Man O'War (6 page)

The grooms stood around watching him break away with the other colts. When he played he was the first to whirl, dancing on his long legs and avoiding the others with the grace of a bird in flight.

“He's quicker than the rest,” one groom said.

“An' brainier,” another added. “He's the best of the year's crop. He sure is.”

“Yeah, but what he'll do on the track is somethin' else.”

“
If
he ever gets there.”

“Y'mean …”

“I mean what y'think I mean. They made Mr. Belmont a major and sent him off to Europe, didn't they? So there's no tellin' what'll happen to Nursery Stud. Heard some folks say, too, there won't be any more racin' until the war ends. Some say more'n that. Some say the Major's thinkin' of selling off all his young stock. So who knows what's goin' to happen to this colt or any colt or even us?”

Danny listened to this startling news. Regardless of what Major Belmont decided to do about Nursery Stud, he knew one thing for sure—he wasn't leaving Mahubah's colt. Wherever the colt went, he'd go too!

Later, he found he needn't have worried, for while the war raged overseas, life went on pretty much as usual at the farm. The days grew longer and the nights warmer, just as in any other year. Mares and colts lay down to sleep at night in dark pastures and spent their days in the cool, fly-protected barns. And Danny enjoyed his best summer vacation from school.

He never strayed too far from Mahubah's colt, and his tales of Red's speed and prowess were by far the most listened to of any on the farm.

“I've got him standing still even when I rub his shins,” he said proudly. “Boy, he sure was ticklish there. And I don't think a faster colt's ever been foaled … at least, I've never seen one.

“You still got a lot to see yet, Danny,” an old groom told him. “We've had colts here who got the best of everything and yet turned out pretty sour when they reached the track. They had the best breeding, the best handling, the best trainers 'n jockeys 'n everything else. Then they won nuthin', nuthin' at all.”

“But every little thing we do is important,” another said. “An' no one ever knows when he's got the best colt there is. Danny is doin' right well. He's got his colt used to bein' handled and actin' better than any of the rest of us could do.”

The first groom shrugged and said, “Mebbe so. Anyway, it ain't goin' to be
Danny's colt
no longer. Not by name, it ain't. Nope, they gave him his real name this morning. They sho did.”

“
They
nothin',” and the second groom grinned. “There's only
one
person who names horses here an' that's Mrs. Belmont. The Major wouldn't have anyone else doin' it, no suh.”

“That's what I said. An' she got around to namin' Danny's colt.”

“She give him a good one? Never was a good racehorse with a bad name.”

“She chose a mighty pow'ful one, she did. 'Pears to me nuthin' could be more pow'ful than one of them big battleships I bin readin' about.”

“Battleships? Is that what she went and named Danny's colt?”

“You makin' fun? You know well as I do she wouldn't go namin' any horse Battleships. No sir, she named him Man o' War, that's what she did. Ain't that what they call them battleships?”

“Man o' War,” the old groom repeated, rolling the name around his tongue almost as if he were savoring it.

“Man o' War,” repeated Danny, his eyes finding the big colt out in the pasture. “It's good, all right. But I think I'll still call him Red.”

September came and Danny went back to school. But that didn't keep him away from Nursery Stud. Every afternoon he walked through the field full of suckling foals. He knew most of them by name, for, immature as they all were, their heads bore a close resemblance to their parents'. Most of them carried their parents' white markings, too—the splashes of body white, the stockings, the stars and blazes. Danny never had trouble spotting Man o' War's star and the narrow stripe running down the center of his nose.

He watched Man o' War grow taller than the others and become a bit arrogant in his newly found strength. So he worked all the harder with him, knowing that gentle treatment now would save a lot of trouble later on. He handled him daily, and it became as much a part of his routine as feeding, watering, and mucking out stalls.

The old grooms were happy to have his help.

“We sho got plenty to do around here, Danny-boy, we sho have,” one said. “Jus' keepin' these stalls clean like they should
be ain't easy. Broodmares are lots dirtier than horses in trainin'. They sho is.”

So Danny worked hard around the farm, but hardest of all with his colt. Man o' War was as spirited as a young foal could be, and Danny had no intention of breaking that spirit. He used soft words, soft cloths, soft brushes and hands.

He studied Man o' War's appetite as closely as everything else. When the time came, he started feeding him whole oats rather than rolled oats. He watched him go eagerly beneath the field “creep” rail, a rail high enough for the youngsters to get under for their feed but too low for the mares. Gradually, Man o' War was developing an appetite for grown-up food and becoming less dependent on Mahubah for his nourishment.

Sometimes Mahubah, even though she was among the best of mothers, tried to get under the “creep” rail and into the field pen where her colt ate at will. She was getting oats and bran and cracked corn in the barn but her appetite was enormous, for she not only was supplying milk for her growing, demanding son but was again in foal to Fair Play. Danny always shooed her away from the feed pen gently for he was sympathetic to the demands of motherhood.

With the coming of early fall he watched Mahubah's dark body start to take on its winter coat, shading to a heavy seal-brown. She was a big, strong mare, standing just under sixteen hands, but the strain of nursing Man o' War while carrying her new foal was beginning to tell on her. Danny became very anxious for her to be relieved of this double duty.

Man o' War now weighed more than five hundred pounds and stood over thirteen hands. He was eating eight to ten quarts of feed daily and looking for more. He no longer needed his mother's milk. But despite this, he was almost certain not to take his weaning calmly. He was much too devoted to
Mahubah. He never allowed the other colts to jostle her in pasture, flaying them with his long legs when they crowded too close.

“When will you separate them?” Danny asked the old man in charge.

“Soon's Mrs. Kane tells me to go ahead.”

“He's big enough to be weaned. What's Mrs. Kane waiting for?”

“She weans when the time's right, when it best suits our work schedule and when the colts are ready for it.”

“Isn't that about now?”

“The time's all right, boy. But you notice Red's got the sniffles, don't you?”

“Just a little,” Danny said. “It's not much of a cold.”

“It's enough to keep us from weaning him yet,” the old man said adamantly. “Weaning's a shock on any colt, no matter how big an' strong he is. He dries up a little, 'specially since he can't run up to his ma and nurse like he's bin used to. So that ain't good when the colt's got a cold to boot. You know as well as I do that you need a lot of liquids when you got a cold, an' colts ain't no different.”

“You going to wean all the colts at the same time?” Danny asked.

“Most of 'em. A few of the smaller colts I'll save till later.” His aged eyes followed Man o' War. “But you're right, the sooner we wean that fellow the better,” he added. “He's as big an' pow'ful as they come.”

Danny watched and nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “he's sure ready. An' he's a big strain on Mahubah.”

“He sho is. He's a handful, all right.”

Danny wondered if losing Mahubah would cause Man o' War to become even more aware of his own presence. After all,
he'd been close to the colt since birth, closer than anyone else. And with the weaning their relationship might grow stronger than ever.

His gaze followed Man o' War as the big colt raced to the far end of the pasture, leading a group of youngsters. They played for a long time, ignoring the mares' constant whinnies for them to return. No longer were any of the colts dependent upon their mothers.

Finally the day of weaning arrived and all available men were summoned to the side of the broodmares and colts.

“You take Red,” the old foreman told Danny. “Soon he'll be a yearling, an' he's goin' to act like one now. You hold him good. He thinks the world is his.”

Slowly the long line of mares and foals moved along. In the distance, more than a mile away, was the weanling barn. Along with the other youngsters, it would be Man o' War's new home. Danny kept him near a dark bay colt who had been his most constant companion in pasture. Pairing up now would make the weaning easier for each colt.

As they approached the weanling barn Man o' War became more and more uneasy at the end of the lead rope. To Danny it meant that his colt knew what was to come. He talked to him softly, telling him that the separation would be hard to endure only for a short while and that there were big plans for him.

They entered the new barn, and as soon as Man o' War set foot inside the box stall that was not his own he became frantic. He whinnied for his mother but she was not at his side. She stood outside the stall, frantic too, whinnying repeatedly as if she knew she had lost her chestnut colt for all time.

It was no different in the other stalls. The chorus of shrill, heartbreaking whinnies was the saddest sound Danny had ever heard. He kept repeating, “It's all right. It's all right.” But he
didn't believe his well-meant advice just then. Neither did Man o' War nor Mahubah.

The mares were quickly led away but Danny stayed behind, listening to Mahubah's shrill whinnies until they began to die in the distance.
She'll be out of earshot soon
, he told himself.
She won't be able to see him or hear him. She'll go back to her old familiar stall. She'll settle down fast, for they'll treat her like the expectant mother she is. They'll keep her in a couple of days, then turn her out, but far enough away from the weanlings so she'll never see him. Soon everything will be going smoothly for her again, like it did last year and the year before.

Danny's thoughts turned back to the colt. Within twenty-four hours Man o' War would have forgotten all about Mahubah, but now he was in frenzied agony over her absence. To be left alone in his stall seemed more than he could bear. He ran from one side to the other, stopping only to rear and throw his flint-thin forelegs hard against the door.

Looking through the fine mesh screen at the top, Danny said, “Easy, Red. Easy. Don't hurt yourself now. You've got company. Lots of it. Just look around you.”

There was no lessening of the barn's bedlam. None of the colts and fillies took the parting from their mothers calmly. If some cared less than others, they did not show it, being caught in the wailing uproar that swept the barn.

A few of the men stayed in the barn with Danny, walking up and down the corridors and making sure none of the youngsters hurt themselves. The stalls were free of feed buckets and water pails, which the colts might have run into in their frenzy. The stall windows were shut, for weanlings had been known to try to go through them.

One old man stopped beside Danny and said, “Don't let your colt get out of hand, Danny.”

“Maybe we should put the bay colt in with him,” Danny suggested, nodding to Man o' War's pasture companion who was in the adjacent stall. “He's not nearly as upset.”

“If we have to, we will,” the old man said. “But then we'll have to watch 'em to make sure they don't fight.”

“I'll watch them,” Danny offered eagerly.

“Let's hope we don't have to put them together,” the old man said. “When the time comes for separating the two of 'em, it'll jus' be weaning all over again. Besides, Red's big enough to stand on his own feet. The quicker he gets used to it the better.”

Danny's eyes passed over the big, muscular body of his colt. “Nothing's going to stop him ever,” he said.

Several hours later Man o' War was the last colt to quiet down. All the others had become interested in each other, and memories of their mothers were growing short. What was most important to them was that their playmates were close by, and they spent most of their time looking at each other. Man o' War, too, finally moved to the side of his stall nearest his pasture friend. He lifted his head high, peering over the partition and pressing his muzzle hard against the screen the better to see the bay colt.

Danny remained in the corridor, watching but not bothering his colt. A long, hard night was ahead of Man o' War. The night would bring back memories of standing close to Mahubah's side, safe in the protection of her big body. He would not feel so arrogant then. He would take his first big step toward full maturity. And Danny would be there to watch him take it.

Darkness fell and the barn lights were turned on. They burned all night but the brightness did not trick the colts. Soon the heartbreaking whinnies began all over again, and hour after hour they continued as the colts called their mothers. Finally, sometime during the middle of the night, the barn grew quiet
except for a lone call, Man o' War's whinny for Mahubah. His eyes alone were open. He alone remained on his feet. He wanted no part of the thick, comfortable straw bedding. He had no time for sleep.

“Easy, Red, easy,” Danny repeated drowsily. He was determined not to sleep until his colt slept. And only when it was near morning did deep and total quiet settle over the weanling barn.