Man O'War

  “We’ll hold him,” Danny said. But he wasn’t certain they’d be able to keep Man o’ War under control at all. He knew the signs, and his colt was determined to have nothing to do with a man on his back at this moment. “He’s awfully hot,” he warned Vititoe. “Maybe we should wait …”

  The ex-jockey had his left leg bent so that Louis Feustel could boost him into the saddle. “I might stop with any other colt,” he said, “but not this one. If I did there’d be no end to it.”

  Then Harry Vititoe was in the saddle, his legs drawn up, his body balanced. He had only a fraction of a second to wait before Man o’ War squealed and bolted. The groom helping Danny jumped away to avoid getting hurt. Man o’ War twisted in midair, and Danny’s lead shank was torn from his hands. Man o’ War made another lightning jump, coming down with both forefeet rigid. Harry Vititoe went flying from the saddle and crashed into Danny. Together they went down, rolling in the dirt.

  When Danny got up, he saw Man o’ War running loose, his mane and tail flying, and headed for the racetrack all by himself!

  Harry Vititoe was getting to his feet, but it didn’t occur to Danny to help him. Like everyone else, he ran after the runaway colt. Man o’ War had already reached the racing strip, and everybody there was aware of his presence. A colt loose on the track at this time of year was not too unusual.

  All work was stopped to prevent any accident and possible injury. The older horses stopped breezing and galloping. Yearlings being schooled were taken away so that they would not become excited by the horse running loose. The racetrack at Saratoga was very still except for the drum roll of Man o’ War’s galloping hoofs as he rounded the first turn.

  Danny watched him go. You couldn’t wait, he thought. You just couldn’t wait.

  Stablemen had stationed themselves at various points on the racetrack, waiting for the big colt to slow down. They were patient, having no wish to excite Mahubah’s colt any further. It was just a question of time before one of them caught him. He had no place to go except around the racetrack.

  Fifteen minutes later it was Danny who successfully got hold of one of the dragging lead shanks. Man o’ War was tired from his long run; he went along willingly as if nothing at all had happened.

  Harry Vititoe’s eyes were sheepish when he joined the others at the barn. “The next time it’ll be different,” he said, not without confidence. “I don’t like to be dumped so hard.” He rubbed the seat of his pants.

  The crowd laughed at Vititoe’s expense, and one groom said, “You’d better stay on him next time, Harry, or maybe you’ll end up walkin’ hots like the rest of us.”

  Rider Up!

  11

  Harry Vititoe had no intention of losing his private battle with Man o’ War. He went back to the barn with Danny and helped the boy strip down and wash the big colt. Later he gave Man o’ War a carrot.

  “I’ll stick on him. You’ll see,” he told Danny.

  The boy nodded in full agreement, but he wasn’t sure of anything.

  “He’s the stronger,” the ex-jockey continued, “but I’m smarter. At least I ought to be.”

  Danny nodded again.

  “The trick is to kid a colt of this kind along,” Vititoe said as if to get his own thoughts in hand rather than to convince Danny of his ability to ride Man o’ War. “I’ll outsmart him. I’ll convince him that I’m stronger than he is.”

  Danny placed a blanket over Man o’ War. “His dumping you today won’t help any,” he said quietly.

  “No,” Vititoe admitted, “it won’t. But he’s not a mean colt, just something of a rebel. He wants to make it plain that he prefers to be left alone to go his own way.”

  “You fight, and he’ll fight back,” Danny reminded Vititoe.

  “I don’t intend to fight him. There’s a big difference between firmness and cruelty. But he must be made to do right.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know what right is,” Danny suggested.

  “I think he does. He’s too smart not to know.” Vititoe fed Man o’ War another piece of carrot. “Tomorrow he’ll learn I mean business … tomorrow and the day after that, and the one after that. It’s only a question of time before he realizes we’re in control, not he.”

  “I hope so,” Danny said. “I sure hope so.”

  Harry Vititoe was back early the next morning and again he was thrown by Man o’ War. But the colt didn’t break loose this time, for Danny had all the help he needed in keeping hold of him.

  Louis Feustel and Mr. Riddle were very much concerned. The big colt, it seemed, was not going to submit to being ridden. He fought from the moment the saddle was put on until he was worn down from twisting, rearing, and jumping. Only then would he allow Harry Vititoe to remain on his back. It was as if he knew everyone was too tired and breathless to go on with him.

  Vititoe would sit quietly in the saddle, talking to Man o’ War and rubbing his neck gently, letting him get used to the extra weight on his back. Unlike the others, Vititoe seemed confident that soon Man o’ War would submit to full control.

  After each back-breaking session, the ex-jockey would tell Danny, “He’s coming along, getting a little better every day. Don’t worry.”

  Danny couldn’t see much progress being made but he never mentioned it. If Vititoe thought they were getting somewhere, he didn’t want to be the one to discourage him. He felt most riders would have quit with Man o’ War long ago.

  “This colt will never in his life be saddled easy,” Vititoe told Danny one day. “He’ll always put up some kind of a token battle for his freedom whenever he’s made ready. But like I’ve said many times, he’s smart enough to know we’re too many and too strong for him. He’ll never forget these past few weeks, but he’ll make a good racehorse. I’m sure of it.”

  Danny watched Man o’ War take the carrot Vititoe offered him. Maybe the man knew what he was talking about. Maybe he did. One thing sure, he wasn’t going to quit … and perhaps Man o’ War knew that, too.

  By the end of the week Man o’ War’s battles had become less furious and of shorter duration. He allowed Vititoe to remain on his back while Danny led him around the large walking ring beyond the barns. All the other spectators watched from a distance, so more than anyone else in the stable Danny was aware of the progress Harry Vititoe was finally making in the schooling of Man o’ War.

  He listened to the man’s never-ending chatter as Vititoe talked to the colt, soothing him, comforting him. And when the rider wasn’t talking, he was singing to Man o’ War to get the colt used to his voice and to noise and commotion. Sometimes Vititoe would slap Man o’ War gently on the neck and rump and brush his heels lightly against the flanks. At first the big colt reared with every touch of Vititoe’s hand and heel, but eventually he became accustomed to them.

  Then one morning Vititoe ordered Danny to move away from Man o’ War and join the others who were watching. Standing next to Louis Feustel, Danny followed the big colt’s movements as Vititoe guided him around the ring. The colt stopped from time to time and Danny thought there would surely be trouble. But Man o’ War always moved forward again at Vititoe’s firm but gentle urging.

  “He’s learning fast now,” Louis Feustel told Mr. Riddle. “Maybe we’re going to have another racehorse after all.”

  “You had doubts, Louis?” Mr. Riddle asked.

  “I sure did,” the trainer answered.

  “You’ll have him for training before long,” Mr. Riddle said. “Then the real work will start.”

  Danny shook his head. As if what Harry Vititoe was doing wasn’t real work! It seemed to him that anything to come would be easy compared to this. Once they got Man o’ War on the track, he would train himself!

  Danny learned that Vititoe had no intention of hurrying the colt to the racetrack. Instead he kept Man o’ War in the large walking ring, making him go from a jog to a trot, and often using an older horse in the lead.

  “Gives him some company, Danny,” Vititoe said. ?
??And he’s ready for it now. Helps to keep him calm.”

  There were times when Man o’ War gave his rider trouble, but Vititoe stayed on him. Finally the ex-jockey had him changing direction about the ring, first in a trot, then in a canter. “But I never can relax on him,” he confided to Danny one afternoon. “He knows what I’m doing every step of the way. If I make one mistake, he’ll dump me.”

  “But he’s not fighting you,” Danny said.

  “No, just ready to test my seat and hands, that’s all. But usually I’m ready for him.”

  “He’s bridlewise now.”

  “Easy for a smart colt to learn. He knows what the bridle is for, all right.”

  “Are you taking him on the track soon?” Danny asked, making no attempt to conceal his eagerness now that the time had almost come.

  Vititoe rubbed Man o’ War’s head. “I think so, Danny,” he answered quietly. “He’s not apt to hurt anyone or himself now. We’ll move out there tomorrow.”

  The following morning Man o’ War went to the track for the first time under a rider. Harry Vititoe was balanced in the saddle and ready for almost anything. Danny was at the colt’s head when they stopped at the gap in the fence. For a while they watched the other horses at work and gave Man o’ War a chance to get used to all the noise and confusion.

  “Just let him have a good look around,” Vititoe said quietly.

  “He didn’t see much of this last time he was out here by himself,” Danny answered.

  Man o’ War’s eyes roamed. First he seemed to be looking at the huge grandstand as if expecting to find it filled rather than empty. Then he turned his gaze on the judges’ pavilion before moving it on to the track itself. Maybe it was the sight of a set of yearlings coming down the stretch that had attracted his attention. He watched them gallop by, their action quick and nervous, with some moving from one side of the track to the other, and shying and bolting.

  Danny held the lead shank short. “They’re new at it, like you,” he whispered to Man o’ War. “But they’ll settle down, too.”

  Another set of young horses came down the track, and their antics were even worse. Most of them bucked and kicked every few strides, and Danny wondered if any of them would ever make racehorses. At this stage of the game he almost doubted it. It was a trying time for everybody.

  “Settle down, you big bum, settle down,” Danny heard one rider call to his mount as they swept by. Danny noted that the tone of the rider’s voice was not derisive but comforting and encouraging, and that the words had been spoken in rhythm to the beat of the young horse’s hoofs. The chances were good that this rider loved his colt very much.

  Danny rubbed Man o’ War’s head. “Don’t be impatient. You’ll be out there soon enough,” he said.

  Harry Vititoe kept Man o’ War at the gap in the fence a long while before he finally signaled to Danny to turn him loose.

  “Luck,” Danny said, sweeping a hand down over the colt’s neck. Then he leaned on the rail to watch. “Nice and easy, Red,” he muttered to himself. “Nice and easy does it.”

  He saw at once that Harry Vititoe had his hands full keeping Man o’ War from bolting down the track after the other horses. But the ex-jockey had no intention of letting the colt go, and he kept a snug hold on the reins. Finally Man o’ War seemed to settle down, and Vititoe let him jog as they went around the track.

  Danny saw Man o’ War come to a stop on the far side. Vititoe let him sniff a wagon that was being pulled alongside the outer rail. Convinced that it was nothing to fear, Man o’ War went on.

  Danny turned his attention to a set of green yearlings coming down the track. Some of them evidently wanted to go back to the stable, for they were trying to make for the open gap in the fence. Their riders had a handful keeping them straight.

  For a moment Danny studied not the skittish colts but their riders. Most of the exercise boys weren’t “boys” at all, being closer to fifty than fifteen years of age. They were small, hardened men, many of them with wizened faces that looked as if they’d borne the brunt of a colt’s heels at some time during their careers. But despite their rough appearance they were marvelously kind to their charges.

  Danny listened to their voices, soft and patient, as they attempted to control the flighty mounts beneath them.

  “This filly’s a dilly,” one called as he was almost thrown and taken through the gap in the fence. “She ain’t afraid of nothin’! She’s just lookin’ for a chance to set me down in the dirt.” His voice and hands were soft, and Danny could tell that the filly was listening to him because she had one ear cocked.

  When they had passed, Danny knew he would have given anything to be small and wizened rather than the hulking figure he was. Raising his long arms, he snapped the end of the lead shank in the dirt. Maybe someday he’d be able to ride Man o’ War in spite of his size. If that day came, he wouldn’t change places with anyone in the world!

  He watched his colt again as Harry Vititoe brought him around the far turn and into the homestretch. Vititoe rode with longer stirrups than the rest of the “boys.” They helped him keep better balance, and he needed every aid he could get to stay on Man o’ War. The colt shied across the track, but Vititoe stopped him at the rail and got him into a slow jog again.

  They went past Danny, then Vititoe stopped Man o’ War and came back. The big colt wheeled suddenly as if reluctant to leave the track. Harry Vititoe brought him under control again.

  “Get the shank on him, Danny,” he said. “We’re calling it a morning.”

  Back at the barn Danny removed Man o’ War’s tack. “He did real well. Better than I thought he would.”

  Vititoe nodded, his eyes remaining on the colt. “Yes, everybody’s happy with the way he went. Tomorrow I’ll take him out with a couple of other yearlings so he’ll have some company.”

  “Don’t choose any flighty ones,” Danny cautioned.

  “No, they’d only make each other worse. I’ll pick a couple smart yearlings. Red will learn from them.”

  During the days that followed, Man o’ War went to the track with the more advanced yearlings in the Riddle stable. Most of the time he worked willingly for Harry Vititoe. He learned to go in single file, both leading and following the other horses. Sometimes he was asked to go head and head with them, first on the inside of the group, then on the outside. Only then was he difficult to handle, wanting to extend himself while Vititoe fought to keep him in a slow gallop.

  “He’s not ready for breezing or any fast work,” the ex-jockey told Danny. “My job is simply to get him legged-up and used to the presence of other horses. Feustel will take care of his real training.”

  “Then your work is almost done,” Danny said. Man o’ War was now being galloped twice around the track daily and he showed no signs of fatigue.

  “Just about, Danny,” Vititoe agreed. “He still gives us trouble when being saddled, but I don’t think I’ll be able to correct that, me or anyone else. He has a long memory. He won’t easily forget the weeks we’ve spent breaking him.”

  It was almost the end of September and soon the stable would be shipped to Mr. Riddle’s farm in Maryland. There, Danny knew, Man o’ War would be asked to move along at a faster pace, as some of the other yearlings were already doing.

  One morning he watched the small, compact colt that Mr. Jeffords had bought for the highest price in the sale. He was probably the most advanced of any yearling at the track and was breezing a furlong, from the eighth pole to the finish wire, in good time.

  “He looks like he’s worth every penny of the fifteen thousand six hundred dollars they paid for him,” he told Vititoe, who was standing next to him.

  The ex-jockey nodded in full agreement, his keen eyes following the rapid drive of the golden colt’s short, powerful legs. “He flies along, all right,” Vititoe said. “He’s going to Maryland, too, you know. Mr. and Mrs. Jeffords have a farm next to the Riddles’ so they’ll probably be training their colts on the s
ame track. It’ll be something to see.”

  “You mean my colt might be working with this one?” Danny asked.

  “They’re bound to put them together somewhere along the line,” Vititoe answered. “I’d like to be there to see it.”

  “I wish you were,” Danny said. “Somehow I can’t see anyone else up on him now.”

  The ex-jockey laughed and put an arm across Danny’s shoulders. “You’ll get used to it, Danny,” he said. “Before you’re done you’ll see a lot of riders up on him.” His eyes met the boy’s and his voice softened. “You’ll get used to it, Danny,” he repeated. “Just give your colt all you’ve got. Who knows? Maybe the two of you will go a long way.”

  Vititoe’s gaze returned to the Jeffords colt, which was easily pulling away from the other yearlings. “You might even make everyone forget what they paid for that one. You just might, at that.”

  A few days later the stable left Saratoga for the Riddle farm in Maryland, where training would be stepped up before winter arrived. During the weeks to come, Louis Feustel and Mr. Riddle would learn what they could expect from the yearlings they had bought.

  Danny was confident that Man o’ War would prove to be the best racehorse of the lot. But he knew that other caretakers felt the same way about their colts. Each expected his charge to be the one that would set the racing world afire with his blazing speed. Only time and fate held the answer.

  Fall Breezes

  12

  When he arrived at Glen Riddle Farm near Berlin, Maryland, Danny found the countryside very flat compared to Saratoga and the rolling hills he had known in Kentucky. But the land was spreading and peaceful so it wasn’t long before he felt at home. The farm itself included over a thousand acres, with stables for sixty horses. There was also a new mile track, which Mr. Riddle had built for the training of his own yearlings and those of Mr. and Mrs. Jeffords, who owned the adjoining farm.

  The October days that followed were bright and sunny, and Danny was told by the stablemen that the climate on the eastern shore of Maryland was such that they’d probably be able to work the yearlings outside most of the winter.