Black Stallion's Shadow (2 page)

In and around the other saddling stalls owners and trainers smiled and talked together. Carrioca, the only
filly in the field, was owned by Billy Mars, a famous rock-and-roll star. With his shoulder-length black hair and flashy white suit, Mars was attracting as much attention as his horse.

“Riders up,” called the patrol judge. Henry gave Alec a boost, and the young jockey eased himself into his saddle. Morales was already atop Ruskin. The colt stepped out onto the walking ring to circle the paddock one last time before heading out to the track. Alec and Henry watched Morales ride by on the statuesque two-year-old. Ruskin moved gracefully and with deliberate strides, lifting and placing his hooves with perfect precision.

Morales carried a whip tucked under his arm. “Take a good look, Ramsay,” he teased Alec. “ 'Cause all you gonna see in this race is my colt's tail flappin' in you face.”

Henry scowled. “Wise guy,” the old-timer grunted. Alec pretended to laugh off the cocky comment. Morales had a reputation for being a joker. But whatever else people said about him, no one could deny that he was all pro, as was Ruskin's trainer, Luke Larsen. Only one thing mattered to Larsen. Winning. For the Cup race, Larsen had coupled Ruskin's entry with another colt, the sprinter Cielo Grande. To the bettors this was like getting two horses for the price of one.

Both Henry and Alec noted the coupling of Cielo and Ruskin and guessed that Larsen planned to use Cielo as a pacesetter, a “rabbit.” When the front runners grew tired from chasing Cielo, Ruskin could make a come-from-behind charge down the homestretch. The strategy was as old as racing itself and perfectly legal. The apprentice
jockey Tommy Canter had been chosen to ride the lanky gray Cielo. As an apprentice, Canter was entitled to carry less weight than the veteran riders, a valuable asset when riding a rabbit.

Alec turned to Henry for any final instructions. Not that he needed them; it was more of a ceremonial gesture at this point in their careers. But today Henry knew something was bothering his jockey.

“What's the matter, kid? You okay?” Henry whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“I guess so,” Alec replied uneasily.

“You guess?”

“I'm okay,” Alec said.

“Listen, Alec. Forget those stories in the paper. Everything'll be fine, you'll see. Just ride the race the way she comes up. You know what to do.”

Despite Henry's confident words Alec could see the furrows deepen in the old trainer's wrinkled brow. So the stories in the paper had gotten to him too. Henry looked as though he knew very well what was at risk here today.

Cameras clicked as horses, jockeys and outriders filed onto the track for the post parade. By sheer size alone the Black and Ruskin stood out from the rest. The spectators oohed and aahed at the sight of the horses.

The Black warmed up nicely in front of the grandstand, and some of Alec's confidence began to return. The stallion was ready to race. Alec tested the spring in his stirrups, crouching forward above the Black's neck. The Black eagerly responded to the shifting weight on his back until Alec pulled him up again.

Earlier in the day the smog had lifted to reveal in the distance the rugged San Gabriel Mountains outside Los Angeles. They were a stunning backdrop, and Santa Anna was widely regarded as one of the most beautiful tracks in the country. Thousands of noisy spectators jammed the towering grandstands. At the end of the homestretch stood the ornately decorated clubhouse, surrounded by landscaped gardens and also packed with racing fans.

As the warm afternoon sun moved behind the stands, it cast a long shadow down across the track and into the infield, where still more spectators thronged. Radios blared rock music in homage to Billy Mars and his filly. Beyond the spreading shadow some of the fans had stripped down to their bare backs to enjoy the warm sunshine. Here and there low-hanging clouds dotted the sky.

The starting gate, a jangling network of slats, bars and doors, was pulled by a tractor to the beginning of the homestretch. Alec looked up and down the straightaway. The first part of the mile-and-a-half course would be a flat-out sprint down the homestretch in front of the stands. Then they would ride all the way around the racecourse and pass the stands a second time for the finish. To loosen up, Alec rode the Black beyond the start to the backstretch before returning to the gate.

Alec eased the Black to the outside of the track and waited. Soon the metallic voice of the track announcer drifted his way on the breeze. “Ladies and gentlemen, the horses are now entering the starting gate. One minute until post time.”

The horses who had drawn the inside starting positions
were loaded first. One by one the assistant starters led the nine horses to their stalls. Quickly the doors clanged shut behind them. In a moment the Black's stall was before him and a starter waved him in. The stallion loaded easily into post position seven.

Alec pulled his riding goggles over his eyes and found a spot to focus on at the far end of the straightaway. Carrioca banged impatiently against the walls of her padded stall. “Settle that filly down, Gill,” the starter ordered the filly's jockey. The assistants climbed in and out of the gate like monkeys, trying to keep the horses still.

Automatically Alec steadied the Black before he too began fidgeting. He rubbed the Black's neck and whispered to his horse, “Wait for me.”

The last stall door clicked shut. The outside horse was finally in place. Alec grabbed a fistful of mane. It would help him keep his balance in the early going. He pulled himself forward and braced for the break onto the track.

A cloud passed over the sun and the shadows on the track disappeared. A brief moment of calm settled on the waiting horses. The starter hit the switch and the gates flew open. The American Cup was on!

CHAPTER 2

T
he horses broke from the gate like a cavalry charge. Driving hooves scrambled for traction and tore up the racetrack. Hoofbeats exploded like gunfire. “Ya, ya, ya!” shouted the jockeys. Their horses surged ahead, blowing deep lungfuls of air through distended nostrils. Alec bounced to a crouch. The Black took two strides, dropped his head and stumbled! Dirt splattered onto Alec's goggles. He sat tight and gave his horse time to collect himself.

The Black fell to last place before finding solid footing and digging in. Alec moved his arms low to his horse's neck and tucked himself into the streaming mane. His legs became shock absorbers locked into the stirrups. Hunching over, he felt the familiar surge beneath him like a surfer being picked up by a powerful ocean swell.

As expected, the early lead belonged to Cielo, the “rabbit.”
The apprentice jockey Tommy Canter was struggling to keep his balance astride the front runner. Morales eased off on Ruskin and dropped back to fourth place.

Fractions flashed by on the tote board's electronic teletimer. Alec counted the time in his head. He didn't need to look at a clock to know how fast they were going. The pace was much too quick for a race this long. Any horses trying to keep up with Cielo would be exhausted by the time they reached the homestretch.

The crowd of spectators had been on its feet since before the start of the race. The tumultuous roar from the stands, the wall of noise, sounded like a great wave about to crash down on the track. The Black moved up into the center of the horses as they crowded into the clubhouse turn. He wanted to keep going, but Alec checked him. The stallion shook his head, angered at being restrained.

“Easy, Black, easy. Plenty of time,” Alec coaxed. He was rating his horse, saving the stallion's best effort for last. The trick would be knowing when and where to move.

Down the backstretch the furious pace began to take its toll. The gap narrowed between Cielo and the rest of the field. Alec slowly began to thread his way through the pack. Above the Black's pitched ears he saw Ruskin, cruising along smooth and steady. He was a length ahead, in third-place position.

Alec inched alongside Morales. The sculpted heads of Ruskin and the Black rose and dipped together as the horses rounded the far turn. On Alec's cue the Black
switched to a left lead and went for the bit. Alec let him have it. The message was telegraphed and received. Go!

Alec and the Black blended together into one animal. In stride they became an unstoppable racing machine. Almost too easily the Black pulled past Ruskin and bore down on the tiring front runners, Major Martin and Cielo. The rushing wind fanned the bonfire burning in his heart. His hooves hammered the dirt. With one more surge of power the stallion moved past the others and into the lead unchallenged.

Swift and easy came the Black's strides. It was a perfect melding together of strength and unwasted motion. Alec adjusted his weight subtly. His black boots pressed tightly against the stallion's upper back. He rocked in his seat to match the pumping motion of the Black's shoulders and neck. The stallion's mane whipped across his face as they dashed down the homestretch.

Suddenly the sound of rushing hooves exploded from behind. Alec didn't have to guess who the challenger would be. “Rus-kin! Rus-kin! Rus-kin!” came the chant from the stands.

“Go get him, Hector!” Tommy Canter yelled to Morales.

Ruskin closed in on the Black and pulled along the inside. The colt's hooves skipped over the dirt and seemed to barely touch the track before taking off again. He was practically flying.

Morales went for the whip, smacking his horse repeatedly on the belly and then showing it to him to urge him on. Alec set his jaw, and the skin drew tight about his
cheekbones. His body pressure sent new signals to the Black, asking for more speed.

Ruskin and the Black ran alongside each other like a wagon team in the same invisible harness. Alec moved the Black closer to Ruskin, forcing Morales to switch the whip to his left hand. Ruskin responded by swinging to the outside and bumping into the Black. Instead of faltering from the jolt the Black only changed leads and raced even faster. Both horses reached out to strain for every inch of precious ground. They blew past the last furlong pole left before the wire. Only 220 yards more to go!

All eyes in the packed stands followed the two horses as they began their neck-and-neck drive to the wire. From private box seats to the grandstands, people waved and cheered wildly. The clamor rocked Santa Anna like an earthquake.

High overhead a patch of clouds drifted away from the sun. A curtain of shadow fell from the stands and spread out onto the track. The horses drew near the looming darkness. As the light shifted around them Alec glimpsed something incredible out of the corner of his eye. Ruskin broke rhythm and leapt into the air! The colt lost his balance coming down and tumbled to the ground. Morales catapulted out of his saddle.

All at once the wild cheering from the stands ceased. A great whooshing sound rose up in its place—the sound of tens of thousands of people gasping in horror.

The wire passed overhead. Alec heard cries and an awful thudding behind him. He didn't need to turn around to guess what had happened. A horse and rider
were down, maybe more. Riding instinctively, Alec could think only of the Black. “You did it, fella,” he whispered to him. “You did it.” Alec shifted his weight back in the stirrups.

The black stallion shortened his strides, his breath thundering. He continued all the way around the clubhouse turn before finally slowing to a walk.

Alec closed his eyes. How he would like to forget this race or just keep on going, ride away and not look back! In the depths of his mind a storm was brewing. But he would not, could not, let the storm overtake him. Not now. Don't think, just do, he told himself.

Instead of going directly to the winner's circle, Alec rode past the clubhouse. He came to the shaded area in front of the grandstand. Crumpled shapes lay in the dirt just short of the finish line—one horse, two jockeys. The horse was Ruskin. The colt was struggling to get up, his foreleg severely broken. Assistants tried to hold the injured horse still and finally managed to get him down again. Another horse, Spin Doctor, stood on three legs by the inside rail.