The Black Stallion's Filly (16 page)

“It won't hurt you,” he said, making no effort to move the filly into the stall. He wouldn't get tough with her; it would only make things more difficult later on.

After a while Alec said, “She's trembling as much as ever.”

“I know, but we'll try it again now.”

Reluctantly Black Minx took a few steps toward the open back door of the gate. Henry stopped her before she had a chance to balk again. He drew her head down to let her sniff the gate. Her muzzle quivered as it touched the canvas-covered sides of the stall.

Henry moved to the front of her, standing within the stall. After a few moments he coaxed her forward. She took another step under the hand she had learned to obey so well.

Alec leaned forward, close to her neck, offering all the encouragement he could. But he knew his most important job was to be ready for any sudden move the filly might make. If she should unseat him now, there would only be additional problems at the gate. Secure in his saddle, he left the rest up to Henry. He noticed that Black Minx's head was turned toward the door. It was wide open and he wondered that she should be giving it so much attention.

At Henry's bidding she moved again, and this time her forelegs were in the stall before Henry stopped her. Once more the trainer waited, talking softly and stroking her. The front door of the stall was open. What he wanted her to do was to stand in the stall while he clambered about the framework of the gate, fooling with her head, crawling under her and over her, and sliding off her rump—all to make certain she would be accustomed to the hullabaloo that accompanies the start of a race.

Alec felt most of the uneasiness leave the filly while Henry talked to her. She consented to take another few steps and finally stood all the way in her stall.

Henry's face disclosed nothing. He said, “I won't close the doors. Be ready in case she bolts on you.” For a few minutes he handled her bridle, and then moved to the side, climbing on the gate's framework, his hands always on her. The filly's eyes followed all his movements.

Alec felt her uneasiness return when Henry leaned against her hindquarters. But she didn't bolt. Henry climbed down and went under her. Like the filly, Alec was conscious of the trainer's every move. He glanced back and saw the abrupt twitches of Black Minx's docked tail. If it had been of normal length it would be lashing about her, he thought, instead of looking like a car's windshield wiper going full speed.

Henry moved behind her, then climbed up on the gate's framework again. Alec saw the pinpoints of light in his eyes, and knew that Henry was satisfied with the progress he'd made so far. It was better than Alec had expected, too. He hadn't thought they'd get the filly into the gate at all. The worst was over.

Then Henry reached for the back door of the stall. He had started to swing it shut when the filly bolted, and Alec could do nothing but let her go. She was halfway down the stretch before she slowed to her easy gallop.

Alec turned her around and brought her back, but Henry had already left the gate. When they reached him, the trainer grumbled, “That's enough. We're through with her for the day.”

On the way to the barn Alec said, “You know what it is, don't you, Henry?”

“Sure. She's afraid of the door.”

“With good reason—since one was slammed on her tail as a yearling.” Alec paused. “Funny that she's never shown any fear of a door in the barn.”

“Close quarters in the gate,” Henry replied brusquely. “That's it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Not much we can do to make her forget what happened to her tail. That's part of her psychological make-up now.”

“You can't race a horse from the gate without closing the doors,” Alec said.

“You're not telling me anything.” They were nearing the barns before Henry spoke again. “If we find she can't be started in the gate, we'll just have to start her outside it, that's all.”

Outside and behind
, Alec thought but said nothing. The rule read, “The starter may place vicious and unruly horses outside and
behind
the line.” With a large Derby field, being placed outside the gate and behind all the other horses would be too much of a handicap for the filly to bear. Yet there was no alternative if she wouldn't start from the gate.

Alec turned in his saddle to look at the short tail which still moved back and forth. There was no doubt in his mind that the filly was well aware of her loss, if not her disfigurement. For in addition to being a thing of beauty, a horse's tail is a necessary appendage. Without one, a horse has no protection against flies and other insects which annoy and hurt her.

As long as Alec could remember, he had loathed the “docked tails” of the hackney ponies in horse shows and the “set tails” of saddle horses. Both practices were
cruel, and he had no use for owners who performed them on their horses.

Alec turned and faced forward again. For a few moments he rode in thoughtful silence. Then, “Henry,” he began.

“Yes, Alec?”

“There's nothing wrong with the dock of her tail … or the root of her tail, if you want to call it that … is there?”

“Of course not. See how she moves it about. If she—” Henry stopped, caught hold of the filly's bridle and held her still. “You mean if we gave her a false tail she'd—”

“—have something to fling around,” Alec finished for him. “She might even forget all about not having had one for so long. And even if it didn't help quiet her down in the gate, she'd have a switch to keep the flies away from her this summer.”

“But it might work in the gate too, Alec,” Henry said quickly. “She might forget fast that she ever had an accident.”

“Would it be much of a job?”

Henry was already behind the filly, examining her short tail. “No, it wouldn't,” he finally replied. “There's enough hair here to be braided with some more.”

“Where'll we get the extra hair?”

Henry returned to his former position at the filly's head before answering. “The Black's and Satan's tails are full,” he said. “They could use some thinning out. We'll do it tomorrow.” He paused to stroke the filly's neck. “I like your suggestion, Alec. It might work. Anyway, it'll do no harm to try. She's a high-headed gal
with a complex. Giving her a tail again might make more changes in her than either of us suspects. It just might at that.”

They continued toward the barn, Alec sitting thoughtfully in the saddle. It had been quite a morning. Black Minx had worked a fast mile, been introduced to the gate again and now was going to get a new tail, courtesy of the Black and Satan! Within a few hours' time, too, they'd be watching Eclipse and Silver Jet race in the Wood Memorial Stakes. April 21 was going to be a day to remember!

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said. “We're in the paddock, just prior to the running of New York's last and most important test for Kentucky Derby candidates, the Wood Memorial Stakes at a mile and a sixteenth.”

Alec and Henry drew their chairs closer to the television screen as the picture showed the horses and their riders circling the paddock ring. A light, steady drizzle was coming down.

Alec glanced out the window of the attic. There had been an overcast sky all afternoon at Hopeful Farm but it had not rained. “Looks as if they'll be going on a muddy track,” he said, turning back to watch the screen.

“Not unless it rains harder and longer than it's doing there now,” Henry replied. “The track has too much sand in it ever to get real muddy.”

The picture showed a close-up of a gray colt wearing a black blinker hood, and Alec immediately recognized Silver Jet. The colt looked as good as he had
when he'd won the Flamingo. His tall, graceful body moved with no evidence of nervousness; his walk was easy and swinging.

Henry said, “The bandages are off in front.”

Alec noted the absence of the bandages the colt had worn in the Flamingo. Then he gave his attention to the announcer.

“That's Silver Jet with Danny Seymour up,” the man was saying. “This is a formidable combination that has won four races in four starts this past winter in Florida, including the prized Flamingo Stakes. Unraced since March, Silver Jet is out today to jump right back into the thick of the Kentucky Derby picture. And the chances are excellent that he'll do just that. This colt last year was the champion two-year-old, winning almost two hundred thousand dollars for his owner and trainer, Tom Flint of Texas. This year at three, Silver Jet is unbeaten, and he had no trouble traveling over the mile-and-an-eighth distance of the Flamingo. He runs best up front. As you can see, he's wearing blinkers. Silver Jet is inclined to be inquisitive, so the blinkers are put on to keep his eyes to the front and prevent his paying attention to other animals in the race. He's by the great sire Mahmoud and, like most of this sire's colts, has a streak of temperament. As far as Silver Jet is concerned, the temperament is most apt to be displayed in the starting gate. But just now the colt is as calm as the best mannered of stable ponies.”

Silver Jet's small head was being given plenty of free rein by Dan Seymour, yet he walked slowly, completely at ease, and with an air of confidence. His long gray mane and tail hung still in the drizzling rain.

Alec watched Seymour sitting quietly in the saddle, his small, shriveled face disclosing as little interest in the paddock activities as his mount. But all that would change once they went to the post.

“… Silver Jet was the winter favorite to win the Kentucky Derby,” the announcer was saying.

Henry grunted. “A tactless place to mention this,” he said, “but the Derby has never been won by a gray.”

Alec's eyes didn't leave the screen.
No
, he thought,
but there's always a first time, and Silver Jet could do it
. He saw a tall man wearing a large, flowing raincoat walk across the paddock to Silver Jet.

“That's Tom Flint,” Henry said. “He sat next to me at the sales when I bought the filly.”

Flint was talking to his jockey. He had his wide-brimmed hat pulled low on his head; it was as good as an umbrella in keeping the rain from him.

The announcer said, “I asked Tom Flint a few moments ago how he felt about Silver Jet's first big eastern prep for the Derby. His answer was,
‘Silver Jet is ready, but were you ever scared?'
That's all he said, ladies and gentlemen, but Tom Flint is no different from a good many other owners of Derby candidates at this time. They're all a little scared, for anything can happen now and in the coming Derby.”

The picture shifted to the husky brown colt with the white face. The announcer continued, “Here's a good reason for Tom Flint's being scared today. It's Eclipse, second-rated two-year-old last year and winner of Saturday's Experimental Number Two in the sizzling time of one minute and forty-four seconds for the mile and a sixteenth. Today's race is over the same distance
and all colts will be carrying equal weight of one hundred twenty-six pounds which, incidentally, is the weight they'll carry in the Kentucky Derby. That's the young veteran Ted Robinson up on Eclipse. He's the colt's regular rider.”

Ted Robinson sat easily on the big, muscular colt. The jockey displayed the confidence of Silver Jet's rider, and the husky colt beneath him was equally calm. When Eclipse walked, he carried his big head higher than had the gray colt, and while his white-stockinged legs moved with none of Silver Jet's easy grace, the assurance of speed was there.

Beside them trotted a short, stocky man carrying an umbrella over his head.

“That's Eclipse's trainer, ‘Red' Dawson, talking to Robinson,” the announcer said.

Alec glanced away from the screen. Dawson was an old friend of Henry's. “I'll bet he's scared too,” he said.

Henry grunted. “He's been around too long to be scared. He was riding horses before Tom Flint made his first hundred dollars.”

Alec smiled. “He sure looks funny carrying that big umbrella.”

“He's fussy about gettin' his head wet. He doesn't have thick red hair any more. Under that hat it's as bare as a billiard ball.”

The television cameras left Eclipse and followed the other horses about the paddock oval.

“Nine colts will be going to the post, ladies and gentlemen, and all of them are Derby eligibles,” the announcer said. “It must be evident by this time to the
owners and trainers of these other Derby hopefuls that Eclipse rules the eastern roost and only Silver Jet can unseat him today. But hope runs high at this time of year, and there's always a possibility of an upset in today's race. Yet these other colts, most of them beaten by Eclipse last Saturday, will be anchored today with one hundred twenty-six pounds. Unless they show something altogether unexpected it would seem hopeless to start them in the Derby on May fifth. It is reported that Eclipse and Silver Jet will be shipped to Churchill Downs on Monday, providing they cool out well after today's race.”

A bugle sounded, calling the horses to the post. In single file they left the paddock and paraded on the track. The announcer was giving the names and racing backgrounds of the colts who would race against Eclipse and Silver Jet. The only one that aroused Alec's interest was the small bay Moonstruck, who had run second to Golden Vanity in the Santa Anita Derby in February.

The rain came down harder as the colts neared the starting gate, and the majority of people standing in front of the grandstand scuttled under the stands. All the horses went behind the gate, turned and entered their stalls. Just then the rain slackened to a light drizzle again, and the crowd rushed out from beneath the protective stands to watch the race. The gate doors closed. The break would come any second.