The Black Stallion's Sulky Colt (14 page)

Alec's thoughts were of the fast quarter of a mile Henry had let him and Bonfire go that morning. Holding Bonfire down to the time Henry had ordered had been one of the most difficult jobs in his life. It had been so long since Bonfire had been turned that he'd wanted to go all out and all the way. As much as Alec had wanted to let him go, he knew that he had to hold the colt down, in order to conserve his speed and stamina for the big race the next day.

Henry removed his feet from the porch railing and said, “About that quarter-mile this morning.”

“Yes?”

“After you'd gotten him slowed down an' that black mare passed you, weren't you a little slow in closing the cup?”

“Yes, I was,” Alec admitted. “She surprised me … 
or I guess I was thinking too much about Bonfire's sprint. She was up beside me before I knew it. But it was all right. I closed the cup in time.”

Henry said nothing. He put his feet back up on the rail, seemingly concerned with all that was going on in the street. But actually he saw nothing and he thought only of the problem that had been haunting him for a long while. So far as he was concerned, the right decision was more important than winning a Hambletonian. And he had less than twenty-four hours in which to make up his mind regarding that decision.

“Alec?”

“Yes, Henry?”

The old trainer didn't turn toward Alec. He looked only at his feet, bringing the tips of his shoes together and then apart again slowly. “I'd like your advice.”

“You don't often ask for it,” Alec said lightly.

“Sure I do.” Henry paused before going on. “What happened to the colt when that black mare pulled up an' you didn't close the cup right away?”

“Nothing happened to him. I told you I closed it in time.”

“But what if you hadn't?” Henry asked.

“You know what would have happened if I hadn't,” Alec said in a surprised voice.

“No, I don't,” Henry said abruptly. “That's why I'm askin' you. And I don't want you to go jumpin' to conclusions, either. Did you feel him tighten when that mare drew alongside and before you closed the cup?”

“No, he was steady,” Alec answered quietly.

“An' tell me about all this past week while you
were joggin' and bein' passed so often. Did you feel any fear or tenseness at all in him when they went by? You held the lines. You're the only one who'd know.”

“No, I didn't feel anything like that,” Alec said. “I'd forgotten about it, and so had he. The hood's responsible.” He paused before going on. “I don't know what you're driving at, Henry. You know all this.”

“I know what I see,” the old trainer said, turning to Alec for the first time. “An' I think it's time we took off the hood.” He looked at the boy a long while, waiting for him to speak.

Finally Alec said, “You don't mean tomorrow, Henry.”

“Yes, I mean just that.” When Alec turned away from Henry's close scrutiny the trainer went on, “From what I've seen and what you've told me I don't think he needs it any more. He's worn it in one race an' for many miles since then. He's got his self-confidence back. He knows he's not goin' to be knocked over whenever a horse passes him. So I say it's time to take it off.”

“But why
tomorrow
, Henry?” Alec's voice was as low as it could be and still be heard.

“Tomorrow is as good a time as any,” Henry answered. “Once a mechanical aid has done its job you take it off, an' the sooner you do it the better. If you don't, your horse gets so he really depends upon it an' ends up wearin' it the rest of his life.” He stopped a few seconds and then added, “Look at it this way, Alec. It's a wise parent who takes a kid's glasses off when he doesn't need them any more. Leave them on an' his
eyes get so used to them that he can never take them off. He's stuck with 'em for life. It's the same thing with the hood.”

“But we can't take a chance
tomorrow
,” Alec argued. “You've got to think of more than our colt. Think of Jimmy and George and Tom. They'll be here. We can't let them down.”

There was no wavering in Henry's steady gaze. He could have said, “I'm thinking of them and
you
too.” But he didn't. He didn't say a word because he didn't want Alec to know he was more concerned about him than he was about anyone else. He didn't like what he saw in Alec's eyes. He felt more confident about the colt than he did about Alec. Had Alec reached the point where he was depending upon the hood even more than Bonfire?

After a long while Henry turned away, saying, “Okay, Alec, if you feel that way about it. Forget what I said. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

A parade of boys and girls went by, chanting, “Here's to Goshen.… Go! Go! GO!”

Henry watched their snakelike parade weaving down the center of the street, while they waved signs and banners bearing the names of the Hambletonian colts. He'd already made up his mind what he was going to do.

He had wanted Alec's cooperation. He'd wanted him to agree to the removal of Bonfire's hood. But it hadn't worked out that way. Now he had to go it alone. He didn't know if it was fear
or
concern for the colt that was in Alec's eyes. It was important to find out. He wasn't going to take a frightened Alec back home
with him. If it was fear, the place to lick it was here, and the time was
tomorrow
. After the Hambletonian it would be too late. Bonfire would be going home, and so would Alec.

Henry wouldn't let himself think of Jimmy Creech or Tom or George—or even Bonfire. Or the high stakes for which they'd be racing. His love and concern for Alec drove everything else from his mind. “
I'm playing for high stakes too
,” he mumbled to himself. “
Don't let me lose, please. Keep his hands light on those lines when he finds out that cord is of no use to him
.”

“Did you say something, Henry?” Alec asked.

“No, nothin'. Just grumblin' to myself, I guess.” Henry got to his feet. “Let's get back to Bonfire, Alec. The party's over.”

Bonfire was in the paddock by noon on Hambletonian Day. The other colts were there, too, all seventeen of them, as well as their drivers and owners and grooms. The day was cloudless and terribly humid but only Bonfire stood naked in his stall. The others wore cotton coolers, for they had just completed the first of their mile warm-ups in preparation for the race at three o'clock.

Henry looked around the crowded paddock. “Everybody's gettin' in the act today,” he said with attempted lightness. “Owners an' their friends an' friends of friends.”

Alec removed Bonfire's leg bandages and then rose and stood beside Henry. “I wonder where Jimmy went?” he asked.

“Probably to the box with Tom and George.”

They had arrived early that morning aboard the special train from Pittsburgh. Tom had had no trouble
getting around the stable area on his crutches, but George had insisted later that he go to their grandstand box rather than to the crowded paddock, where he might be knocked down and hurt. “It's enough that we got here at all,” the old groom said. “Let's not push our luck too far.”

Alec turned to Bonfire, who was pulling at his tie ropes and working up a lather. He knew he was going to race that day and he was getting impatient.

Henry said, “Put the cooler on him now, Alec.”

In the next stall, number 7, was Bear Cat, and in front of him Si Bauder stood talking to a group of friends. A photographer took their picture.

Alec said, “I'd just as soon not have that colt where he is.”

Henry nodded. “You'll really have to move Bonfire on the break to get out ahead of him.” He turned and looked at the small black filly in the number 5 stall. “It won't be much better on the other side of you,” he added. “Princess Guy won't be lagging behind, either. She's a fast little filly.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Alec said, “At least we're in first tier with a
chance
of getting out in front.”

“At least,” Henry repeated, smiling. “We got nothin' to worry about, Alec. Relax.”

“I'm relaxed. It's just this waiting that's hard to take.” And Alec went into the stall to keep himself busy.

An hour passed and the Hambletonian colts left the paddock for their second warm-up. This time Bear Cat stayed behind with Bonfire. Henry glanced at the leggy brown colt standing in his stall, and then at Si
Bauder, who was walking down the paddock row with his friends.

“I guess Si's skipping this one,” he told Alec. “It's nice to have a little company.”

“I'd rather have had him work Bear Cat,” Alec answered.

“There you go worrying again,” Henry teased.

Their side of the paddock was empty and quiet. But coming up the row were Jimmy and George and Tom.

“Like I said before, everybody's gettin' in the act,” Henry muttered.

“Who has a better right than they?” Alec asked, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. He was touchy today but he supposed he had every reason to be. He didn't like all the responsibility he'd been given. To do his best with the colt was hard enough without having to think of what this race meant to the three now stopping in front of Bonfire's stall.

Jimmy said, “Tom wanted to take another look at him before the race and I figured it wouldn't be so crowded now.”

Henry said, “Fine.” He watched Tom, moving easily on his crutches, go toward Alec. Tom's eyes were saying everything that needed to be said. Earlier he and Alec had talked a great deal, but not now. It was no time for words.

Henry found that he couldn't take his eyes off them. Here was the youth upon which the sport of horse racing depended. He and the Jimmy Creeches and the Si Bauders were ready to be turned out to
pasture, like aged racehorses. But they were leaving their sport in good hands—young and capable hands.

Tom had the determination and the courage to reach the greatest heights in harness racing. These were the essentials. It was true that he needed a little time—time to fill out his large-boned frame, time to rid himself of his impetuousness and the heavy sense of responsibility that had played havoc with his driving.

Standing beside Tom, Alec presented a striking contrast—a sleek greyhound compared to a gangling Great Dane. Oh, it was true that Alec's face disclosed all the responsibility that Tom's did. But the difference was that Alec wouldn't take it with him into the race. Once Bonfire stepped onto the track Alec would get down to the business of racing and think of nothing else. Instinctively he'd do everything right without thinking of anyone or anything but his colt. The many famous classics in which he had raced had made Alec a man long before his time.

Finally Henry turned away.

Beyond the paddock fence thousands upon thousands of people roamed Good Time Park while awaiting the first race on the Hambletonian Day Program. Some sat in the shade of towering trees, eating lunches from picnic baskets. Some ate in the big tents. And still others were already seated in the stands or standing at the track rail.

Over the public-address system the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention? Warming up on track now are the Hambletonian colts. Passing the stands is Lively Man, being driven by
Fred Ringo, who is Roosevelt Raceway's leading reinsman. This is Mr. Ringo's first Hambletonian.

“Behind and coming down close to the rail is Princess Guy, driven by Frank Lutz. Mr. Lutz is a veteran of twelve Hambletonians and the winner of one.

“Now turning and ready to come down the stretch are Silver Knight on the inside and Mismatch next to him, with Cricket and Tangiers trailing. I might explain to those of you who may be unfamiliar with harness racing that the purpose of these ‘trips'—as we call them—is to limber up and steady the colts before they race. This will be a slow mile, perhaps no better than two minutes twelve seconds for most of the colts. The next mile, about an hour from now, will be faster.

“Silver Knight, passing the stands, is being driven by Paco DeBlois. Mismatch is being driven by …”

Jimmy had been listening to the announcer, but now he turned to Henry. “You think it's wise to send him out at all before the race?”

“No,” Henry said. “We'll have Alec jog him going to the post … that's enough.”

“How many heats do you figure he'll be able to go?”

“Two at the speed they'll be raced,” Henry answered. “I'm hoping that's all we'll need to win. If we have to go a third heat it'll be rough on him.”

“On all of us,” Jimmy said.

They left just before the Hambletonian colts returned to the paddock. Alec pulled the cooler high on Bonfire's neck. He didn't especially care about watching the time-honored ritual about to take place,
but there was nothing else for him to do. He turned to watch the colts, hoping it would make his waiting easier.

Harnesses were taken off their glistening bodies. Sponges washed away the sweat. Mild liniments were slapped on loose, sliding muscles. Manes and tails were brushed thoroughly. And then they were blanketed and put in their paddock stalls, to stand still and wait.

The races began, and while the time went faster for Alec his nervousness mounted. He knew it was no different for Henry or for any of the others in the paddock. It was impossible to be calm with the roar of the mobile starting gate in one's ears, the pounding hoofs, the race calls of the announcer, and always the shrill cries from the stands.

The Hambletonian colts completed their last warm-up directly after the first race. One hour to go now.

Henry glanced at Bear Cat often during that time, realizing Si Bauder had his colt ready to go the race of his life. Like Bonfire, Bear Cat was a light-boned, sensitive colt. And Si Bauder was one of the old leaders who long ago had understood the kind of colt he had and changed his training methods accordingly. Bear Cat hadn't gone out for that last warm-up, either.