The Black Stallion's Sulky Colt (11 page)

A little later he drove Bonfire through the paddock gate. Jimmy took the colt's bridle, saying, “Nice going, Alec. Now we're all set to race.”

Alec wondered. He'd know for certain in about forty minutes, when they went to the post. He'd know the second they stepped onto the track again and he felt Bonfire through the lines.

The paddock bell sounded and the gate to the track was opened. Over the public-address system came the bugle call to the post, and then the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the horses are now coming onto the track for the first race of the evening's program.”

Jimmy Creech removed the worn white cooler with the badly faded red borders from Bonfire's back. He stepped away. “Good luck, Alec.” He watched Bonfire pass through the gate, the fifth horse in the field of eight.

Jimmy carefully folded the blanket, and then pressed it lovingly against his scrawny chest. Everything else for Bonfire was newly bought and slick and polished—the black harness, the red hood, and the sulky with its glistening wheels. But the old blanket held many fond memories, and tonight, as in races long since past, it would bring luck to his horse, even though he wasn't up behind this colt, the finest of them all!

He turned to watch the marshal who rode the
colorful palomino horse at the head of the post parade. He noted with scorn the man's white form-fitting coat and pants, his shiny black boots and peaked hunting cap. All so dashing beneath this galaxy of lights, all so sickening compared to the county fairs Jimmy had known and loved.

Jimmy looked for Bonfire when he heard the announcer begin to introduce the horses. There was a bench just inside the track where he could sit if he liked. But he didn't want to sit there tonight. He felt the hot surging of his blood, the increased beat of his heart.

“Don't get panicky now,” he told himself. “There's plenty of time. Plenty.”

He left the security and comparative privacy of the paddock for the swarming crowd standing on the cement apron before the great stands. He pushed his way through the people. He wanted to get near the center of the stretch where he'd be able to see his colt start and finish. He carried the worn blanket beneath his arm.

His heart beat faster as he came nearer to where he wanted to be, and despite the rumbling, loud cries of the milling crowd, his ears heard only the voice of the announcer. He listened eagerly for what he wanted to hear, and at last it came.

“Number five is Bonfire, a blood bay colt sired by the Black and out of Volo Queen. Bonfire is owned by Mr. Jimmy Creech of Coronet, Pennsylvania and is being driven by Alec Ramsay.”

Jimmy listened and sought to still the pounding of his heart. Owned by Jimmy Creech. Bred by Jimmy Creech. Raised by Jimmy Creech. Broken by Jimmy
Creech. Trained by Jimmy Creech. After sixty-three years of waiting, waiting for this
one
.

“This is my colt,” he wanted to shout to those around him. “This is the result of all I've worked for. Look upon him. He carries the blood of the finest mare I ever bred and raced. No, not a great mare. She saved her greatness for her colt, this colt in whose blood along with hers is that of a fine stallion. A great stallion but one never before bred to a harness mare; therefore untried and unsought by the rest of you who seek change only by turning night into day with your bright lights and fancy frills! You seek perfection in the extravaganza of your colored stages such as this. I seek it in a horse. And there he is. Look upon him, all of you!”

The marshal left the horses at the head of the stretch, and they came down in their first warm-up score. Jimmy watched Bonfire's every stride, reveling in the beauty of the colt's long legs. He was most proud, and confident of victory for his colt. Didn't every person there see all that he did?

He glanced self-consciously at the people standing near him. Their eyes weren't on Bonfire as he went by. They were watching a tall chestnut horse warming up close to the rail.

“That's Streamliner,” he heard a woman say excitedly.

Jimmy's puzzled gaze remained on her. Was she so impressed by the fact that six years before Streamliner had placed third in the Hambletonian? Was she unable to see any other horse on the track, including his colt? Didn't she know that she was looking at an aged horse, one who should have been retired long ago? Wouldn't
she rather look at a colt who was young and on his way to greatness?

Jimmy turned away from her in search of other people who did appreciate the grace, the smoothness of Bonfire as he went by again. Only then did he see, a short distance away, the man whose head followed the movement of the blood bay colt all the way down the stretch. But Jimmy quickly turned away, for the man was Henry.

A few minutes later the horses reached the mobile starting gate and followed it around the back turn. Suddenly Jimmy felt nausea sweep over him. He took the folded blanket from beneath his arm and pressed it close to his stomach, hoping its warmth would keep him from vomiting. He mustn't get sick now. He must see the race tonight, and next week the Hambletonian. Then he would be content to do as his doctor had recommended and never watch another race.

The gate was moving faster. The horses followed it past the stands. Jimmy watched Bonfire. Alec had him a few strides behind the horse on his right. The eyecup was open. But nearing the starting line Alec began moving up. The eyecup closed as Bonfire raced alongside the number six horse in close quarters behind the barrier.

Jimmy pressed the blanket harder against his stomach, and the beat of his heart seemed to pound louder than all the horses' hoofs.
If it was like this for him tonight, how would he ever be able to watch his colt in the Hambletonian?

The car swept across the starting line, its long
barrier wings folding quickly at its sides. The lights in the stands dimmed. The race was on!

In the first great surge Jimmy saw Bonfire's hooded head in front. He shouted at the top of his voice. He saw the eyecup open. He shouted again as Bonfire drew farther ahead going down to the turn. His speed was so great that Alec was safely able to move him over to the rail, taking the lead.

“Look!” Jimmy shouted to everyone about him. “Now you'll look at him!”

Over the public address system the announcer said, “That's Bonfire out in front. Streamliner is second.”

Jimmy found it hard to breathe. He opened his mouth, seeking more air. “You look too!” he wanted to tell Henry. “You didn't think he could do it!”

Going down the backstretch, Bonfire continued to pull away from the others. Was there ever a better striding colt? Was there ever one any faster? “No, no,” Jimmy answered himself. “He's it. He's it.”

“At the quarter-mile,” the announcer called, “Bonfire has increased his lead to four lengths. Streamliner is second. Lady Luck is third. Worthy Lad is fourth …”

Jimmy glanced at the lights on the infield board that gave the time of the first quarter-mile. Satisfied, he turned back to watch the race. Alec had taken Bonfire to the quarter in just the time he'd ordered. Jimmy grinned. It was close to Hambletonian speed, and that's what he wanted from his colt tonight.

The horses came around the back turn, all in single file, taking the short mile by staying close to the rail. Bonfire raced alone, far ahead of the field. The people
in the stands rose from their seats to acclaim this blood bay colt who was streaking down the homestretch for the first time.

Jimmy heard the ovation and his heart pounded harder than ever. He watched his colt approaching the stands. The eyecup was open. There'd be no need for Alec to close it again. No horse could catch up with Bonfire. But the special hood had made it possible for Bonfire to race tonight. Jimmy glanced kindly in Henry's direction. In his pride he could afford to be forgiving and appreciative.

Suddenly the ovation for Bonfire stopped. He was passing the stands but he didn't seem to be drawing ahead of the others. Jimmy glanced back at Streamliner. The chestnut horse was gaining on Bonfire! Or was Bonfire tiring? Jimmy's eyes were so blurred it was hard for him to tell.

Then the crowd began shouting again. But for Jimmy it was a different kind of clamoring. The spectators were now urging Streamliner on in his drive to catch Bonfire! It seemed to take the blood bay colt a long time to reach the half-mile pole, where the race had begun, and Jimmy found himself counting off the seconds.

The announcer called, “At the half-mile it's Bonfire still in front by half a length. Streamliner is second. Lady Luck is third. Worthy Lad …”

But Jimmy wasn't listening. He looked at the time for the half-mile. Only the clock was important now. He found that Bonfire had gone two seconds slower in the half than he'd ordered. Jimmy was furious with Alec for having disobeyed his instructions. But then he
saw Alec's raised hands, hands that were asking Bonfire for more speed without getting any response.

A slight twist of concern appeared on Jimmy's face. He watched Streamliner draw alongside Bonfire. The colt's eyecup was closed. When Streamliner went by, the cup was opened again.

“Nothing's wrong,” Jimmy told himself heatedly. “He'll come on again. He'll catch that chestnut horse soon.”

But Streamliner lengthened his lead going into the first turn, and behind Bonfire came the others, closer and closer.

Maybe he's just a little tired
, Jimmy thought, frantic now.
But he'll win. I'm sure he will
.

Lady Luck passed Bonfire, and Jimmy saw the eyecup close and then open again. This was repeated when Worthy Lad went by.

Jimmy realized then that for him and his tired colt the race was over. Yet he didn't feel sick, as he had before. He was too numb to feel anything but pity for his colt and shame for what he'd done to him.

Tears came to his eyes, and he didn't fight them back. He was glad they made it more difficult for him to see Bonfire dropping to the rear, with one horse after another passing him.

You told everyone else to look at him. Now you look at him. Look at him good. Look at him and remember all the things Henry told you a few hours ago. You did this to your colt
.

Streamliner finished the race an easy winner in much slower time than Bonfire had worked his mile warm-ups for Jimmy.

The lights went on in the great stands and Jimmy started for the paddock. People pushed against him. He did not shove back, for both hands were clasping the folded, worn blanket. He let the crowd carry him forward. He felt many hands upon him but he didn't care. An arm went around his shoulders and he braced himself for the shove to come. But instead the arm guided him through the crowd. Then he turned to the man walking at his side.

“I've been a fool, Henry,” he said, “—an old fool.”

“No more than I, Jimmy,” Henry answered quietly.

Alec waited for Henry until long after midnight before going to bed. He lay in the darkness, wondering if Henry had gotten Jimmy safely on his train. Actually, Henry had driven his friend all the way to New York, for he'd been afraid to let him go alone. But Alec didn't know that. As he figured it, if everything had gone all right, Henry should have been back before now.

Alec listened for Bonfire but the colt was quiet. He'd cooled out well and showed no ill effects from his hard night's work except that he was tired.

The race had been a nightmare for Alec. It wasn't an easy thing to see a horse fighting to produce more speed, as Bonfire had done, with nothing left to give. That fast first quarter of a mile, which Jimmy had demanded of them, had taken all the colt could give after all his warm-ups. Alec knew that if only he had been allowed to rate Bonfire behind the others for most of the race he might have won. But it hadn't gone that way.

Alec turned on his other side. At least the race had
accomplished something. Jimmy had seen for himself that Henry was right about the colt. No words could have done as much. After the race Jimmy had been a beaten man. He'd kept repeating that he was a fool, an old fool. And Henry kept saying that he was, too. It had been a strange aftermath to their previous fiery encounter.

An hour later Henry came into the tack room.

“Turn on the light,” Alec said. “I'm awake.”

“I can undress in the dark,” Henry answered. “I've had enough lights for one night.”

Alec wondered if he meant the track lights but didn't ask.

“Is Jimmy all right?”

“I guess so. I got him into his berth and waited until the train left. If he gets some sleep he should be okay by Pittsburgh.”

Alec waited until Henry was in bed before speaking again. He wanted to talk about the race. He wanted Henry's assurance that everything was going to turn out all right for their colt. “If Jimmy had only listened to you, he would have had something good to take back with him. He'd have felt better instead of worse.”

For many seconds Henry didn't answer and then he said, “I don't want to talk about it tonight, Alec. I'm as much to blame as he is for what happened. I lost my head when there were other ways to make him understand. I got him mad, and he took it out on you and Bonfire. He never would have made you go so fast in all those warm-ups otherwise.”

Alec said, in justification of Henry, “You had to tell him how you felt about the colt.”

“There were other ways of handling it,” Henry replied. “I've known Jimmy long enough to know what they were.”

For a while Henry said nothing after that and Alec let him alone. Finally Henry said, more to himself than to Alec, “I remember when I was eighteen and Jimmy was twenty. He was drivin' his horses at the county fairs an' making money. I had nothing. No money, that is. I had a colt that could run. I rode him all the time. I wanted to become a jockey, not a driver.