The Black Stallion's Courage (6 page)

On Preakness Day there would barely be room to breathe and many more thousands of fans would spill into the infield to watch the running of the famous classic,
the Run for the Black-eyed Susans. Would it be won by a black filly? It could, Alec decided, if she kept her mind on racing as she did for a while this morning. And she just might with such a crowd to cheer her on coming into the homestretch!

The Black tugged on the lead shank and Alec went with him.

“At least, if she goes like that she'll give a good account of herself,” Alec said aloud. “We'd be proud of her—you and Henry and I. But nothing can be certain from now on. Just as
anything
can happen in the Kentucky Derby,
something
usually happens afterward to upset the winner from capturing the Preakness and the Belmont.”

It was only a few hours later that Alec and Henry saw the “something” for that year come into view. They stood before a television set in a store across the street from the racetrack. Together they watched the running of the Withers Mile for three-year-olds in New York. They saw Eclipse, a burly brown horse with a white face, emerge from the tightly packed field and come billowing down the home-stretch to set a new world's record.

Alec and Henry turned away, knowing Eclipse had come into his own and there'd be trouble ahead for everybody, including Black Minx at her very best.

It wasn't often that a great horse came along as a three-year-old and when he did he presented a problem to everybody but those in his entourage. If he proved to be
truly
great, the number of horses in his age group who'd be sent out to race him would become fewer and fewer. No owner or trainer was likely to want his entry to take beating after beating. And when a situation like that developed, a track's most celebrated races could become nothing but “walkovers” for the champion, costing the management money and leaving the customers nothing to watch but a one-horse exhibition at a slow gallop.

It would be up to the trainers to decide if it was worthwhile having their three-year-olds race such a horse. The night following Eclipse's record-shattering victory in the Withers Mile the men at Pimlico were still unafraid.

Don Conover said, “One race doesn't make a horse
great.
”

“We beat him in the Derby,” Alec added confidently. “We can do it again.”

Henry snorted. “He's not the same horse. He even
looked
different on the screen … bigger and higher in flesh.”

“It's only been a few weeks since we last saw him,” Conover scoffed. “He couldn't have grown much in that time. But you're right about one thing, Henry. He was long overdue for that kind of a race. I wish he'd put it off a little longer. Now we've got him right in our laps for the Preakness and the Belmont.”

Alec banged a boot heel against the tack trunk on which he sat. “Don, this morning you said you'd take a good small horse any day in preference to a good big one.”

“I still would,” Conover reaffirmed.

Henry laughed. “Except for Eclipse, maybe?”

“No maybes,” Conover answered.

“Henry,” Alec said, “I think you're overestimating Eclipse. You've always liked him because he's burly and big. You like size. Don doesn't.”

“That's right,” Conover agreed. “I'm not scared of him at all. It's just that I know a problem horse when I see one.”

Henry leaned back in his chair and surveyed the group in a bored way. “Y'got me all wrong, fellas. It's not that I have anything against a small horse. I like 'em
any
size, just as long as they can go. But the thing about Eclipse is that he's more than just big. There's nothing of the colt in him. There never was. He's all stallion and has been right along. As we know, a colt doesn't usually mature that fast. When he does, well,
he's playin' with a bunch of kids and someone's goin' to get hurt.”

A groom turned over a pail and sat down on it. He said, “Eclipse was a big horse in the Derby but he sure didn't scare nobody. He got shoved around, too. It was just by luck he got up to be third.”

Alec called to an exercise boy standing near the Black's stall. “Take your fingers away from that screen door or he'll mistake them for carrots.”

“Better shut the top, Alec,” Henry advised. “Let him get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

“Okay, but I wanted him to get used to this.”

“He will,” Henry said. “You don't have to do it all in one day.” He turned to the groom sitting on the pail. “You weren't watchin' Eclipse in the Derby or you would've known that they didn't push him around any. He fouled himself up. He's so big he got in his own way. That's been his trouble right along. But he got his legs straightened out today. I knew it would come. There was no stoppin' it. Just a matter of time.”

Henry stood up. “That was a man-sized job he did today. Remember, it was Citation's world record that he broke.
Citation at five years old
on a fast California track! It's been in the books a long, long time.”

“I'm impressed,” Alec said. “But the chances are good that it'll be broken again.”

“By a filly?” an exercise boy suggested.

A trainer leaning against Black Minx's stall door said, “She won't if she stops like she did this morning, Alec. She won't even get a chance to wave Eclipse good-by.”

Henry moved down the row, stopped, and turned
back. “She won't quit on us. Don't you worry none about that.”

“I'm not worryin' none, Henry.” The trainer laughed. “Are you forgettin' I have a colt goin' in the Preakness, too? Her stopping would suit me just fine … the earlier the better.”

“She won't stop,” Henry repeated angrily. “No filly's goin' to outsmart me.”

Don Conover grinned. “Y'got a way with women, all right, Henry.”

“You're not kiddin' none, Don. Now take your boss—”

“You'd better stick to two- and three-year-olds,” Conover interrupted. “They're more your speed.”

“I guess you're right,” Henry answered soberly. “It takes some pretty smart thinkin' to handle 'em that young.”

Another trainer grunted. “It's either that or they send you off to a madhouse.”

“Tell 'em about that colt you picked up for almost nothin', Henry, because nobody wanted him,” an old groom said.

Henry turned to him. “What colt's that?”

“You know … that gray one you had at Aqueduct. The one that'd quit in the stretch because he was so scared of grandstand noises.”

“Oh, that one. He was just the opposite of the filly.”

“Yeah, that one. He won for you ‘cause you put earmuffs on him.”

Henry grimaced. “Ear
plugs
, y'mean, not muffs.”

“Sure, that's it. Tell 'em that story, Henry.”

“You've already told it,” Henry said, walking away.

“Where are you going?” Alec called.

“To bed,” the trainer answered without turning back.

Don Conover called, “You're even gettin' to look like a horse, sleeping in that van of yours. Why don't you get a room? My landlady's got an extra one.”

“I'll consider it now that Alec's here to keep an eye on the stable,” Henry said, stopping.

“Sure,” Alec encouraged, “go ahead.”

“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow,” Henry answered.

“I'll believe it when I see you between sheets,” Conover said.

Henry shuffled off toward Hopeful Farm's small black-and-white van. “Sheets and mattress don't make a bed,” he said, his voice barely reaching them. “Any place but New York and I'm campin' out anyway. Might as well use the truck.”

The groom sitting on the water pail laughed. “The big apple of his eye,” he said. “Henry can hardly wait to get to Belmont!”

No one else spoke. The group broke up, most of them feeling no different from Henry. They were eager to return to the big track but first they had a race to run—the Preakness with a purse of more than one hundred thousand dollars.

Early the next morning Alec took the filly out to graze. It was Sunday and the racetrack was quiet except for the nickers of other grazing horses and the calls of their grooms.

As with everything else Black Minx was very particular in her choice of grass. She would stop to crop a
few mouthfuls and then go on, trying to find another patch that was more appealing to her fancy and discriminating taste. But this morning she seemed to be constantly frustrated in her search and soon Alec found himself closer to the other horses than he cared to be.

“That's far enough,” he said, giving the lead shank a tug. “We don't want to cause any trouble around here.”

Black Minx stopped obediently but didn't graze. Instead she held her head high, looking past the other horses without a flicker of interest.

Suddenly she gave a hard pull on the shank. Alec didn't let her go and, frustrated once more, she lowered her head to graze. After a few minutes Alec noticed that she was beginning to break out with sweat despite the coolness of the air. He took a large silk handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed her coal-black coat. Like a lady, she seemed to love the touch of silk, too. He had found that it pacified her more than anything else.

She's as hot-tempered as the Black
, he thought.
Cross her in anything and she breaks out. Maybe it's true of all fast horses. No, Eclipse isn't like that at all. I've seen him galloped a couple of miles during the middle of the day with the temperature over a hundred and he didn't show a mark. In fact he didn't take more than a long breath or two
.

I wonder if he really is a great horse. Most of the guys seemed to think so last night. Ordinarily they won't go all out on a horse until he's been tried and proven over and over again. Even then they're awfully careful about calling a horse great
.

Yet they're comparing Eclipse to Citation and Man o'
War, even the Black! I don't understand it. Eclipse will have to prove to me that greatness isn't beyond him. Maybe he will—in the Preakness
.

Suddenly Black Minx jerked up her head, her eyes bright and ears pricked. Alec noticed that her coat was becoming splotched with sweat marks again. Finally she kicked out hard, her flinty legs snapping the air.

Alec moved to her head, shortening the shank. The other horses—including Wintertime, who had just joined the group—were still grazing in the distance.

“Let's go in,” Alec said.

Black Minx turned with him, sharply and willingly. Her hind legs split the air repeatedly and she came down on her toes. Alec pulled the shank to attract her attention. It wasn't unlike her to kick at another horse. But to be kicking when there wasn't the slightest chance of hitting her mark
was
strange. All the way back to the barn Alec watched her eyes, trying to figure out the coal-black filly.

Henry was waiting for them at the barn, the old saddle in his hands.

“Now we'll really get down to work,” the trainer said. “Get the Black.”

A few minutes later Alec was seated astride the great stallion, waiting for Henry and Napoleon to join them. There was no movement beneath him, yet he felt vibrations flowing between the Black and himself. With no other horse he'd ever ridden did he experience any such feeling.

Henry led Napoleon out of the stall and mounted. “All set?” he asked.

Alec nodded.

Henry prodded the gray gelding with his heel. “Come on, old horse,” he said.

The Black swerved abruptly against Napoleon. Henry mumbled something after the crushing impact of the two bodies and moved his mount a little ahead of the stallion as they went to the track.

Henry had scheduled only a slow gallop for the Black. Even so, the press were waiting at the track gate for a look at the great horse. Photographers began pressing too close and Napoleon wheeled, lashing out with his hind legs.

The Black went along with him but didn't kick and Alec got him back in line. Now the frightened photographers kept their distance.

“Napoleon's a lot of horse this morning,” Alec said quietly to Henry.

“What do you think a good stable pony's for if it isn't to keep order?” the trainer asked.

“Does that include our competition on race day?”

Henry grinned. “Let any horse get too close to him and he'll find out.”

They rode onto the track. “Watch your horse,” the trainer warned, “or he's liable to jump out from under you.”

“I'm all right, but let go of us pretty soon.”

“I will. I just want to keep Napoleon beside him another minute. Look at him breakin' out. Keep a tight hold, Alec. You're not goin' to gallop him with any twine string this morning. He'll want to take over. A mile gallop is enough for today. Don't let him get away from you. Take up on him. Watch him! Quick!”

The Black slammed into Napoleon but the old
gelding withstood the blow, snorting a little and pushing back as was his job. He kept the stallion in line.

“I had no trouble at home,” Alec said. “He's got plenty of miles behind him.”

“This is the racetrack,” Henry answered, as if that explained everything.

The trainer let them go at the head of the backstretch. Once free of Napoleon, the Black bolted. Alec allowed his horse to settle into stride and then pulled up on him, shortening rein and
asking
for obedience rather than demanding it. For several seconds there was no response. Greater became the stallion's strides and wilder the whip of his long mane and tail.

Alec longed to let the stallion go, to urge him on to his utmost speed. Instead he drew back still more on the reins.