Son of the Black Stallion (26 page)

The jockeys had begun to file out of the room when Alec asked, “Who’s riding Volence’s Desert Storm, Len?”

Sansone pointed to a frail, sharp-boned boy with a
gaunt, white face who was making his way out the door. “That’s Eldridge. He’s up on him,” Lenny said. “He’s only been riding for Volence a short while. Got plenty of stuff, though. He’s a top rider. Did a whale of job with Desert Storm in copping the Grand Union Hotel Stakes last week.”

“Yes, I heard,” Alec said.

“He’ll keep that blazin’ chestnut back like he did last week, then start moving up coming down to the wire,” Lenny confided. “You can bet your last penny on that.”

Carrying their tack, the jockeys moved toward the scales. Alec’s heart beat fast. Less than thirty minutes to go now. They’d be weighed out for the race, then go to their horses in the paddock.

The minutes marched on toward the running of the Hopeful.

As Alec walked down the stairs, he heard Lenny muttering to himself, “Maybe the Chief wants to run today. Maybe it’s today.”

Belmont Park was black with people. And still they came by bus, car and train, a wave of humanity surging at the gates, hoping to get inside the park before the running of the seventh race—the Hopeful! The roads were still packed with cars, their horns blowing incessantly, creating a raucous backdrop for the shouting multitude pouring through the gates and running toward the already overcrowded stands and rails.

And there they waited with throbbing expectancy for the great race that was to be run.

Two men jostled their way through the crowd, hoping to get a vantage point near the rail.

“We just made it, Harrity,” one said. “They ain’t out yet.”

“Sure, Morgan, we did that,” the taller man replied, wiping his brow. “If the old
Queen
had pulled into port an hour later, we woulda missed it.”

They were reading their programs when suddenly Harrity exclaimed, “Bejabbers, Morgan! Look who’s riding that horse called Satan!”

Morgan read, “Ramsay.” Then he turned to his friend. “I don’t get you, Harrity.”

“Remember Addis, that port in Arabia? Remember a couple of years ago?”

“Stop the quiz show, Harrity,” Morgan said disgustedly. “Sure I know Addis. Hasn’t the
Queen
put in there every trip? But how am I supposed to know what happened two years ago? You think I’m a mind reader or somethin’?…” Morgan stopped, the blank look in his eyes suddenly giving way to a new light. “Ramsay,” he said slowly. Then he repeated, “Alec Ramsay … yeah, it’s coming, Harrity.”

“The black colt. We picked it up there. It was going to a guy by the name of Alec Ramsay.”

“Might not be the same guy,” Morgan said quickly.

“The colt would be a two-year-old now. Look at the program, Morgan. This Satan is a black one, too. A black colt sired by Shêtân, an’ out of Jôhar. Arabian-sounding names if I ever heard ’em.”

Morgan studied the program for a long time. Then, “Maybe you’re right,” he said slowly. He added
eagerly, “I’ll bet you’re right, Harrity. Think of it! That black colt we lugged over here in the
Queen
running in this big race! Boy, Harrity, if that ain’t a hunch, I never heard of one. C’mon!”

The two men hurriedly pushed their way through the crowd, running toward the ticket windows to place their wagers on the fiery, spindle-legged colt they had first seen in Addis, Arabia.

And far up in the grandstand, two other people sat quietly awaiting the appearance of the black colt. “Now, Belle,” Mr. Ramsay said excitedly, “you must be calm. It’ll only be a few minutes now. You wanted to come, you know.”

“You don’t sound very calm yourself, William,” Mrs. Ramsay said, without taking her eyes from the gap in the fence through which the horses would come.

“Don’t say I’m excited. I’m not excited.” Mr. Ramsay kept shifting his field glasses from one hand to the other. “Perhaps you should have stayed at home.”

“I had to come,” Mrs. Ramsay said unsteadily. “I couldn’t sit at home, waiting.…”

They were quiet for a long time, their gazes shifting from the gap in the fence, now lined with eager spectators, to the excited, colorful crowd around them. Far below they saw a tall, angular man with a white beard walk toward his box. Mr. Ramsay raised his glasses for a better look at him. “There’s something very familiar about that man,” he said earnestly.

Mrs. Ramsay took the glasses and looked through them for several moments before putting them down and turning excitedly to her husband. “Why, it’s Abu
Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak!” she exclaimed. “He was at the house only once, when he claimed the Black,” she reminded her husband. “But I’m sure it’s he.… I could never forget that face.”

Mr. Ramsay quickly took another look through the glasses. “Yes, you’re right, Belle,” he finally said. “It’s he … I remember now.” Pausing, he added, “I wonder what he’s doing here?”

Mrs. Ramsay smiled. “What’s everyone doing here?” she countered.

Exasperated, Mr. Ramsay turned to his wife. “I meant that Abu is supposed to be in Arabia. It’s a long way to come for a horse race.”

“But it’s the Hopeful.” Mrs. Ramsay reminded him, smiling. “And his Satan is running.”

“You mean
our
Satan, Belle,” Mr. Ramsay corrected. “But it isn’t surprising after all that he’s here.”

They focused their attention again on the gap in the fence. The horses and their riders should be coming through any minute now.

In the paddock, Satan stood quietly waiting for Alec to come in to see him. His heavy ears came up alertly, and he shoved his small head toward the boy. Alec stroked him gently.

Henry said, “Take him up right from the start, go up front, an’ stay there.” The old trainer paused, smiled wanly, then added, “I’m talkin’ just to hear myself talk, I guess. You know what to do as well as I do.”

Alec nodded but said nothing. His heart was pounding heavily, and he was afraid that his nervousness would be felt by Satan. The colt was remarkably quiet, and Alec knew that the past few weeks of
hard work with him had not been in vain. Picking up a stick, he rubbed it gently along Satan’s neck. “Just so you don’t forget, boy,” he said quietly. “Don’t be afraid.… No one will hit you with it. Easy, boy. No swerving today.”

Henry watched them. They were both ready, no doubt about that. It would be a great race. Henry’s lips tightened and he crossed his fingers.

The crowd in the paddock area surged forward, but the policemen kept the eager spectators away as the horses were saddled.

Henry tested the girth and smoothed the saddle cloth bearing the number three. “We didn’t draw an outside position this time,” he muttered. “Keep away from the rail. May be bumpy there.”

Alec nodded, his hand upon Satan’s black-hooded head. “Ward has number four post position,” he said, without looking at Henry.

“Watch him. Watch his gray,” Henry said. “Boldt still might be up to something.”

Satan moved a little restlessly when they had him ready. The tension mounted as the time drew near. The roar of the crowd became louder.

Alec talked to his horse, soothing him. The black hood concealed the white diamond on his forehead, making him look more like the Black than ever before. He tossed his head, working himself up.

Henry bent down, feeling the colt’s legs. Finally he stood up again. “Okay,” he said. “Wanted to make sure. No rain in the past few weeks has made that racing strip hard as cement.”

“And fast,” Alec added.

“Hard strips are hard on a horse’s legs,” Henry said. “An’ I’d hate to see him hurt that leg again.”

The paddock judge came down the line, stopping before each horse. Finally he reached Satan. “All set?” he asked Henry.

Henry looked at Alec, then nodded.

“Let’s go then,” the man said.

The Chief, number one, was led up to the parade circle a short distance from the saddling area. The crowd in the paddock pressed closer to the rail encircling the path over which the horses would be led until the bugle summoned them to the track.

A rangy roan followed the Chief, then Henry and Alec walked up the runway with Satan.

Alec took his eyes off his horse for a moment to glance at the back of the large grandstand. A few more minutes, he thought, and they’d be out there. Just a few more minutes now. Satan crabstepped nervously at the shouts of the people on either side of the runway.

Seconds later they were in the parade circle, the horses walking, prancing around. Alec and Henry stayed with Satan, but many of the owners, trainers and jockeys were huddled together inside the ring. Last minute instructions were being given.

Alec saw Boldt talking to Ward. The owner of the Comet had a large bandage over his beaked nose.

Some of the tension left Alec. “You did it, Henry.… I see by Boldt’s nose,” he said with a grin.

Henry, a trifle embarrassed, merely grunted.

A bell rang, and the old trainer said, “Ten minutes to post time.”

The horses circled the ring a few more times,
Satan’s gaze shifting constantly from one horse to another. He moved uneasily, his eyes flashing. Alec concentrated upon his black colt, talking to him all the while.

Satan whistled his shrill challenge. The long-limbed roan in front bolted, but his groom held on to him. The Comet’s ears lay back and his teeth were bared. Boldt’s gray was a racer in build, splendid and proud; he showed fight. Across the ring Desert Storm raised his small head, looking in Satan’s direction but seemingly unbothered by the black colt’s challenge.

Alec watched Volence’s squarish chestnut colt, who had also been sired by one of Abu’s Arabians. Desert Storm walked with a short, choppy stride as though he had all he could do to stand on his four legs. Yet this was the horse who had set a track record in winning the Grand Union Hotel Stakes a few weeks ago. This was the horse, according to the experts, who would test the speed of Boldt’s Comet.

Suddenly the ringing notes of the post bugle hung on the air, rolling over the multitude of people and finally coming to rest on the ten horses circling the ring.

“Go to your horses. Riders up!” the paddock judge ordered.

The sun shone brightly on their vari-colored silks as the jockeys were given a leg up.

“Good luck, Alec,” Henry said, his hand still resting on the boy’s knee. “Here’s where I get off.”

Alec nodded, but didn’t say anything. He knew Henry would understand.

Satan pawed the ground when he felt Alec’s weight upon his back. Then the horses filed toward the track and the thunderous ovation that awaited them.

Satan shied as he stepped onto the track, and Alec felt the restlessness sweep through his great body.

“Easy, Satan,” he kept repeating. “Easy, boy.”

The black colt suddenly stopped in his tracks, his shifting eyes turning to the white rail now black with people. Then, tossing his head, he shied again. Alec let him move lightly away from the file of horses; then he brought him back behind the rangy roan who was following the Chief and the black-and-white-spotted lead pony bearing the red-coated rider who was escorting them past the stands and around the track to the starting stalls.

As they paraded past the stands, more than fifty thousand eyes were upon them. When the people saw Boldt’s sleek, gray Comet their shrill yells rent the air. Satan half reared. Alec brought him down, talking to him all the while. He knew the eyes of the crowd were upon Satan now, that the people were wondering about the giant colt who was burlier in stature than any other
horse on the track. “A big horse,” they were probably saying, “but he doesn’t have the speed of the Comet or Desert Storm. His time in winning the Sanford was slower than what the other two have done.”

Alec’s hand slipped down upon Satan’s neck. “We’ll show them, boy,” he said. “Easy now … but in a few minutes we’ll show them.”

He was glad when they had passed the stands and were making their way down the backstretch toward the starting gate. They were allowed to pull out of line now, and Alec let Satan go into a slow gallop. Still talking to his horse, he rose high in his stirrups, the reins held firmly in his hands, holding Satan back.

Ward rode the Comet alongside Satan as they neared the starting stalls. Alec was about to pull his colt away from the gray when Ward said, “Where’s your stick, kid? You’ll need a stick today.”

Turning in his saddle, Alec looked at Ward’s wizened face without answering.

“Aw, I forgot,” Ward said sarcastically. “That big horse of yours is afraid of a stick, ain’t he? That’s tough, kid.” Ward swung his stick alongside the Comet. “Mighty tough.”

Satan’s ears swept back as Ward’s stick passed close by him. But he didn’t swerve or pull away, and Alec stroked him gently while he kept his eyes on Ward.

“It’s a pity the rest of us have to use ’em,” Ward continued, his thin lips drawn back. “Make it lots easier for you if we didn’t, wouldn’t it?” Then he pulled the Comet away, moving his gray toward the starting stalls.

Alec brought Satan over to the far side of the track. The Comet had made his colt furious, and Alec tried desperately to quiet him down. As he sat there, waiting for his turn to go into the starting gate, he thought of Ward’s remarks. It was obvious now that Boldt had instructed his jockey to make it as hard for Alec as he possibly could. And Alec knew that Ward would use his stick to every advantage.

The starter’s crew called to him, and Alec moved forward. It would be only a matter of seconds now before they were off. Alec forgot everything but the race ahead.

Satan shook his fiery head as Alec rode him into his starting stall. The Comet, in the stall to Satan’s right, bared his teeth, showing fight again. Ward said something, but Alec wasn’t listening; his eyes were on the long straightaway before them. “Come out fast, boy … no swerving … no giving ground today,” he whispered. Satan’s ears lay back, then pricked forward; he rolled his blazing eyes in the Comet’s direction, then looked at the track ahead.

From the corner of his eye, Alec could see the jockey on the rangy roan to his left. On the pole position was Lenny Sansone, up on the Chief. Lenny’s face was set, his stick in hand. All the jockeys were ready with their whips. Alec hoped and prayed that Satan’s fear of the whip had been cured once and for all during the past few weeks. But he knew that only the break would tell. The break … it would come any second now.