Carefully he lifted the saddle, clearing Man o’ War’s back and setting the saddle firmly on the pads. He let the girth strap fall to the off side, thrusting a foot underneath the colt to catch it and prevent the buckle from striking a foreleg and upsetting Man o’ War. Then he reached under the colt and threaded the girth strap through the buckle, drawing it up easily.
Man o’ War didn’t like the tightening girth. He half reared and tried to pull away. But Feustel and the others were at his head, holding him down. The stall was filled with their soft mutterings: “Easy. Easy, Red. Easy.”
Once outside, the trainer went over all that Danny had done. He inspected the bridle, cloth, pads, and saddle, finally slipping his fingers under the girth. Straightening, he turned to Danny and smiled for the first time that morning. “Most boys get it too tight, and the horse only galls himself. You did a good job, Danny.”
But Danny wasn’t listening. Man o’ War was ready for his morning work, but it wouldn’t be Clyde Gordon riding him. Waiting for the colt was Johnny Loftus, the Riddle stable’s contract rider and the leading jockey in America. It wasn’t often that he appeared mornings to work horses. He was wearing black breeches as gleaming as his boots, a turtleneck sweater, and no hat. He was slick and well groomed, looking every bit the successful jockey he was.
Feustel had already turned to him. “I want you to get to know this colt, Johnny,” he said. “I think you’ll be going places together.”
The jockey’s eyes swept over the big colt and he seemed to like what he saw, for he nodded in full agreement. “I heard he’s got plenty of speed. It goes with the rest of him.”
“He’s yours now,” the trainer said. “Get acquainted with him.”
The mid-May air was fresh and cool but Danny felt the heat of anger rising within him. He brushed the sweat from his forehead. He resented the fact that Johnny Loftus, more than anyone else, would be a part of all that was to come. It would be his hands that would guide Man o’ War in the stirring battles of the racetrack.
Danny held Man o’ War while Loftus mounted. What’d you expect anyway? Danny asked himself angrily. Nothing is going to change for you, ever. It’s enough that you’re here when he gets back to the barn.
Man o’ War tried to break away, but Danny and the others were used to his antics and held on to him. Finally they walked him quietly toward the track gate.
Danny heard Johnny Loftus say, “I hear he’s pretty sluggish at the start.”
Feustel answered, “He doesn’t like to wait, but he’s too big to get away fast.” Then, chuckling, he added, “He doesn’t have any trouble catching the others.”
“I’ll stir him up,” Loftus said. “Get him more on his toes. No sense in giving the others a handicap if we can help it.”
“Don’t get him too stirred up, Johnny,” Feustel warned. “I believe he could be made to get away faster, but I’m not worried about that now.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Loftus said.
Danny glanced up at the rider. Loftus would have to learn for himself that Man o’ War could not be pushed around. To stir him up at the barrier would mean trouble. The big colt was excitable enough without any prodding.
Reaching the track, they stopped Man o’ War while Feustel tightened the girth strap another hole. Just beyond, a black colt and a rider awaited them. Danny recognized the horse as Dream of the Valley, who had also been showing a lot of speed in his workouts. As Mr. Riddle had purchased him at the sales for only $3,500, he too looked like a real bargain. Man o’ War had never worked with this colt before, so it would be something to watch.
Feustel was telling Loftus, “The black colt breaks fast, so he just might take your colt out with him. At least he’ll show him how it should be done.”
“I won’t be left behind,” Loftus said. “I don’t like a sluggish colt at the barrier.”
“Have them break together if you can,” Feustel went on. “Stay together for the first two furlongs, then let them race through the final quarter.”
“Right,” Loftus said, signaling to Danny and the others to release the big colt.
Man o’ War plunged onto the track, eager to get to the business for which he had been bred and raised. There was no Major Treat alongside, no familiar hands on the reins … his racing days with Johnny Loftus had begun.
Danny remained with Louis Feustel as the trainer moved along the rail until he found a spot near the barrier. Other young horses were being schooled, and the shouts of the starting officials and riders filled the air.
Feustel nodded to one of the men lounging against the rail. “ ’Morning, Mr. Parr,” he said.
“ ’Morning, Louis,” the other answered, scarcely taking his eyes off the horses behind the barrier. “What’s that chestnut colt you got there?”
“Man o’ War,” Feustel replied. “By Fair Play out of Mahubah.”
“He’s right big for a two-year-old. And the black?”
“That’s Dream of the Valley. By Watervale out of Dream Girl,” Feustel answered.
“Nice, too, if not as big as the chestnut,” Mr. Parr said. “Mr. Garth and I,” nodding to indicate the man next to him, “are betting a dollar apiece as to which of these schooling youngsters gets away on top. I’ve got a couple colts of my own here. Paul Jones is pretty clever at getting away fast. I like him.”
“My black colt has a lot of foot, too,” Feustel said, smiling. “Watch him.”
“Oh, I will. And the chestnut? What about him?”
“Too big to get away fast,” Feustel said. “But he should catch the black colt.”
During the conversation their eyes had never left the two colts behind the elastic barrier.
“Your chestnut colt is eager to get away,” Mr. Parr said. “He won’t stand still.”
“I know,” Feustel said with some concern.
“My, there he goes up, fighting Johnny! He’s an excitable youngster, all right.”
“No, just eager, like you said before,” Feustel corrected.
“There, he smashed into your black colt, Louis,” the other said. “Johnny better be more careful. He’s savage …”
“No, the colt’s not vicious or mean,” Feustel said. “He knows what’s coming. He’s on his toes more than I’ve ever seen him at the start. If Johnny can just get him straightened out now …”
Mr. Parr shook his head. “I’m afraid Johnny might succeed in stirring him up beyond his intentions. That colt’s going to delay many a start by his behavior. There, Johnny’s got him down and straight. They might be sent off now.”
Danny had watched every move his colt and Johnny Loftus had made. Man o’ War reared continuously, attempting to get rid of his rider. But Loftus knew his business and stayed in the saddle.
Suddenly the elastic barrier snapped skyward, leaving the track clear. Man o’ War had never been more ready to go. All the excitement that Loftus had stirred up in his great body was unleashed with tremendous force. The fast black colt never had a chance to leave him behind. Man o’ War’s strides were longer than the other’s, but coming as fast. Despite all Loftus could do to keep Man o’ War even with the black colt for the first two furlongs, he began pulling away. And there was nothing more to the workout than a lone red horse sweeping around the track.
Danny heard Mr. Parr exclaim, “You’ve got a thunderbolt, Louis! You really have.”
“Could be,” Feustel said warily. “You can’t be sure of anything with colts.” But in his jaded eyes, too, could be seen the first glimmerings of a fire that was already burning at fever pitch in Danny Ryan’s.
First Start
16
A week later the stable moved to Belmont Park just outside New York City. At first the big colt was extremely nervous in his new surroundings, so Danny took him for long walks about the spacious grounds. It was fitting, he thought, that Man o’ War would be making his first start there, for the track was named after August Belmont, the founder of Nursery Stud. In a way it was
a sort of homecoming.
The word had been passed along the “grapevine” that the Riddle stable had a two-year-old that would bear watching, so those already at Belmont Park provided their own manner of welcome. They turned out in force to watch Man o’ War’s first early-morning workout. The big colt did not disappoint them. Under Johnny Loftus he reeled off a half mile in the blazing time of forty-seven seconds!
In subsequent workouts he was clocked again and again in the same time until, finally, no horse his age or older was watched more closely. Man o’ War took it all in easy stride, unruffled by the growing fuss being made over him. His only resentment was evident in his constant fight against the choking hold Loftus held on him to keep him from running his heart out.
“We got a colt that’s a real racehorse,” the famed jockey told Danny one morning when they returned to the stall.
The boy said nothing as he stripped the tack from Man o’ War. There was no doubt that Johnny Loftus had become very fond of the colt. He’d continued showing up mornings even when it wasn’t necessary, and there were times when Danny had caught him feeding Man o’ War a carrot.
“Yes, Danny,” the jockey went on. “I think we got a big one here. There’s something electric about him. I never felt anything like it before, and I’ve been on a lot of them.”
Man o’ War suddenly moved, reaching with his teeth. Loftus jumped back, avoiding the bared mouth and slapping the colt lightly on the muzzle.
“He’s got a nice eye but he’s quick with his teeth,” the jockey said.
“He’s just hot,” Danny said, apologizing for his colt. “He wouldn’t take hold.”
“Maybe not,” Loftus answered. “I don’t mind. I like a horse with a bit of dash. I like him. He does things to me. We’re going places together, him an’ me.”
“Sure,” Danny said. “Sure you are.” He paused, not quite certain whether or not he should tell Loftus what he had in mind. Finally he took the plunge. “I wish you’d stop stirring him up so much at the start.”
The smile left Johnny Loftus’s face. “I don’t like sluggish horses, Danny,” he said quietly.
“He’s not sluggish. He’s just big.”
“I work him up an’ he gets away with the others. It’s as simple as that.”
“Leave him alone and he’ll catch them without fighting,” Danny said.
It was several minutes before Danny was able to turn back to his work. He knew he should have kept quiet. It wasn’t his job to tell Johnny Loftus what to do, when Feustel and everybody else was happy with the colt’s progress. Instead, he should do everything possible to keep Man o’ War calm in his stall and leave the “stirring up” to others.
But even the quiet of the big stall was disrupted as the day of the race approached. Louis Feustel realized now that never before had he had such a colt, and it was his responsibility to keep him safe and sound.
“I don’t want him left alone for a minute, ever,” he ordered. “And that includes night as well as day.”
So other grooms joined Danny in the care of Man o’ War to make certain that the prized colt would remain safe and secure. It was a lot of fuss to be making over a youngster who had not yet faced the starter. But the men in the Riddle stable knew the time had come to unfurl Man o’ War in all his glory!
Man o’ War knew before dawn, the morning of June 6, 1919, that things were different. He had had less hay than usual during the night and none at all in the morning. And he had not been given his full box of oats! He clamored for more feed, and when it was not forthcoming, he became anxious to leave his stall. But in this, too, he was frustrated.
There was a steady stream of visitors throughout the morning, but the door was always closed quickly behind them. Man o’ War was rubbed over and over again with brush and rag until there was a burnished sheen to his copper coat. He listened to the soft murmurings of many voices, some familiar, others not. He sensed the anxiety and anticipation in the close air of the stall. Something big was going to happen. Yet he was not permitted to leave.
Danny had the colt’s mane and tail clean and flowing. He glanced at the man who was kneeling in the straw, holding an oval-shaped foot in his hand. “He knows what’s coming, all right,” he said quietly to Frank, the other groom.
“Yeah, he’s ripe and ready to race.”
“It’s going to be a long day,” Danny added. “The waiting, I mean.”
The man grunted. They were both aware that Man o’ War was watching them with a calm and knowing eye.
At noon Danny gave Man o’ War a light feeding of oats and remained in the stall with him. His own nervousness and tension were mounting even if the colt’s weren’t. It wouldn’t get any easier during the afternoon. They had to wait until the very last race on the program, the 8th, a race solely for two-year-olds, most of them making their first starts like Man o’ War.
Somehow the hours passed. The area outside the stall became even more crowded with visitors. The colt’s excitement mounted and lather showed between his legs.
Louis Feustel watched him closely. “He’s tight,” he said, “but not nervous. He’s in top shape.”
Mr. Riddle was there, looking very confident but as nervous as anyone else. He said quietly, “You used good judgment in holding him back until now, Louis.”
“He picked his own time,” Feustel answered. “He furnished his own spark like all good horses do.”
“I suppose so,” Mr. Riddle said. “If he wasn’t ready to go we’d know it.”
The trainer stepped back from the stall. “Physically he’s fit and, just as important, he’s in the proper mental condition to race.” He smiled encouragingly at Mr. Riddle. He enjoyed working for this man. They made a good team, as an owner and trainer should. He believed he knew Sam Riddle as well as he did every horse in the big stable. He realized how much money it cost to race and how much was at stake.
Mr. Riddle turned to meet Feustel’s smile, his own face lightening. “Then we might have a good one, Louis,” he said. His eyes said more.
“A great one, sir.”
“We’ll know before long,” the owner answered, refusing to allow himself to be too optimistic. He enjoyed watching his horses race whether they won or lost, for Louis Feustel never annoyed him with every little irritating detail that came up in a stable as large as his. Feustel took care of the details without running to him. He did his level best to get winners, and that was all any owner could ask.
It was two o’clock. “Take the water pail out of his stall, Danny,” Feustel ordered. “Give him a few more swallows just before he leaves for the paddock.”
He turned again to Mr. Riddle and they walked away, their heads together. Each understood the other. Each had learned to give and take. They were about to embark on a new venture, probably the biggest of all although neither would have admitted it. Each expected great things of Man o’ War, but they were prepared to take defeat if necessary.
Back in the stall Man o’ War was not touched again. The last few hours of waiting had begun. But for Danny they were, perhaps, the longest hours of all. He listened to the roar from the stands with each successive race on the day’s program. He watched the other horses in the stable area come and go, their caretakers busy and joking. He remained silent and tense, conscious only of the colt in the stall behind him and the ever-lengthening shadows.
Finally Frank came up to him. “It’s time, kid.”
They went into the stall and went over Man o’ War with a damp sponge for the last time. Neither said a word as they cleaned head and nostrils, then went over the turn of the mane, back to the tail, to the root and under, and finally down the long, sleek legs. A few swallows of fresh water and they were done.
The short walk to the paddock was made quickly, quietly. Man o’ War tugged on his lead shank as if he knew his time had come. And now he wore a cooler that was all black with yellow around the edges, the racing colors of the Riddle stable. He looked very beautiful, very worthy of
these colors.
Feustel was waiting for them just within the fenced paddock. The trainer glanced at Major Treat and was glad that he had decided to have the old gelding come along, for he was definitely having a quieting effect on Man o’ War. Just the same, Feustel decided to take no chances of the colt’s acting up in the strange surroundings. As they approached the saddling shed he said, “Have him face the back of it until we get him saddled. We’ll have less trouble if he’s looking at the partition.”
There were few people in the paddock compared to earlier in the afternoon. The shadows cast by the wide-spreading chestnut and oak trees were long and empty. The late air was cool. A small crowd hung over the paddock fence, watching last-minute preparations for the last race of the day.
Mr. Riddle stood with some of the other owners a short distance away from Man o’ War. He saw Johnny Loftus come into the paddock, carrying his light racing saddle. For a moment the owner’s eyes studied Johnny’s slight figure, the white breeches, and especially the black-and-yellow silk blouse.
All was as it should be, Mr. Riddle decided. He had the best jockey in America and Man o’ War was ready to run.
Louis Feustel took the saddle from Loftus and placed it carefully on the colt’s back. Man o’ War half reared, taking the boys at his head off their feet. They managed to hang on and brought him down, their mutterings filling the stall.
When Feustel tightened the girth strap, the colt half reared again, banging his handlers against the sides of the stall. They were more afraid Man o’ War would hurt himself than of any injury to themselves. But the saddle was on and the big colt quieted down as if he knew it was of no use to protest any longer. Feustel noticed the dark spots of sweat beginning to show on the red coat. Man o’ War was becoming very impatient. He had been waiting a long, long time.