nodded. “He’s the only one left.”

  “When will you get up on him?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “It’ll be quite a ride,” Danny said, wondering at the absence of envy in his voice. Hadn’t he always dreamed of riding Man o’ War?

  After a little while Vititoe said, “I’m going to turn him loose in the paddock now, Danny. He can’t hurt himself there either, and we’ll see what he does.”

  The big colt was all fire once Danny set him free to run in the paddock. He tried to spit out the irritating rubber bit in his mouth. He plunged to rid himself of the saddle pad and girth band. Once he got down and rolled, his legs pawing the air in his fury. But most of the time he raced from one end of the paddock to the other, his tail fanning the wind.

  Vititoe saw only the beauty of Man o’ War and said, “He’ll make a runner, that one will. He’ll be worth all the time we’ve spent on him. But like you said, Danny, it’s going to be quite a ride,” He was silent then, watching every moment of the plunging red colt.

  For several days Vititoe did nothing more with Man o’ War than add the weight of the light saddle to his back. There were no stirrups to jangle and upset the colt, so he showed no objection to it. It was never an easy job putting the tack on Man o’ War, but he seemed to be getting used to it once it was on.

  Watching him in the paddock, Vititoe said, “It’s as if he’s determined to fight discipline every step of the way … but once he knows he can’t get away with it, he’s got brains enough to accept what’s in store. He’ll be hard to beat if his jockey is smarter than he is.”

  Then, finally, came the morning
to ride Man o’ War. Danny’s stomach was in knots. He didn’t think there would ever be another day in his life to equal this one. The time had come when the colt he had first seen standing on unsteady legs beside Mahubah would be asked to accept a rider. From this day on, Man o’ War’s racing career would be before him.

  “Don’t go trying anything funny,” Danny told his colt while waiting for Harry Vititoe to mount. The ex-jockey was talking to Feustel and Mr. Riddle. They were all there, everybody concerned with the big stable … all the other grooms, the stable manager, the exercise boys. They had come to see the colt who had been a demon to break. This was Man o’ War with the hot blood of Fair Play and Hastings.

  They were away from the barns where there’d be less chance of anyone’s getting hurt when Man o’ War jumped. Everyone took it for granted he’d do that once Vititoe was on his back. The colt wasn’t going to do anything the easy way, ever. Danny leaned part of his weight on the saddle, hoping it would help make Vititoe’s job easier. Man o’ War shifted uneasily, but Danny thought his nervousness was due to the number of people around rather than to any objection to the extra weight.

  Finally the ex-jockey came over to the boy and the colt. He patted Man o’ War on the neck but his brow was furrowed and his voice anxious as he said, “I want you to have help this morning, Danny.” He snapped a second lead shank to the halter beneath the bridle and handed it to another groom. “Both of you keep hold of him,” he ordered. “A good hold.”

  Vititoe moved to the colt’s side and leaned heavily on the saddle. Man o’ War reared, his great body twisting and turning, while Danny and the other groom gave him all the lead shank he needed.

  When he came down and was still again, Vititoe said, “He’s going to dump me, all right. He’s smart enough to do it, and big enough.”

  Once more the ex-jockey leaned his weight on the saddle. Man o’ War went up again, bolting forward this time and almost pulling the lead shank out of Danny’s hands.

  “Take a better hold, Danny,” Vititoe said when the colt was quiet. “I’m going up on him now. Keep him on the ground if you can. If I can manage to stay on him, most of our troubles may be over.”