The Black Stallion Challenged (21 page)

The valet handed Nick Marchione his saddle and pad of lead; the needle stopped at 110 pounds. The veteran jockey smiled toothlessly. “When I can’t make one hundred and ten, I’ll quit,” he said.

“That’ll be the day,” the clerk answered, watching the rider clad in silks of baby pink step down from the scale. The colors made him look ridiculous, but Nick didn’t seem to mind. Only the horse they represented mattered, and if Nick didn’t think Sail Away had a chance in the big race, he wouldn’t be riding.

“Marchione, Number Three,” the clerk said. “At one hundred and ten pounds. Check.”

He watched the veteran jockey slip the Number 3 band on his arm, and wished Nick would quit riding. They were the same age, 51, and had known each other for many years. More often than not, he felt twice Nick’s age. What did it was seeing his friend go to the post day after day when he himself found it hard to do anything more strenuous than walking. Nick raced as hard as ever and had won more races than any other rider in the country. He still got up bright and early in the morning and worked horses. He had all the money he’d ever need but financial security didn’t seem as important to him as winning races.

Still watching the veteran jockey, the clerk shrugged his shoulders. There wasn’t any reason for Nick to quit, he admitted to himself. Nick was proud of his profession and he showed it the best way he knew how—by riding. He had good hands, strength and an uncanny sense of pace. He wouldn’t quit until he was carried off the track. The clerk hoped it wouldn’t be today.

Pete Edge hopped on the scale in full regalia, complete with saddle and the belt containing strips of lead which he had taken from his valet. The needle went to 112 pounds.

“I’m always surprised when you make this weight,” the clerk said, studying Pete’s blocklike figure which seemed better suited to boxing than to riding.

“I spent the night in the steam box,” Edge said. “I got a good horse. I had to make it.”

The clerk nodded. Yes, Pete Edge on Bronze Prince at only 112 pounds was another combination to watch. Maybe the “Big Two” wouldn’t have the race to themselves as most people thought. He watched the rider step down in his silver-gray silks and said, “Edge. Number Four. At one hundred and twelve pounds. Check.”

As Pete Edge moved away, the clerk watched him. Pete might get beaten but he too would never quit. He had more drive, energy and determination than any other rider in the room. He was from the old school whose motto was, “Fight and survive or be knocked down and remain behind.” Win or lose, he’d make every other rider know they’d been in a horse race. His
hands seemed to be made of steel, and some of the boys said that Pete could keep a tiring horse going by brute strength alone.

Pete’s only trouble in the jockeys’ room, if one could call it trouble, was that he was honest and candid to a fault. He always said what he thought and would stand up to anyone twice his size, if necessary. So a big horse like the Black wouldn’t faze him a bit.

Alec Ramsay stepped on the scale in his black-and-white silks. The valet handed him a worn old saddle which the clerk knew had been used by Henry Dailey during his riding days. Across the saddle was placed a pad, the pockets of which were filled with heavy strips of lead.

As the needle climbed to 136 pounds Alec said, “I’ll never get used to carrying this much lead, Bob.”

“Don’t you mind,” the clerk said, “just as long as your horse doesn’t object to it.”

“He’d better not,” Alec said, smiling.

“Not today,” the clerk agreed. “Okay, Alec, hop off. Ramsay,” he called. “Number Five. At one hundred and thirty-six pounds. Check.”

He watched Alec go to the number rack. Here was another rider who made racing worthwhile for him. Alec was potentially one of the great riders of all time, but the clerk doubted he’d be around the jockeys’ room very long. Instead, Alec would become a successful trainer. He wasn’t interested just in his own horse but in
all
horses. He seemed to have studied every horse at Hialeah and knew more about them than any other rider at the track. Most of the other jocks were too busy concentrating on their own mounts to bother about
anyone else’s. And yet this knowledge of horseflesh must have helped Alec become the successful rider he was. When the other riders wanted to know anything about a field, they asked Alec. He always told them, too, never keeping anything to himself. That was another reason he was so well liked—that, and his having saved the hides of a good many jocks as he’d done for Willy Walsh a few weeks ago.

The boys said Alec rode a race with the precision and balance of a well-oiled machine. The clerk thought there was more to it than that. Alec was no machine; instead, he seemed to be part of his horse when he was riding.

Steve Duncan, wearing crimson silks, was the last to step on the scale. When the valet handed him his saddle and pad of lead, the needle went up to 130 pounds.

The clerk smiled at the apprentice rider. “I’m sure you’re not used to picking up so much lead, young fellow,” he said.

Duncan didn’t return the clerk’s smile. He seemed angry and very intent, but the clerk attributed it to pre-race anxiety. That would disappear the moment Duncan mounted his horse.

“Duncan. Number Six. At one hundred and thirty pounds. Check,” the clerk concluded. He hoped this kid would be all right in the big one. He’d have his hands full riding against the others. It took more than a sensational mount to win the Widener. If Duncan wasn’t careful he might lose not only the race but a limb as well. It was that kind of a race. It couldn’t be otherwise with a purse of $90,000 hanging on the wire.

The official weighing-out for the Widener Handicap had been completed. The riders put on their protective helmets and left the room.

“Lots of luck, fellows,” the clerk called. “Hurry back now.”

The searching cameras of the television networks were mounted high on a platform outside the paddock. They caught the field of six horses leaving their saddling stalls and walking around the ring, their bodies, glistening in the sun, as colorful as their riders’ silks.

The CBS telecaster spoke to his vast nationwide audience. “The Widener Handicap has drawn a record-breaking attendance of over 45,000 fans to Hialeah Park on this sunny but cool day in February,” he said. “Six top handicap performers are poised for the big race over the classic distance of a mile and a quarter. Heading the field is the Black, United States champion, who is carrying the silks of Hopeful Farm and is top weighted at one hundred thirty-six pounds. There he is now on your screens, being ridden by Alec Ramsay, who is known to have one of the best heads of any jockey now active. That’s Henry Dailey, his trainer, walking alongside.”

Suddenly the Black bolted, scattering the crowd on the paddock rail.

The telecaster said, “The Black looks like a champion and acts like one. Seeing him in the full bloom of his career is a new and exciting experience for a great number of people here at Hialeah today. It is estimated that at least an extra ten thousand patrons have turned out because of his presence.”

The cameras continued to follow the Black around the ring as the telecaster went on. “A close second choice of the large crowd here today is Flame, an island horse, representing the United Kingdom. He captivated the public last Saturday by winning the Hialeah Turf Cup in record-shattering time, and there are many who believe this foreign challenger can match strides with the Black. It is the anticipation of such a duel between the ‘Big Two,’ as they are being called, that has brought international attention to this year’s Widener.”

Flame had come to an abrupt stop and was looking at the crowd outside the paddock ring, his ears pricked up.

The telecaster commented, “A noted trainer told me a short while ago that Flame is the most inquisitive horse he’s ever seen at a track. And as you can see on your screens, Flame is very nervous. The white lather about his loins is known as ‘washing’ and horsemen are not inclined to enjoy seeing it on their horses just prior to a race. However, Flame was ‘washy’ last week before a large paddock crowd and went on to score a considerable upset. Today he will be attempting to pull an even bigger trick, that of beating the mighty Black.

“He is being ridden by the apprentice jockey Steve
Duncan and will carry one hundred and thirty pounds, six less than the champion.”

The cameras switched to the other horses as the call to the post sounded. The telecaster continued, “The lightweights in the field are not being overlooked by the crowd. There are many fans who believe these horses will be strong contenders in the race, despite the presence of the ‘Big Two.’ Number One is Mad Wizard with the young and very popular Willy Walsh up. He is toting the featherweight of only one hundred and eight pounds, and has a high turn of speed that makes him dangerous in any company. He can carry his lick a mile and a quarter, too, providing there isn’t a lot of pressure put on him in the early stages of the race.

“The Number Two horse is Apache with the very successful Jay Pratt in the saddle, making a total package of one hundred and ten pounds. Pratt has won more races at Hialeah this season than any other rider. Apache has the reputation of being a ‘sometime’ horse, turning in a good race one day and a bad one the next time out. His trainer told us earlier that he believes Apache is ready for a top effort. If so, Apache with Jay Pratt in the saddle will be a combination to watch.

“Number Three is Sail Away with the veteran Nick Marchione up for another one hundred and ten pounds. Sail Away is one of the most determined and consistent horses in racing today, seldom racing out of the money. He is a very workmanlike animal, going about the business at hand soberly and most effectively. During four years of hard racing at all the major tracks in the country, Sail Away has given his best every time he’s gone to the post. With the greatest rider in the
country to guide him today, Sail Away should be a strong contender in the homestretch.

“And here’s another fighting horse who wants to win every time out. Number Four is Bronze Prince with Pete Edge up for a total of one hundred and twelve pounds. Racing fans know that Bronze Prince is a money horse. He runs best from off the pace, and usually has to overcome the disadvantage of a nonchalant start. Often during the running of a race he has been disregarded until the stretch run, and then comes boiling down on the leaders in the last few strides to get the money. Today he has a rider whose courage equals his own. Bronze Prince and Pete Edge might well provide a distinct surprise at the finish of this race.”

The horses disappeared within the tunnel, but the cameras on the grandstand roof picked them up again as they emerged from the other side and stepped onto the track. As the post parade began, the telecaster continued, “Today’s Widener could be one of the great contests of all time in America. Races like this don’t come along very often. It takes more than rich purses at popular major tracks to achieve them. It takes more than the genius of press agentry or the showmanship of Broadway. It takes luck … and luck this year for the Widener came not only in the presence of the Black, United States champion, but in the form of Flame, an unknown island horse who came to Hialeah Park via Nassau. Despite the great records of all the horses racing for the Widener Cup, it is Flame who is filling the principal role in this drama to prevent the Black from extending his dominion to international dimensions.
We will know in a matter of minutes if Flame, the foreign challenger, can live up to his star billing.”

Alec moved the Black into the Number 5 starting stall, satisfied that his horse had been warmed up just as Henry had wanted. He had taken him all the way into the backstretch before returning to the gate in front of the stands. It should not take the Black long to get into his best stride. He was supple enough, alert enough to move to the attack the moment the gate was sprung.

Flame was putting on a show for the crowded stands, rearing skyward as an assistant starter sought to grab his bridle and lead him into the gate. But despite his antics, he seemed to be under control. Steve had good hold of him and with no further trouble Flame walked into his starting stall. The boy’s face radiated confidence, perhaps, like his horse, responding to the fans’ applause.

Alec turned away. He thought of Steve Duncan only as a competitor now and no longer a friend in need of help and advice. Steve was on his own.

The Black banged against the sides of his stall and Alec spoke to him softly, telling him to wait, that soon they’d be off and running. He knew his horse would be able to handle the top weight of 136 pounds, and their next-to-outside post position was better than being closer to the rail. Even with all the warm-up, the Black might be late in breaking from the gate. At least, though, there was no chance of their being pinned on the rail today.

He saw Willy Walsh in the Number 1 stall, all set to go. Light-weighted as Mad Wizard was, Willy
wouldn’t have any trouble getting him out of there. Mad Wizard had the early speed to go to the front immediately, but Alec didn’t think Willy would keep him in the lead very long. He’d be afraid Mad Wizard might get lonesome out there all by himself and start looking around for company. Willy would take hold once they were free of the pack, saving his horse’s speed for later on. But Alec knew he couldn’t be sure of anything today.

Only when the race was under way would he know what Willy’s tactics would be. There was no telling what any of the riders would do, regardless of past performances, until the moment of decision came. They were all good enough to contrive a masterpiece of riding from beginning to the end. He could win on the fastest horse only if he made no mistakes.

Alec steadied the Black and looked through the grilled door in front of him. He learned something new in every race he rode. This kind of knowledge, of a practical nature, was the only kind in which he had any confidence. He hadn’t been able to learn it from Henry or anyone else. Within a few seconds, he would have a lot of decisions to make. He had to have enough confidence in himself to make them quickly. If he hesitated, he’d lose the race. He had to avoid jams. He had to sense what was going to happen
before
it happened.