The Black Stallion's Courage

  The last furlong pole flashed by, and for a second Alec forgot his instructions in the boiling heat of the stretch run. The leather slid through his wet hands and eagerly the Black took advantage of the extra rein, drawing alongside the gelding in one jump. Then Alec caught a glimpse of Henry and Don far down the track, seated astride their stable ponies. Quickly he took up rein. The Black shook his head furiously and his teeth sought the bit again. Alec kept it from him and the gelding was in front as the horses swept beneath the finish wire.

  When Alec had slowed the Black and was turning him at a walk, Henry rode up and said gravely, “Get off, Alec. I think he missed a step in that left foreleg.”

  All the way back to the barn they watched the Black’s strides carefully and found nothing wrong.

  “Still, I want to make sure,” Henry said. “I’ll call the vet.”

  “Let’s not look too hard for trouble, Henry,” Alec pleaded. “As long as he cools out all right, I don’t see any reason for a vet.”

  But Henry had his way. The next morning, even though the Black’s legs and hoofs were cool to the touch and he walked soundly, Henry had Alec pull off all four shoes. The veterinarian found nothing wrong but Henry insisted upon his taking X-rays. These, too, disclosed no injury anywhere.

  “I hope you’re satisfied now, Henry,” the veterinarian said. “I’ve never known anyone to do so much worrying before we found anything wrong.”

  “We’ve got a big stake in this horse, Doc,” Henry answered.

  “Worrying isn’t going to help any.”

  Regardless of the veterinarian’s sound advice Henry didn’t work the Black during the next few days for fear his legs would be hurt in some way. By the end of the week the stallion was almost bursting with energy and eager for much more than his walks about the stable area. His legs were as sound as they’d ever been in his life, Alec knew. But Henry’s orders remained the same and Alec and the Black walked and walked.

  On one of their trips they came upon Michael Costello grazing Casey. The chestnut’s head jerked up fast when the Black approached. Alec tightened the lead shank and his horse swung around.

  He was about to leave when Mike asked, “Did ye hear the nerve of that upstart Pops?”

  Alec shook his head. Eclipse was one of the few horses who had been moved to Aqueduct right after his victory in the Belmont.

  “ ’Tis a-steppin’ out of his class he is on Saturday in the Summer Festival Handicap,” Mike said.

  Alec’s face showed his great surprise. It wasn’t often that a three-year-old left his age group to race older competition. Not even the great colt Man o’ War had gone into the open handicaps.

  “Aren’t you and Casey scheduled to go in that race too?” he asked.

  Michael Costello’s black eyes flashed. “ ’Tis the truth ye speak, and I’m a-promisin’ that Casey will be puttin’ the youngster in his place.”

  Later Alec told Henry what Mike had said and the trainer chuckled. “I’ll believe such a lickin’ when I see it. Mike will have his hands full and Casey had better be at his Saturday best. Pops is sharp after the Belmont and no one’s told him that the horses he’ll be racin’ are older and more experienced. He’s used to winning and he’s big and strong enough to handle all of them, including Casey.”

  The following Saturday Alec and Henry were among the great crowd at Aqueduct who watched Eclipse go to the post against ten of the best handicap stars in the country. Casey, however, wasn’t one of them. He had not cleaned his feedbox that morning and his trainer was taking no chances of hurting his champion with the much richer Carter and Brooklyn Handicaps only a few weeks off.

  The announcement of Casey’s withdrawal from the race was greeted by a loud clamor of disapproval. It was the lure of a meeting between Eclipse and Casey that had swelled the stands. For a long while the booing continued. Was the great Casey scared of the three-year-old champion? the fans asked themselves. Was that the real reason he’d been scratched from the race?

  Henry shook his head in disgust at the clamor. He would have liked to tell those people a thing or two. One Saturday they applauded a horse to the skies for a superior race and the next Saturday they ran him into the ground. He would have liked to expose their ignorance. A trainer didn’t race a horse who wasn’t a hundred percent well. Would they rather have seen Casey run a mediocre race and be beaten? Was that what they wanted? Didn’t they care that he might be hurt for life and ruin his whole career? All for a Saturday race that didn’t amount to much more than a seven-furlong workout for such a horse?

  “The race you want will come off,” he muttered. “You’ll see it when they’re both ready to go at the same time, and it’ll be for keeps.”

  “What’d you say, Henry?” Alec asked.

  “Nothin’… except, well—” the old trainer’s eyes were on the horses entering the gate, “I was thinkin’ that it wasn’t fair to Pops to make him give pounds as well as years in his first race against older horses.”

  With Casey out of the race, Eclipse was carrying top weight of 126 pounds, 10 less than Casey would have carried if he’d gone to the post but 5 pounds more than any other horse in the present field.

  Alec watched Don Conover’s Gunfire with whom the Black had worked a few days ago. The bay gelding was the second heaviest-weighted horse, carrying 121 pounds. Billy Watts was up on him.

  “The crowd seems to agree with the handicapper,” Alec said. “They’ve made Eclipse a heavy favorite even at the weight and age concession.”

  Henry grunted, “We’ll know in a minute who’s right.”

  The answer came swiftly and conclusively. As soon as Eclipse left the starting gate and before his jockey could hold him back after a fast break, he sprinted through a hole between two inside horses, brushing the rail in his eagerness to get out in front. After a few long strides he surged ahead of Gunfire and then everybody saw that there was no holding him back.

  For the first time in his life, Eclipse took the lead early in a race. There was nothing his jockey, Ted Robinson, could do about it except to try to rate the colt’s speed, hoping to save enough to meet any challenge that might come from behind in the homestretch.

  Alec saw Robinson take a new hold on the reins but there was no shortening of Eclipse’s strides. Instead the burly colt drew ever farther away from the rest of the field. Alec knew then that Eclipse had gripped the bit, that he was running the way the Black had raced in the Speed Handicap.

  Eclipse swept around Aqueduct’s sharp far turn and came thundering down the homestretch. Nobody among the great crowd expected to see any horse from the field come running at him and none did. His extreme speed had smothered them all and as the older handicap stars began fading still farther in the distance even the most conservative horsemen watching knew that here was one of the fastest horses of all time.

  In silent homage they watched Eclipse sweep under the wire all by himself. They broke into an ever-swelling roar only when the electric lights flashed the time of the seven-furlong race on the center-field board.

  Eclipse had shattered the Black’s record set in the Speed Handicap at Belmont only a few weeks before!

  SKYROCKET

  15

  The policeman on the corner waved as Alec crossed the street and, entering the drugstore, the boy heard someone say, “There goes Ramsay.” It never used to be like that. He could have walked all over town without anyone’s recognizing him. The Black had changed all that for him and for Henry.

  It was the middle of a hot afternoon and the soda-fountain counter was crowded with customers eating plates of ice cream topped with thick syrup, whipped cream and nuts. Alec hadn’t had lunch and he thought how good a chocolate soda would have tasted. But he resisted the temptation to order it. One didn’t get used to eating such delicacies and stay in his business for very long. Not that weight had ever been too big a worry with him.

  He found an empty stool. “A hamburger, please,” he told the counterman, “with le
ttuce and tomato.”

  “You could eat all you want and still make weight on the Black,” a voice beside him said.

  Turning his head, he saw that Billy Watts was seated on the stool next to him. “Hi, Billy,” he said in greeting. “I didn’t see you there.”

  The young jockey lifted the tall malted milk shake in front of him. “You were too busy looking at this,” he answered. “Have one on me.”

  Alec smiled. “If I had one, I’d have another. Then when I couldn’t keep away from them, Henry would come up with a light mount for me to ride and I wouldn’t be able to make the weight.”

  “I guess so,” Billy Watts admitted, smiling too. “You’re better off the stuff.”

  Alec watched his friend take another long swallow of the milk shake. Really, he thought, Billy should stay away from such rich food. He was stocky and getting stockier. His broad, cheerful face was getting broader, too, if not more cheerful.

  The young jockey set his glass down. “My big worry is something else,” he said, his face suddenly very sober.

  Alec didn’t bother to ask him what it was. He’d seen Billy being crowded going into the first turn in Saturday’s race and thought he knew. Billy had been close to going down.

  “Red’s doing okay,” Alec said, changing the subject. “We called home last night. They’ve got a good vet taking care of his leg.”

  “Fine, that’s fine,” Billy said. He finished his milk shake and ordered another.

  “You really are going to the dogs,” Alec said lightly. Billy didn’t laugh or say anything in response.

  The hamburger came and Alec started eating. Finally he broke the strained silence that had come between them. “They’re saying he humiliated the handicapper as well as the rest of you. He took the race too easily.”

  “Pops, y’mean?”

  Alec nodded.

  “He made a hard one look easy,” Billy said earnestly. “No one would have known he was racing some of the best handicap horses in the game. But then again he’s no normal three-year-old. He should have given us even more pounds than he did. He’s the greatest colt I’ve ever seen.” The milk shake came and he drank half of it before setting the glass down.

  Alec nodded. “A good many of the old-timers seem to feel that way too. A lot more of them have climbed on his bandwagon.”

  “It wasn’t even an important race to him,” Billy said wonderingly. “Just a tightener for the big-money Dwyer next Saturday. That’s all it was.”

  Alec took another bite of his hamburger and then said, “I don’t know why he has to be very tight for that race. It’s for his own age group and he has complete domination of that division. If he keeps up the luck he’s had so far, it’ll take Casey and the Black to beat him.”

  “That’s a race I’d like to see,” Billy said. “But I don’t think his trainer will go out looking for trouble,” he added thoughtfully.

  “He would have had it if Casey had raced Saturday.”

  “Yeah, I guess he would. How is Casey anyway? Was he really sick, do you think?”

  “He’s not sick now but maybe that’s because he didn’t race,” Alec answered. “Mike Costello worked him fast this morning. They’ll be going in the Carter Handicap next Monday.”

  “That’s the Black’s race, too, isn’t it?”

  “It is if Henry is satisfied with the weight assignments,” Alec replied. “He won’t let him go if they pack too many pounds on him against a horse like Casey.”

  “Would a hundred and forty be too much?” Billy asked, finishing his milk shake.

  “Sure it would. No horse has carried that much weight in the fifty-odd years the Carter’s been run.”

  “I understand that this year some horse is packing it,” Billy said wisely. “Your horse.”

  “You mean—” Alec stopped, studying Billy’s round face. There was some chocolate around his lower lip. “How do you know?” he asked finally.

  “The weights were announced about an hour ago.”

  “I was in Flushing,” Alec said. “How much did they give Casey?”

  “One hundred and thirty-five.”

  “The Black won’t race then,” Alec said. “Henry won’t let him. He’s worried now about his breaking down, and with one hundred and forty pounds on his back—”

  “I’m not interested,” Billy interrupted abruptly. “It’s your business. I just thought I’d tell you.” Catching the counterman’s attention, he ordered a doughnut.

  “You have any light horses to race tomorrow?” Alec asked jokingly, but his eyes were critical when he met Billy’s.

  “Not tomorrow or ever,” Billy answered quietly. “I’m through for good. I got scared in that race, I really did. You might as well be the first to know.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Alec said just as quietly, “if that’s the way it is.”

  “It is,” Billy replied, taking his eyes off Alec’s.

  “But Don said you were going to ride Gunfire in the Carter.”

  “I will if he makes me, but that’s all then.”

  “What will you do?”

  The young jockey shrugged his shoulders.

  “Would you like to work for us?” Alec asked.

  “I’m through with racing, I told you,” Billy said. “You know it as well as I do.”

  “I meant at the farm.”

  Billy looked at Alec and his eyes disclosed his kindled interest. “Doing what?” he asked.

  “We have a foaling man’s job open.”

  “You mean the job the guy had who burned down your barn? Take his place?”

  “Yes, and you can help break the yearlings.”

  Billy Watts said eagerly, “Sure, Alec. Sure I would. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I couldn’t want anything more.”

  Returning later to the barn, Alec saw a group of reporters outside the Black’s stall. The top screen door was closed and it was apparent that Henry was inside, for the press were addressing their remarks to him.

  “The Black is perfectly sound?” one of the reporters asked.

  Henry’s gruff voice came from the stall. “That’s what the vet says but I’m not sure yet. Anyway I’m not taking any chances lettin’ him race with a hundred and forty pounds on his back.”

  “Then he’s out of the Carter?”

  Henry didn’t answer, and Alec pushed his way through the crowd. They asked questions of him but he directed them to Henry. “He’s the boss,” Alec said, opening the stall door and going inside.

  The stallion stood in the rear of his stall and Henry remained at the door. Alec noticed that while the reporters were marveling at the Black’s fine muscles Henry was looking gravely at the left foreleg. Alec decided that Henry was overdoing his apparent concern for the Black’s soundness. There was no fever in the foreleg and if anything had been wrong it would have shown up in the morning’s run. He’d worked the stallion alone and fast. The Black had not missed a step, then or later.

  The stallion came to Alec and the boy stroked him while listening to Henry and the reporters.

  “He wouldn’t be carrying much more than Casey,” a newsman said. “Only five pounds. Casey’s going.”

  “That’s his trainer’s business,” Henry retorted. “If he wants to give up to forty pounds to some of those other good horses, he can. But that’s not the way I like it!”

  “You’re as sensitive to weight as an apothecary’s scale,” a reporter in the back shouted.

  “I better be,” Henry answered gruffly through the screen door. “No one else is or we wouldn’t be assigned more pounds than ever before in the Carter.”

  “Maybe he’s more horse than ever raced in the Carter,” someone suggested. “After all, Henry, it’s the handicapper’s job to try to bring all horses down to the wire together.”

  “And it’s my job and privilege to withdraw my entry from a race when I think the weight assignment is excessive!” Henry bellowed at the top of his voice.

  The Black jumped and Alec had troub
le quieting him. The reporters too had jumped and were standing farther away from the door.

  “What are you staying in here for?” Alec asked Henry. “You’re getting him excited. He just might kick you.”

  “Hold him then,” Henry said brusquely without leaving the stall.

  A reporter asked quietly but with a sarcastic overtone, “Shall we tell our readers then that the Black’s racing will be limited this season because of your aversion to high weights?”

  “Tell ’em anything you want,” Henry said, “but I say I won’t start any horse when I think the weight assignment is unfair to him.”

  “Then the Black won’t be meeting Casey this season?”

  “That’s up to the handicapper,” Henry answered.

  “And Eclipse?” another reporter asked. “What about him, Henry? Would you be interested in a special race Aqueduct would like to arrange between Eclipse, Casey and the Black?”

  “That’s still up to the handicapper,” Henry said. “If he treats Eclipse like an ordinary three-year-old and has him too light-weighted against us I won’t accept it. Some horses reach their peak at three years of age and Eclipse is one of ’em. He should not be weighted as a colt.”

  A reporter laughed and said kindly, “I agree with you, Henry, since he broke the Black’s seven-furlong record last Saturday. But let’s get back to the Carter. You’re out of it and there’ll be no Casey-Black race on Monday. Is that what you want us to tell our readers?”

  “I told you to tell ’em anything you want,” Henry shouted. The Black let go a hind leg against the wooden planking. It unnerved Henry and he jumped for the door.

  The reporters laughed and Henry said furiously, “Get on with you now! All of you! Tell your readers that I’m not goin’ to start a horse in a race when I think he has no chance to win! Now get out of here, I say!”

  The Black snorted and half-reared, then his hind hoofs crashed the wood siding again. Henry left the stall, hurriedly chasing the newsmen from the barn.