The Black Stallion Challenged (17 page)

“Yes, he did.”

“Can you account for his standing up so well after such a workout?”

“He had the foundation under him. He’s run hundreds of miles. He’s dead fit.”

“Hundreds of miles,” the columnist repeated puzzledly. “But where? Where’s he done all this running?”

Only then, Alec noted, did Steve Duncan exert any of the self-confidence that had been apparent in his first visit to Hialeah.

“That’s all I’ve got to say,” he said, ending the interview.

A little later when they were alone Alec told Steve, “You handled your press ‘conference’ pretty well for the first time.”

Steve said, “I’m still too fuzzy-chinned for the likes of that columnist.”

“He’d make it tough even if you had a beard down to your belt. You did okay.”

“I’ll do better next time.”

Alec studied Steve’s serious face. There was no doubt he was confident there would be a next time, as winner of the Turf Cup race. “Yes,” Alec said finally. “I guess you will at that.”

Their eyes met and Steve said, “You’re sore, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you be with a lame horse?” asked Alec. “We ran our horses into the ground.”

“Flame got away from me.”

“You said you could control him. He took my horse with him, so I had no control either.”

“The Black did something to him that I never felt before. It was the next thing to fear, I think.”

“It was rough on both of them,” Alec conceded. “Whatever accounted for it isn’t important now. It’s done.”

“I’m sorry. If there was anything I could do …”

“There isn’t.”

For a moment they were silent, then Steve spoke. “Like I said, I’m sorry about the Black, but with him out of the race next week we’ll win, Alec. I’m not afraid of any other horse.”

“Then you’d better start,” Alec said quietly. “A horse like yours can get into plenty of trouble. Every horse in the race next week will be as formidable as Flame and his superior in experience and rating. That goes for their riders, too. You won’t be dealing with a bunch of inexperienced kids.”

“Like me?” Steve asked.

“Like you,” Alec said evenly.

“Flame can make his own holes in any field,” Steve said.

“I doubt it. You’ll go down fast if he tries it. He’ll need guidance, and that will be up to you.”

“And you don’t think I can do it?”

“Not on the basis of what I saw this morning. You’ve got a chance only if you can put Flame where you want him on the track. You won’t know what tactics to use until you see how the race is going. Only then can you decide on strategy.”

“I can stay in front and keep clear of any trouble,” Steve suggested, his face a mirror of sincerity.

“Not if horses break from the gate in front of you … and they will. There are a couple with lots of early speed, front-runners both of them.”

“Then I’ll lay in the pack, and come on when I find racing room.”

“There may not be any.”

“Then, like I said before, Flame will make his own holes.”

“And as I said before, he’ll go down, taking you with him,” Alec answered. “You don’t win these races on speed and guts alone, no matter how much your horse may have.”

“You mean I’ve got to be lucky, too,” Steve said, smiling. “You once told me that luck has more to do with success on the track than anything else.”

“I don’t remember going that far, but luck
is
a big factor in any race.”

“Okay, Alec,” Steve said, serious again. “I know you’re trying to help me. How do I win the race doing it
your
way?”

“It’s not
my
way,” Alec said, “and there’s no sure thing in racing. But it’s important that you know not only what to expect from Flame but from every horse in the race … all of them and their riders. There are certain things we know from past performance, and
that’s what I’m here to tell you. First, let’s take Gustavo Carballido who will be up on Bolero …”

The stable area was quiet except for Alec’s voice as he went on, calmly and steadily, acquainting Steve Duncan with the horses and riders he’d be racing in the Hialeah Turf Cup. It was fully an hour later before they parted and went their separate ways, each going back to his own horse and dreaming his own dreams.

It was a sunny, hot and humid afternoon for the running of the Hialeah Turf Cup. The red-coated bugler, wearing shiny black boots and a black hunting cap, stood in the middle of the track. He placed a long coach horn to his lips, the sun glistening on the golden instrument. The music came forth, sounding the call to the post.

On the roof of the grandstand, television cameras were ready to pick up the horses as they emerged from the paddock tunnel onto the track. The television announcer told the nation’s viewers, “We’re at Hialeah Park in Florida where some of the world’s top race horses are about to come on the track for the running of the Hialeah Turf Cup. It is the nation’s oldest grass stakes race and is contested at a distance of a mile and a half for a gross value of about $100,000. A unique feature of the Hialeah Turf Cup is its international aspect, for a preponderance of foreign-bred horses have competed in the race during the past decade, and, we might
add, have won it. All in all the Turf Cup has been quite a profitable affair for horses from across the seas, and this year may prove no exception. Horses from Argentina, Chile, Ireland and the United Kingdom will be competing against American-bred campaigners over the grass course.

“The field of fifteen turf specialists is a surprisingly large one—or, at least, larger than was expected—due to the withdrawal of the Black from the race, following a recurrence of a hoof injury suffered during a workout a few days ago. The U.S. champion would have been the ‘strong’ horse in this race and many of the horses going to the post today would not have started if he had run as scheduled.

“And now,” the announcer continued, “the horses are coming onto the track.”

The sleek horses, some accompanied by stable ponies, emerged from the paddock tunnel, their jockeys standing in stirrup irons. They skittered through the crush of people lining the corridor, their coats and riders’ silks glittering in the bright sun. The first horse danced onto the track to begin the post parade.

“That’s Bolero on your screen now,” the television announcer said. “He hasn’t fared too well at Hialeah but should fancy today’s long route of a mile and a half, especially with the flashy Gustavo Carballido guiding him. They’re both from the Argentine, Bolero being owned by Mario Garcia-Pena of Buenos Aires.

“The number 2 horse is another Latin invader, El Mono from Chile, being ridden by one of the United States’ most successful riders, Jay Pratt. The public has made this pair the favorite. El Mono has great capability
on the grass and is in top form. It is not surprising that his Chilean owner, Louis Citron, gave this riding assignment to Jay Pratt, for Pratt is no stranger to foreign horses. He has raced all over the world and probably has more mileage to his credit than an astronaut.

“Number 3 is Windswept, the United States’ main threat to beat the foreign invaders over the long distance of the Turf Cup. He has the reliable Pete Edge aboard. The public has made Windswept second choice, knowing he is more partial to grass than dirt and is razor-sharp at this time.

“Number 4 is Erin Sea from Ireland, making his first start in the United States. He is being ridden by the veteran jockey Nick Marchione.

“Number 5 is another U.S. threat, Tartan, and he will be guided by young Willy Walsh. Tartan won an impressive race over the dirt track last week in his Hialeah debut and last fall performed brilliantly on the grass in New York. This will be his first grass invasion of the year.”

Flame was the next horse to be introduced in the post parade. For a few seconds the announcer was silent, watching, along with his viewers and those at the track, the antics of the horse as he refused to stay in line. Breaking from his rider’s hands, he swept past the stands and a spontaneous wave of applause from the crowd followed him as he went along; the television cameras stayed on him.

“The Number 6 horse,” the announcer said finally, “is the surprise entry, Flame, winner of the Nassau Cup in record-breaking time a few weeks ago. He is being
ridden by the apprentice Steve Duncan, who seems to be having a difficult time controlling him as you can see. Flame is receiving quite an ovation from the crowd, a remarkable thing for a horse making his debut. His coat is a glistening chestnut color and he stands well over sixteen hands. His presence has brought back to the race some of the glamour it lost when the Black had to be withdrawn. The two horses competed in an explosive workout a few mornings ago, which no doubt accounts for the applause now being given Flame. While he will have to prove his mettle in the race, he is adding additional luster to a most colorful post parade.”

The camera shifted to the next horse in line. “Number 7 is High Ruler from England …”

In the crowded stands Henry Dailey watched Flame gallop down the turf stretch of the infield course. He told Alec, sitting beside him, “That horse’s action is as beautiful as anything I’ve ever seen. He’ll be able to handle grass as well as he did dirt the other morning.”

“He’s smooth, all right,” Alec admitted. Watching Flame in action from a seat in the grandstand was far different from racing alongside him.

Applause for Flame broke out in the stands around them, and Henry said, “Your friend Steve ought to be pleased to get a hand like that. It tops many an ovation I’ve heard
after
a race has been won.”

“It won’t matter much to Steve,” Alec answered. “All he cares about is the $70,000 winner’s purse hanging on the wire. He aims to get it.”

“So do fourteen other riders,” Henry returned. “Your friend’s not the only one who thinks money is
more important than applause.” He leaned back in his seat. “Hooking up with riders like these is a tough way to make a buck.”

“I told him what to watch for,” Alec said.

“Pete Edge on Windswept is almost certain to set a sizzling pace,” Henry commented.

“I told Steve not to go with him.”

“If he does, he’ll have a dead horse under him coming into the stretch run.”

“But sometimes Pete tries to fool you,” Alec said. “He’ll set a false pace that only looks fast, then he doesn’t fall back but keeps going on to win.”

“I know. I’ve seen him get away with it many times. And Pete’s only one of the experienced riders your friend Steve will have to contend with. You’re expecting too much of him, Alec.”

“I’m expecting nothing.”

“He won’t even know what kind of a pace is being set,” Henry went on. “You can’t take a kid off the streets and in a few hours teach him what’s taken others years to learn.”

“I told him all that,” Alec said defensively. “I just told him what to look for out there. Some of it he’ll remember. Most of it he won’t.”

Henry turned his attention back to the horses as they went behind the starting gate. “With a big field like this,” he said, “a race is just as much a test of jockeys as it is of horses. The rider with the most skill could win without having the best horse.”

Flame suddenly reared, almost unseating Steve Duncan.

“He plays rough,” Henry said. “He might just fly to
pieces in the gate. He might go right out of gear and not race at all.”

“He’s keyed up, but so are the others,” Alec said.

“He’s dripping more water from his flanks than any of them.”

“It could be the weather,” Alec said. “It’s hot and muggy.”

“You’re trying to sell yourself on that horse, Alec. What’s he to you anyway? He wouldn’t be the first horse with morning speed that’s failed miserably when put with horses of established class in the afternoon. A race is the only way to find out what sort of a horse Flame really is.”

“I was thinking more of Steve,” Alec said quietly. “It takes a lot of courage to ride in this kind of a race without any experience at all.”

“Courage or recklessness,” Henry grunted. “Take your pick.”

Alec didn’t answer. His eyes were on the starting gate as the metal doors closed. He recalled how it had been for him the first time, and he knew how Steve felt. The huge crowd was still, awaiting the break. The fronds of the tall palm trees hung motionless in the air. The doors suddenly swung open, the bell clanged, the red flag dropped, and the Hialeah Turf Cup had begun!

Flame stumbled as he was leaving the gate but quickly recovered. Steve steadied his horse before moving on again. It seemed to him that some of the horses were leaving the gate at ninety miles an hour, breaking so quickly they looked as if they had gotten away from their riders. Flame was floundering and bouncing up and down, but Steve wasn’t worried over the fact that
the others were outrunning him from the gate. The long distance was all in his favor. He would hug the inner hedge all the way and make up ground when he could, knifing his way through the field at every opportunity.

The field swept by the stands for the first time, the early speed specialists far in front and Flame being edged over against the inner hedge by a horse racing alongside and brushing against him. Steve still wasn’t worried. It was a long run to the first turn and, somehow, he would get Flame clear. The horse alongside swerved against them again, and Steve gave more ground for fear of going down.

Flame was running into stinging dirt and clods of earth being kicked into his face by the pack in front of him. It was something he’d never felt before. He stopped abruptly, then aimed for the inner hedge to get free of the flying dirt. Steve didn’t yank him away. He let go of his head and let him see what he was running into, hoping he’d have enough sense to change his mind. The ground was whizzing by. Within seconds Steve knew that if Flame tried to burst through the hedge he’d have to decide whether to stay in the saddle or bail out.

Flame decided things for him. He turned away from the hedge and swerved into the horse running alongside. He rammed his way through and burst into the middle of the pack with Steve trying to guide him.

Up ahead the lead was changing often, first one and then another horse having control of the race even before they had run the first quarter of a mile. A plucky, small horse met the challenge of the hulking brute beside him and went into the lead, only to have another
horse come up on the outside and race beside him as they approached the turn.