The Black Stallion's Sulky Colt (21 page)

The opening held as Bonfire thrust his body through, and Lord Bobbie's driver realized then how near they were to having an accident. He didn't close the hole any further, but he didn't pull away, either.

Alec knew his colt was getting through, and for a fraction of a second he cast his eyes at the gleaming hubs of the two sulkies that were now scraping against each other. Then he wrenched his gaze from them and looked ahead at the brown colt who was racing alone at the top of the homestretch.

A second passed and then the terrible suspense and waiting were over. Bonfire was out in front, the sulky clear! Five lengths ahead was Bear Cat. Bauder's hands were raised as his colt went faster and faster toward the finish wire. He was confident nothing would come up from behind to surprise him this time!

There was no need for Alec to urge Bonfire on to greater speed. Bonfire saw the lone colt ahead of him and that was enough. Perhaps, too, he heard the voices of the crowd and knew where he was and how much distance he had still to cover.

Alec realized that he had nothing more to do, that his work was done. There were no dangers in the stretch beyond, there was no strategy necessary. He had only to sit as close to his colt as possible, furnishing no obstruction to the wind that whipped on either side of Bonfire. Nothing but speed mattered now, and his colt was giving all he possessed without any prompting from his driver.

To Alec's right passed an ever-increasing blur of faces, so he knew they were sweeping by the bleachers. There were less than two hundred yards to go. The roar of the grandstand descended upon him. Tiers upon tiers of seats cast their deep shadows on the track. The sun had been left behind. Perhaps only a hundred yards to go now.

Alec wanted desperately to look ahead but would not, could not bring himself to move from behind Bonfire. He kept himself as small as possible and as
one with
his colt. He listened only to the powerful swish of the great muscles in front of him and watched only the flashing of silver-shod hoofs beneath his seat.

Suddenly, without having to move his head, he saw what he had been waiting to see. On Bonfire's left appeared the green-and-yellow silks of Silas Bauder. The old man's whip hand was raised, his wrist moving in furious rhythm as he demanded more and more speed from Bear Cat. But still the green-and-yellow silks kept falling back.

Then Alec was able to see Bear Cat! Bonfire had his head at the brown colt's hindquarters. Alec tried to blink the stinging sweat out of his eyes so that he might see better. Bonfire was catching up with Bear Cat and yet Alec felt no great elation. For above the brown colt's head rose the judges' stand. Too few yards away! Bonfire's gallant, courageous sprint had begun a fraction of a second too late. A black filly had beaten them on that final turn.

Suddenly Alec felt the seat beneath him move as though it were jet-powered. It was jerked and catapulted forward. Alec would have sworn both sulky
wheels were off the ground. But he had no time to think any more of this. The lines were alive in his hands, almost pulling him out of his seat. He shoved his feet hard into the stirrups to keep his balance as the green-and-yellow silks, a brown colt, and the judges' stand all merged into one. He knew the race had ended, but he did not know its outcome.

All those who witnessed the blood bay colt's amazing sprint down the homestretch described it as nothing compared to what happened only a few yards from the finish wire. They said Bonfire seemed to gather himself in a great effort without loss of stride or time. They compared it to a tightly coiled spring that is suddenly unwound. They admitted his hoofs must have touched the track but said it was hard to believe because he went forward at such incredible speed. Those on the rail had something to say about the wheels of the sulky as well. They claimed the forward thrust of the blood bay colt carried the wheels and Alec Ramsay off the ground. Actually he was in the air, they said, going past Silas Bauder. They never expected to see another Hambletonian like it, and certainly none as fast. Bonfire's new record would stand a long, long time.

There was no order to the crowd when Bonfire came back up the stretch, protected by a line of policemen. People jumped the track rail and tried to reach
him. In front of the judges' stand the police formed a circle around the colt and his driver.

The announcer said, “The photograph has been developed and the winner is Bonfire.” But no one listened. The photograph simply made official what the crowd had known for several minutes. They pressed closer to the winner's circle, those far in back jumping up and down in an attempt to see over those in front.

Alec was kept in the sulky seat by track officials. There were so many people in the circle, and all were strangers. Cameras clicked away, and he became more and more concerned for Bonfire's safety. A man he'd never seen before was holding his colt while the pictures were being taken. Microphones were held in front of him, and he had to say something about how happy he was to have driven the winner of the Hambletonian.…

Alec brushed the sweat from his face. Where were Jimmy and Tom and George? He couldn't stand any more of this
alone
. It looked as though the presentation ceremony would go on a long while. More and more people were entering the winner's circle, shaking his hand, stroking the colt.

Then he heard the announcer say, “Will Mr. Jimmy Creech please come here. Mr. Creech of Coronet, Pennsylvania.”

But the request was needless. The announcer hadn't finished before the circle opened to admit Bonfire's owner. Jimmy helped Tom while George cleared the way, demanding that the crowd stand back from the boy. The three waved and grinned at Alec, but
went to Bonfire. Jimmy had the colt's worn red-and-white blanket, and he put it over Bonfire despite the protests of the photographers.

Alec knew everything was all right now … except that Henry was not there. Where was he? Wasn't he coming into the winner's circle at all? He must be somewhere around, watching all this.

The announcer said, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, introducing the Hambletonian winner Bonfire, sired by the Black and out of Volo Queen. Mr. Jimmy Creech, his breeder and owner, will now accept the Hambletonian Cup.…”

Television cameras were on Jimmy and microphones were shoved before his thin mouth. The crews told him to smile and he had no trouble complying with their requests. It was the day Jimmy had long awaited. Proudly he stood beside his colt.

Tom's hand was on Alec's shoulder and Alec asked him if he'd seen Henry. Tom shook his head. He was too moved by all that was taking place to speak. He looked at Bonfire and Jimmy as though he wanted to impress the scene on his mind forever.

George stood at Bonfire's head. Alec looked past him and beyond the swarm of faces in the winner's circle. His searching gaze swept over the great stands. Never would he be able to locate Henry among all those thousands of people! Tom left him to stand beside Jimmy at the request of the photographers.

It was then that Alec saw the tiny patch of crimson in the lower grandstand. He studied that particular section more closely, and then slowly he unbuttoned his
racing jacket, slipping it off without attracting his friends' attention. He folded it and left it on the sulky seat, together with the red-and-white cap.

Then he went to the uncrowded side of Bonfire, where he would be inconspicuous, and touched the colt proudly, lovingly.

At the height of the presentation ceremonies, few people paid any attention to the slim boy in the T-shirt who left the ring. He climbed the track rail and merged into the crowded stands. He didn't stop until he had reached that small patch of crimson.

“How come you're keeping this, Henry?” he asked, taking the hood from his friend's hand.

“Just a memento,” Henry answered, his eyes on the track ceremonies. “—my souvenir of the Hambletonian.”

“I'm sorry, Henry,” Alec said.

“Nothin' to be sorry about. I never seen a more exciting race.”

“I mean I'm sorry that I didn't listen to you before.”

“It's not listenin' to me that wins races,” Henry answered. “You drove to win, that's what counts. An' you had a colt with heart and courage, just like his old man.”

He rose from his seat, his arm encircling Alec's waist. “Let's get packed, kid,” he said. “Our work's done.”

They turned toward the winner's circle again. Over the loudspeakers came Jimmy's nasal voice, praising his colt and all those who had made the Hambletonian victory possible. Henry shrugged his shoulders disinterestedly when he heard his own name mentioned. Alec said, “Cut it out, Henry. You know you're just as thrilled as the rest of us.”

“I'm too old to be thrilled any more,” Henry answered.
But there was a look in his eyes that belied his words. “It's
their
party,” he added. “C'mon.”

Alec hesitated a moment before following Henry through the crowd. His eyes remained on Bonfire while Tom, George and Jimmy stood close to the blood bay colt, their hands upon him. Finally Alec turned away. Henry was right. All this belonged to them and he might as well leave now. He'd see Bonfire again, back at the farm in Coronet, where the colt would be taken. For Jimmy, Tom and George there was only one horse, Bonfire. But he and Henry had other sons and daughters of the Black to care for and to race—
even the Black himself!

Just before Alec caught up with Henry the announcer requested the presence of “Mr. Dailey in the circle, please.” Henry hesitated a second but then went on.

“I take it you're not going back,” Alec said.

“Nope,” Henry answered. “Leave 'em alone with Bonfire. That's the way it started an' that's the way it should end.”

Alec nodded in agreement; together they left the great stands.

Walter Farley's love for horses began when he was a small boy living in Syracuse, New York, and continued as he grew up in New York City, where his family moved. Unlike most city children, he was able to fulfill this love through an uncle who was a professional horseman. Young Walter spent much of his time with this uncle, learning about the different kinds of horse training and the people associated with them.

Walter Farley began to write his first book,
The Black Stallion
, while he was a student at Brooklyn's Erasmus Hall High School and Mercersburg Academy in Pennsylvania. He eventually finished it, and it was published in 1941 while he was still an undergraduate at Columbia University.

The appearance of
The Black Stallion
brought such an enthusiastic response from young readers that Mr. Farley went on to create more stories about the Black, and about other horses as well. In his life he wrote a total of thirty-four books, including
Man o' War
, the
story of America's greatest thoroughbred, and two photographic storybooks based on the two Black Stallion movies. His books have been enormously popular in the United States and have been published in twenty-one foreign countries.

Mr. Farley and his wife, Rosemary, had four children, whom they raised on a farm in Pennsylvania and at a beach house in Florida. Horses, dogs and cats were always a part of the household.

In 1989 Mr. Farley was honored by his hometown library in Venice, Florida, which established the Walter Farley Literary Landmark in its children's wing. Mr. Farley died in October 1989, shortly before the publication of
The Young Black Stallion
, the twenty-first book in the Black Stallion series. Mr. Farley co-authored
The Young Black Stallion
with his son, Steven.

Young Tom Messenger has been taking care of Bonfire, the second son of the famous Black Stallion, since his birth. Tom has earned the trust of Jimmy Creech, the veteran driver who owns Bonfire, and Tom is eager to work with the young colt, building his strength and endurance. But suddenly Jimmy's health takes a bad turn and Tom must take the reins himself. The horse is a natural, but Tom doesn't know the first thing about harness racing. And he'd better learn fast.…