Black Stallion's Shadow (4 page)

For long moments he stared into the shadows beyond the open half-door, his mind filled with dark thoughts. Racing had changed in the past few years. Younger horses like Ruskin found themselves being pushed to go farther and faster than ever before. Lured by ever-larger purses, the owners and trainers competed under increased pressure to run their horses longer and harder.

This was not Henry Dailey's way, but that hardly mattered. When a horse went down during a race, it meant danger for everybody racing behind him. Spin Doctor was proof of that. Alec left the stable area and walked back to the Railbird. He remembered the empty stall, the offerings of oats and sugar. What a way to win a horse race, he thought. And what a waste of two fine horses.

Habit woke him before sunup the next morning. He felt better. Any misgivings about what had happened yesterday were tucked safely away in the back of his mind. Hadn't the Black fought off Ruskin's charge down the backstretch and pulled up fit and strong? Sure, Alec told himself, the life of a racehorse could be a dangerous one. But if it was good enough for the likes of Man o' War and Secretariat, it should be good enough for the Black.

Soon he and Henry were at the track again, walking past rows of stalls in rows of barns. When they arrived at the Black's stall, Henry ordered a light workout, intended only to keep the stallion limber and loose. “Just open up his windpipe a bit,” Henry said. He boosted Alec into the saddle.

The sound of the Black's metal shoes rang on the paths and paved roads that wound between the different barns. A security policeman stopped traffic so Alec and the Black could cross an access road leading out of the stable area.

The Black felt good beneath Alec, bouncing slightly when he walked. Alec came to the gap in the fence and turned right. A half-dozen horses were working out on the oval-shaped training track, running at different speeds. One and two at a time, they moved around the track counterclockwise. The exercise riders clucked to their mounts. Sometimes they shouted and called out to egg each other on.

The sun moved above the mountainous backdrop that cradled Santa Anna. Wisps of low fog and mist rose from
the dew-moistened training track. The drumming of hooves filled the air.

A flagpole stood at the center of the infield of the training track. The sun crept higher in the east and the pole cast a long shadow, a line of darkness, halfway across the track. Alec had never noticed the shadow before. After what happened to Ruskin yesterday, it was hard not to.

Slowly the Black moved off after the other horses. No crowd of horseplayers cheered him on today. The area outside the track railing was empty except for the handful of trainers and early birds there to watch the morning workouts. Trainers punched their stopwatches as their colts paced each other around the course. One trainer followed his filly's workout using a palm-size video camcorder.

After a couple of lazy circuits Alec decided to give the Black his head and let him run at will for a turn or two. Alec moved the Black into the center of the track. The stallion took off at a sharp canter. His strides lengthened to a full gallop. Alec could feel his own heart begin to race. As the speed increased, time seemed to stand still. There was no past, no future. Alec belonged entirely to the Black. No room existed for anything else.

Ahead of him the thin line of darkness that fell from the flagpole became more defined. The shadow seemed to dig a gutter across the left side of the track. Images from yesterday's stretch drive flashed through Alec's mind, tightening his entire body. He could almost hear the crowd chanting “Rus-kin! Rus-kin!” The Black bore
down on the shadow. Alec sensed a slight tremor, a shiver of twitching muscles.

Suddenly the stallion no longer responded to the reins. Before Alec knew what was happening the Black swerved hard to the right, avoiding the spot where the shadow fell across the inside of the track! He shook his head furiously and swung to the outside railing.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Alec shouted as the reins were wrenched through his hands. It took a long second or two for Alec to regain control. The Black slowed and snorted. Alec stood up in the stirrup irons. Wind-burned tears wet his cheeks as he leaned back in the saddle.

What happened to Alec and the Black did not escape the attention of the trainers and spectators watching the workouts, or the keen eyes of Henry Dailey. Alec rode over to where Henry was standing by the rail. “See that?” Alec asked, a look of bewilderment on his face.

“I saw it. What happened?”

“Don't know. He just took the bit and swung out. Wasn't a thing I could do.”

Henry slipped between the fence rails and walked Alec and the Black to the point where the shadow fell. The old trainer took off his fedora and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, the way he did when something was starting to bother him. The Black lowered his head to sniff and paw at the dark line on the ground.

“I don't like this, Alec.” Henry's voice sounded serious. The Black bobbed his head impatiently. Henry stepped out of the way and tried to read the stallion's mood. He replaced his hat and turned to look up at Alec. “Try him
again. Let him run with you this time.”

Alec leaned forward in the saddle and set the Black in motion. Faster and faster he ran. The quadruple rhythm of his hooves thundered in Alec's ears. The Black's mane whipped his hands. Round one bend they flew, then the other. As the Black turned onto the stretch he switched leads to come on in full flight.

Alec tried to gauge the Black's speed—not quite a breeze, running close to all out, but plenty fast enough. He held the reins stiffly in his hands and drove hard along the inside rail. The shadow crossed the track directly ahead of them. At this speed the Black wouldn't have enough room to turn away.

Again Alec recalled yesterday's race and the drive into the shadow. Somehow he sensed that the Black was remembering that moment, too. Alec felt muscles tightening. Usually the Black ran for the joy of running. Now it felt forced, as if he didn't want to throw his legs down one in front of the other.

When the Black saw that he couldn't avoid the line of shadow, he simply hopped over it. Luckily the stallion landed in stride, never upsetting his internal rhythm. It was a dreadful replay of what happened yesterday to Ruskin, only the Black hadn't stumbled. If he had been going any faster…

The Black dropped his head toward his outstretched legs. His strides shortened and he slowed to a trot. Whatever overcame the Black as he approached the shadow, Alec could detect no sign of nervousness now.

Pulling the Black to a stop, Alec slid out of the saddle and looked silently over at Henry. The other trainers and spectators watched them as they left the track. Once out of earshot, Alec and Henry talked quietly.

“Seeing what happened to Ruskin yesterday must have really spooked him,” Henry said.

“What'll we do now?”

Henry paused and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I'm not sure, but the Black can't race again until we've figured this thing out and beat it.”

Alec looked up at the Black. What was happening to his beloved horse? Overhead he heard the flapping of the flag. Whipped by the wind, it sounded like a taunting laugh.

CHAPTER 5

W
hen they reached the stables, the familiar sights, sounds and smells no longer felt so comforting. Now Alec had a real problem, one he couldn't tuck away in some corner of his mind and ignore.

Alec and Henry led the Black to the walking path circling the barn. “Shadows have never bothered the Black,” Alec said. “He's run through them a hundred times.”

Lines of worry creased Henry's brow. “That was before yesterday's race.”

“So what can we do about it?”

“Good question. Any horse but the Black, I'd try using a shadow roll when he races.”

Alec frowned at the thought of adding the thick padded roll to the noseband on the Black's bridle. It functioned like blinkers and limited a horse's field of vision so
that he couldn't see around his feet. “He'd never go for more tack on his face. Sometimes the Black still resents wearing a bridle. But there must be an answer somewhere.”

Henry slapped his thigh angrily. “Jay-sus. If this don't beat all.”

Alec tried to be optimistic. “Come on, Henry. Maybe the Black will get over this thing on his own.”

“Yeah. Then again, maybe he won't. What then?”

Suddenly Henry snapped his fingers and his face brightened. “Hey! Wait a minute. I might know someone who could help us. I've told you about my friend Wes Taylor, haven't I?”

“The guy who trains horses for movies?”

“Yeah. He's terrific with offbeat problems like this. How about we let him take a look at the Black?” Henry didn't wait for Alec to answer. “His ranch isn't far. Let's give him a call.”

Alec couldn't believe Henry was serious. “But we have to be at the airport in less than two hours! And what about the yearling sale?”

“I can take care of business at the sale by myself. You and the Black are going to see Wes Taylor.”

“But …” Alec began. Henry ducked into the barn to find a telephone.

Alec stood there, feeling pulled in two directions at once. He'd heard all about Henry's friend, usually when they were watching some old Western on TV late at night. Henry seemed convinced that his pal had worked on practically every Western movie ever made. But how did
that qualify him to work with the Black? On the other hand, a solution was needed. Somebody had to do something.

Alec continued walking his horse around the barn. Fifteen minutes later Henry returned. “It's all set. He's expecting you. And guess what? You know that Western series on channel 7,
Drover Days
? They have a TV crew shooting some scenes over at Wes's place right now. Paul Kramer is guest starring in a few episodes.”

“Paul Kramer? He's still around?”

“Guess so. Remember him in those Singing Outlaw movies? They weren't half bad.”

“That's great, Henry, but what about my horse?”

“Trust me, Alec. If anyone can help the Black, it's Wes. I've seen him work. He's really something.”

Alec nosed the Black back into his stall just after eight o'clock, and in minutes he was driving Henry to the airport. Freeway traffic whizzed by. While Alec kept his eyes focused on the road in front of him, his thoughts returned to the Black.

It certainly would make things easy if Taylor had some quick, magical cure for the Black's fit of shadow shying. But if the condition persisted, they were in big trouble. The Black's racing career, perhaps even the survival of Hopeful Farm, hung in the balance.

Alec snapped out of his daydream just in time to make the airport exit. When they reached the departure area, Henry put a hand on Alec's shoulder. “Trust me, Alec,” he said. “I really think Wes can help us with this shadow business. He's half horse himself.” Then he grabbed his
flight bag, waved good-bye to Alec and disappeared into the terminal.