Racehorse (8 page)

Stevie winked at Lisa. Carole never even noticed.

C
AROLE HAD NEVER
seen anything quite like the racetrack. It was an entire world designed for horses. Near the track itself were a few small stalls where the horses were walked and saddled before each race, but that was only for the few horses participating in each race. Beyond that, out of the public’s view, was an enormous collection of stables where all of the horses racing at each meet were stabled. The larger racing farms could have as many as sixty horses racing at a meet. The two horses Mr. McLeod had racing that day were housed in temporary stabling next to one another. Prancer and Hold Fast both seemed comfortable in their new quarters.

All around them, in the stable, owners, stable hands, trainers, riders, vets, and assistants to everybody bustled busily, tending to the horses. All of the talk was about
horses and money. The owners and trainers each wanted their horse to do well in the races so the horses could win money and become more valuable. Carole was still amazed at this new side of horseback riding, but Judy didn’t seem surprised at all. Carole didn’t say anything. She just stood in the stable and looked around.

“First time at a track?” a voice asked her. She turned and found herself facing a man about her size. “I’m Stephen,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m a jockey and I’m riding for Mr. McLeod.”

“Oh, hello,” Carole said, taking the young man’s hand. She introduced herself and admitted that she never had been to a track before.

“Mr. McLeod told me about the ride you took on Prancer the other day. He said you were really good.”

“Me?”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Stephen asked.

Carole blushed. “Yes, it was me,” she said. “I just didn’t think I’d done such a great job. After all, it was Prancer who did all the work.”

“That horse loves to run. Alone. She doesn’t seem to have the competitive spirit that really great racers have got to have. I’ve ridden her on Mr. McLeod’s practice track dozens of times. She’s fabulous by herself. But when she’s pitted up against another horse, I never get that burst of speed from her. Too bad.”

“How’s that?” Carole asked.

Stephen looked at her a little oddly. Then he answered the question. “Well, a racehorse that doesn’t race doesn’t have much of a future, does she?”

There it was again—business. Dollars and cents. It wasn’t enough for a horse to be beautiful, sweet, wonderful, and fast. She had to win, too.

“Couldn’t Prancer be used for breeding?” Carole asked.

Stephen shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s not for me to say. Still, if a mare isn’t fast, doesn’t have that spirit, chances are her foals won’t either. Anyway, today’s race could be telling. We’ll see.”

“Ah, there you are, Stephen,” Mr. McLeod said. “The stallion is going to be in the third race and Prancer in the sixth. There’s a mare running in the first race that I’m considering purchasing, so we don’t have much time to talk before post time.”

Stephen, Mr. McLeod, and the trainer began plotting their strategy for the two races Stephen would ride. They talked quietly, not wanting other owners to overhear. Carole caught some of the words, but much of it didn’t mean very much to her. They talked about things like backstretch, quarter pole, and post position. Carole gathered that for Prancer’s race, Stephen was to hold back until near the end and then see if he could bring out that burst of speed that had made Prancer such a joy for Carole to ride. The race was going to be a real test of Prancer’s abilities.

“We’ve got this race today, and she’s entered in three other races this season,” Mr. McLeod said. “If she’s got the stuff, we’ll see it one of these times. If not, we’ll have to see if we can find a home for her someplace else.”

Carole felt a nervous twinge. What had Mr. McLeod meant by that? She hoped for Prancer’s sake that she won today’s race.

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity as a voice over a loudspeaker announced that horses for the first race of the afternoon should be moving to the paddock area next to the track for saddling. A dozen horses were led along the path by their trainers and stable hands. Another group of stable ponies were being saddled quickly and taken along as well by various riders—most much too large to be jockeys—all dressed in breeches and identical shirts.

“Who are they?” Carole asked Judy.

“Those are the lead pony riders. Each horse in a race has a lead pony that goes with it in the post parade. The riders then stand by to help during and after the race in case there’s trouble, or if their jockey needs help in the winner’s circle. The racehorses all seem to be comforted and calmed by the presence of these ponies. Let’s go watch the first race with Mr. McLeod. You’ll see.”

Together the three of them rode over to the grandstand. As an owner, Mr. McLeod was entitled to watch the race from a box in the clubhouse of the grandstand.
However, as a potential owner, he wanted the opportunity to watch the horse he was considering from track level. They stood by the fence at the edge of the track. A man came out onto the track and blew a long horn. It was the kind of horn Carole had seen at horse shows, only he was blowing the familiar racetrack tune known as “First Call.” Immediately thereafter the horses, accompanied by their lead ponies, filed out onto the track. The horses circled around the track, sometimes walking, sometimes going faster, but in each case obviously warming up. On the far side of the track, there was a portable starting gate set up. By the time the horses reached it, the lead ponies pulled back and the horses entered the little compartments that they’d start to race from.

A bell rang, the gates opened, and the race began. Then the whole thing was over in about two minutes.

Carole had completely lost track of where the horse that Mr. McLeod was watching had come in or how it had raced. However, one look at Mr. McLeod told her that the horse had done well. He was nodding sagely to himself.

“She ran a nice race,” Judy said, showing that she had noticed many things Carole hadn’t. Oh well, Carole thought, I’m just going to have to learn to watch carefully and understand what I’m watching before it makes much sense. At least she had been able to tell which horse had won. Of course, there wasn’t any trick to that.
The winning horse’s number, as well as those of the second-, third-, and fourth-place finishers, were posted on the large “tote board” in front of her. Besides that, they were standing right in front of the winner’s circle. The first-place horse was being photographed while his jockey stood on a scale, holding the saddle and blanket on the scale with him. That was to make sure how much weight the horse had been carrying. Other riders took their horses back to the paddock, accompanied by the lead ponies and their riders. Already the track was being prepared for the next race, which would take place in a half an hour.

Carole and Judy returned to the stable area while Mr. McLeod went to find the owner of the horse he’d been watching. He was prepared to buy the horse right there and then. Carole was pretty sure that the next time she saw him, he’d have a new mare for his stable.

Stephen was nowhere in sight. Judy explained that he was in the jockey’s dressing room, preparing for his first race. Hold Fast, who was going off in the third race, was getting a lot of attention from the groom and stable hand. Although there was no scientific way to explain it, everybody always agreed that a well-groomed horse ran faster. Carole’s own theory about that was that horses were quite vain. They knew when they looked good, and they enjoyed showing it off. She’d never seen anything about a horse that would disprove that theory. The stallion
was clearly enjoying all the attention he was getting. His coat gleamed. So did his eyes. At the groom’s suggestion, Carole picked up a brush and helped with the grooming. If the stallion had liked two people working on his coat at once, he would
love
having three people do it!

When it came time to take Hold Fast over to the paddock, the groom handed the lead rope to Carole.

“Why don’t you walk him over?” he said. “He’s got the third post position, so he’ll be in the stall marked with a three.”

It was all Carole could do to keep from asking “
Me?!
” when he handed her the rope. Without a word, because she couldn’t have talked anyway, she clipped the lead onto the stallion and walked him the quarter mile of soft dirt track to the paddock behind the grandstand. She was walking with a dozen other grooms and caretakers, but she felt more special than all of them, and she felt certain that everybody was looking at her. A glance around, however, told her that nobody was noticing. Everybody was simply doing their job. What a wonderful, exciting job it is, Carole thought.

Once she’d delivered the stallion to the groom in the paddock, Carole watched the stallion and all the other horses go through their final preparations. Each horse was tacked up with the same kind of very small racing saddle, and each horse was given a number, representing
its post position. Carole had learned that the post position basically meant which stall the horse started the race in, and how far off the rail the horse would be. Being close to the rail usually gave a horse an advantage, unless it was the kind of horse who wasn’t comfortable riding in a pack and needed space. In those cases the owners hoped for a higher post position. Mr. McLeod had seemed happy with the third post position for Hold Fast. That was good enough for Carole.

While the horses were being saddled up, a lot of other activity was going on. At first glance, Carole thought it was just confusion, but by watching and listening, she realized it was not. Each horse was inspected by three different track officials. She asked Stephen what that was about.

“The first man is the paddock judge. He’s checking to see that all the equipment on the horse is authorized. Riders and trainers can’t change the kind of tack a horse uses without notifying the paddock judge and getting approval. The second man, in this case a woman—the lady with the blue windbreaker—is checking the horses’ lip tattoos for identification.”

Carole watched while the woman checked the upper lip of each of the horses, compared what she saw with information she carried on a clipboard, and then moved on.

“Every registered racing Thoroughbred has a number tattooed on its lip,” Stephen continued. “The identifier’s
job is to be sure the horse is who the owner says it is. Then the third person is the track veterinarian. He’s checking to be sure all the horses are in good health, and he has the right to ‘scratch’ any horse he’s not sure of. He’s especially looking for lameness now. He’s already drawn blood for a drug test. See, a horse under the influence of medication has an advantage over unmedicated horses.”

“That’s not fair to the other horses, is it?” Carole asked.

“No,” Stephen replied, “but even more important, it’s not fair to the people who are betting on the horses. The rule is that no horse can receive
any
medication within two days of a race.”

Again Carole was learning about money and horses. This time, though, it wasn’t the owner or rider, but the spectator whose money was involved.

When all the judges finished examining the horses, the paddock judge called, “Riders up!” and it was almost time for the race to begin.

Stephen and Hold Fast circled the ring in the paddock one more time for the spectators and then walked sedately along the pathway onto the main track, accompanied by the lead ponies. Carole stationed herself by the finish line as Mr. McLeod and Judy had done at the earlier race. She didn’t know where they were right then, but that was all right. If she was going to learn to watch a
race, she wanted to watch it by herself. She could ask questions later.

The bell rang. The horses were off. Stephen had said that the stallion was a steady runner and liked being in front of the pack. Just as Carole had expected, Stephen tried to move up to the front as quickly as possible. He spent most of the race in second place, trailing a horse who seemed to be flying. Then, suddenly, the lead horse fell back, apparently tired. Stephen and Hold Fast took over the lead. For a while it looked as if they’d keep it, but a few horses who had been holding back in the pack pulled up toward the front. In the last section of the race—the homestretch, Stephen had called it—two horses pulled in front of the stallion, putting the stallion back into third place.

Carole thought that was too bad. It seemed a little disappointing to come in third, but then she saw Stephen’s face as he slowed down and stopped the horse, finally turning him around to return to the paddock. He was clearly thrilled with the outcome. Then Carole remembered. Mr. McLeod had expected the horse to come in fifth. Third place was pretty darn good! She smiled and waved at Stephen. He waved back. A few people standing near her looked at her. They were pretty surprised that she was waving at a jockey.

“He’s a friend,” she said, very proudly. She was going
to turn and head for the stables once again when she heard a shriek. There was something familiar about the shriek, something almost friendly about it. Carole could have sworn that someone was even shrieking her name, but that wasn’t possible, was it?