The Black Stallion's Sulky Colt (15 page)

Henry glanced at his watch and then went to Bonfire. He lifted the cooler, rubbing one hand over the wet coat.

Alec said, “He should go soon now. He's getting too worked up.”

“Yeah, I know,” Henry returned. There was a fine line between nervous energy and nervous exhaustion—
in horses as well as in people. “When you get out there, jog him a slow mile,” he told Alec. “But don't turn him, not until you're ready to go behind the gate.”

Alec nodded, and a few minutes later the paddock judge called, “First heat of the Hambletonian. Get your colts ready!”

Alec whipped off Bonfire's cooler and the colt shook in his eagerness to go. He knew the time had come.

Henry slipped on the red hood, fingering the spring catch. It would be so easy to do now, so easy. All he had to do was to untie the cord from the catch. He looked at Alec.

A voice from behind said, “I couldn't just sit there in that box. Let me help.” It was Jimmy, and he had the harness in his hands. He went into the stall with Alec.

Henry watched them. Jimmy was all thumbs with the harness. Alec did most of the work, trying to calm the colt at the same time.

“Get the bridle on him, Henry,” Alec called anxiously. “What are you waiting for?”

Henry put on the colt's bridle while Alec and Jimmy lowered the shafts of the sulky in the rear of the stall. He saw Jimmy's deep-pitted eyes upon him. He saw all the hope and torment that was in them. And then he took the lines and the cord back to Alec.

I'll do it the next heat
, he decided.
I'll let our colt get one winning heat behind him and then things won't be so tight around here
.

Alec drove Bonfire from the paddock with Jimmy walking beside him and Henry at the colt's head. He
was glad they were moving, and thankful too for the shouting and bedlam on either side of the roped aisle to the track gate.

The marshal suddenly stopped the long line of Hambletonian colts. With the other drivers, Alec waited impatiently for the gate to be opened. Television cameras were trained on them, and the crowd pushed close, calling to the drivers.

A high voice shouted, “Who's going to win, Si? Who's it going to be this year?
You?
”

But the old veteran behind Alec did not answer or turn his head in the direction of the crowd. Instead he casually removed his false teeth and carefully wrapped them in a large handkerchief; then he placed them in the pocket of his green-and-yellow racing jacket.

“Better get those teeth back in before they take your picture in the winner's circle, Si!” a woman called. Everybody laughed except Silas Bauder.

Alec found that the laughter had helped. It eased the tension.

And then someone recognized Jimmy Creech. “What are you looking so nervous about, Jimmy? This is no different from the Butler Fair!”

Jimmy turned and faced the crowd. “I'm not nervous. I'm too old to be nervous.” He tried to smile, and everybody laughed again.

This time the laughter didn't help Alec at all.

The track band was playing and Alec listened to the music. It might help more than anything else. The songs were associated with various states in the country and were being played in honor of the colts who
represented those states. Alec heard the strains of the “Pennsylvania Polka.” That was for Bonfire and Princess Guy.

Swiftly the tune changed to that of “California Here I Come.” That was for Bear Cat and Mismatch.

Then the crowd was singing along with the next piece played, “Oh I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee.…” That was for High Noon and Cricket.

“East Side, West Side, All Around the Town.” That was for New York's Victory Boy and Chief Express and Lively Man.

“Back Home in Indiana.” That was for Lord Bobbie.

“The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You!” That was for King Midas and The Saint.

“Carolina Moon.” That was for Big Venture.

“Down by the Ohio.” That was for Star Queen.

“My Old Kentucky Home.” That was for Ghost Raider and Fibber and Tangiers.

And last of all the band played “Moon Over Miami” for Florida's gray colt, Silver Knight. Then the track gate opened and the announcer told a hushed audience, “Ladies and gentlemen, the colts are now coming onto the track for the first heat of the Hambletonian. This race is sponsored by the Hambletonian Society and today's purse is the largest in its long history, with a gross value of over one hundred and five thousand dollars.”

Alec felt Jimmy's thin hand on his shoulder but the old man didn't say a word before leaving them. Henry
stepped away from Bonfire as the colt went through the gate. “It's a cinch, Alec,” he said easily.

Alec tried to smile back at Henry but found he couldn't. Nor could he say anything. His throat was too dry and tight. He drove Bonfire onto the track. They were alone.

Alec would have felt less alone on any other kind of track. His eyes left the harnessed colts for the two marshals who rode their palominos at the head of the post parade. They were his only touch with what he'd always known. For a second he wished that he were astride Bonfire rather than sitting behind him.

“Number one is Silver Knight,” the announcer said, “a gray colt by Volomite out of Gray Dream. He is owned by Mr. Peter Conover of Venice, Florida, and is being driven by Paco DeBlois.”

A favored colt starting from a favored position
, thought Alec.
The luck of the draw was with him
.

“Number two,” the announcer continued, “is King Midas, a chestnut colt by Hoot Mon out of Royal Maid. Owned by Mr. John Neville of Fort Worth, Texas, and being driven …”

Alec looked at the number 6 attached to Bonfire's bridle. He talked to his colt through the lines, telling him that they'd be jogging after the post introductions.
It was a big field, as big as any in which Alec had ever raced. But this was different; there were eighteen sulkies behind the eighteen colts.

“Number five,” the announcer was saying, “is Princess Guy, a black filly by Mr. Guy out of Little Mary. Owned by Miss Elsie Topper of Coronet, Pennsylvania, and being driven by Frank Lutz.”

The large, heavy-set man in the sulky just ahead of Bonfire tipped his hat to the applause of the crowd.

And a different field, too
, Alec thought, watching him,
in that many of these men are as old or older than Henry and still actively taking a part in the racing of their horses. Men who are young in heart and able to make good use of everything they've learned in the years behind them. It's not that way with jockeys. We take orders from such men, and try to fulfill them to the best of our ability. Just as I'm about to do
.

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

Alec touched his cap after the introduction, but his eyes didn't leave Bonfire. He knew he had three friends in those packed stands. It didn't matter if no one else knew him. This crowd was different, in a strange and inexplicable way, from the kind he had always known.

He clucked to Bonfire, letting him walk a little faster now that they had passed the judges' stand. “But I'm at home as long as I'm with you,” he told this son of the Black.

Behind him he heard the announcer say, “Number
seven is Bear Cat, a brown colt by Phonograph out of Meow. Owned by Mr. Allan Ullman of Los Angeles, California, and being driven by Silas Bauder.”

The ovation that followed was unlike any of the previous ones. It lasted all of a minute, and the announcer had to wait before going on with his introductions. Perhaps the long applause was for the tall brown son of Phonograph. But more likely it was for the little old man who was driving him.

Alec didn't turn back to look at Si Bauder. But if he had he was sure he'd have found an unsmiling face. Si wouldn't open his mouth, not with his false teeth wrapped safely in the pocket of his jacket.

The long line of Hambletonian colts continued to file past the stands, and only when they were far up the track did the marshals turn them loose. Then the announcer told the crowd, “The colts will take their usual two warm-up scores and then go behind the mobile starting gate for the first heat of the Hambletonian.”

Unlike the others, Alec didn't turn Bonfire and take him past the stands at a fast clip. Instead he kept going up the track and around the far turn. He gave his colt enough line to jog at the speed Henry had ordered. Bonfire was moist without being sweated. His eagerness to be turned the right way of the track,
to go
, came across the long lines to Alec.

It was like holding two electric wires, and Alec delicately held the colt down without fighting him. He told him that soon they'd go, but first they must jog slowly to loosen up any muscles that might be a little tight.

They passed the cream-colored limousine with its
great barrier wings folded at the sides. The starter was standing in the back waiting for the Hambletonian colts to complete their warm-up scores. He glanced in a puzzled fashion at Alec when Bonfire jogged by, but didn't say anything.

Up the long back straightway to the second turn they went and then around it, passing the half-mile pole and continuing up the backstretch toward the first turn. Alec looked beyond Bonfire at the colts who were stopping just off the turn and going back past the stands again. He let Bonfire jog a little faster, knowing the track marshals would be waiting to take them behind the gate at any moment.

“Here it comes!” he told Bonfire. “Here it comes!”

He should have felt more alone than ever going around the kite-shaped track with the great stands and horses in the distance, but he didn't. Somehow it had made things easier for him—and, he believed, for his colt. It had worked off that terribly nervous edge. Bonfire was ready to go, his muscles loosened by the slow jog. Whatever stamina he had was ready to be used in the long, grueling heats ahead.

Approaching the first turn, Alec heard himself humming to Bonfire for the first time. He knew then that he was as prepared as Bonfire to go behind the starting gate.

When they entered the homestretch, the other colts and the track marshals were waiting for them. Alec knew the marshals were angry at his holding them up but he didn't care. So far he had followed Henry's orders. He glanced at the long cord tied about his little finger. He'd almost forgotten it. He'd better
remember it in the minutes to come. He'd be needing it, with seventeen other fast horses on the track.

The track marshals told him to hurry his colt into parade position. But Alec didn't hurry Bonfire. That would come later, behind the gate. The long line of colts went past the stands, and a marshal at either side of the track guided the colts in the first and second tiers. Alec drove Bonfire into his number 6 position. There were five colts in front of him and four behind him, making up the ten that would be starting in the first tier. Across the track were the eight colts in the second tier. At the head of the stretch the mobile gate awaited all of them.

Going past the grandstand boxes Alec heard someone shout his name. But he didn't take his eyes off the golden, empty track ahead; nor did the other drivers when their names were called out by the multitude. The time had come to race. It was written on the face of every driver, young and old.

After they had passed the mobile gate the barrier wings unfolded, stretching across the track. A short distance behind the gate the marshals let them go, and the announcer told the crowd, “The horses are now in the hands of the starter.”

The colts in the first tier were the first to turn behind the gate, and Alec went with them. He'd known what to expect when Bonfire faced the right way of the track, and yet when the moment came it took all his skill to hold the colt. Only when Bonfire saw the barrier wings ahead did he slow his strides.

Standing in the back of the car, the starter called
through the small microphone suspended from a leather strap about his neck, “Don't let your colt rush this gate, Ramsay! We're not going yet.”

But the car
was
moving—slowly, it was true, but moving—and Bonfire pushed his red-hooded head close to the barrier in spite of everything Alec could do to keep him back. On either side of them the other colts in the first tier were coming up to the gate, while behind him Alec heard the rush of hoofs as the colts in the second tier followed closely.

The gate began moving faster and the starter's orders came faster as he tried to keep the large field in position.
No slips in this one. This is the Hambletonian. This must be done properly
.

Alec saw Bear Cat come up quickly on his right, the colt's brown head stretching for the barrier. Alec had no alternative but to close Bonfire's eyecup. Subconsciously he began to count off the seconds, knowing just how long he could keep the cup closed, and hoping desperately they'd be on their way soon so he could open it in time.

The car picked up greater speed going past the stands, but it wasn't going fast enough to suit Alec. Impatiently he looked ahead at the starting line while counting off the seconds.
Three … four …

The thousands of spectators were on their feet. Eighteen colts moved as one, their hoofs drowning out the roar of the car's motor and the calls of the starter as he tried to hold them together for a short distance more.

Alec had experienced the thrill of surging power
all around him in other races, but this was different. This was power controlled by one man and the moving barrier wings that held back the charging field.

“Fred Ringo!” the starter called suddenly, “Slow your colt down. You're almost on top of Ramsay!”

Alec didn't have to be told that Fred Ringo had his colt close to him. He could feel Lively Man's hot breath on his neck. The luck of the draw had given Lively Man the number 16 post position, a bad position for the Hambletonian favorite and his driver, who liked to get away in front. It was bad for Alec, too, because with Lively Man directly behind him he couldn't drop Bonfire back from Bear Cat and open the eyecup as he might otherwise have done.