The Black Stallion's Filly (19 page)

“A lot of horsemen like to accept the challenge the Derby offers us and our three-year-olds. We know how hard it is to get a young horse in hand to meet the exacting conditions of the Derby. We do it, or try to do it because, like I say, it's a challenge … and if we lick it our horse usually goes on to still greater heights.”

Alec's mouth had tightened again. “You're getting away from what I meant, Henry. I was talking about fillies in the Derby … and there's only been one who went to the winner's circle. That was Regret, in 1915.”

“I wouldn't have brought Black Minx along if I didn't think she had a chance,” Henry returned quietly.

For another hour they rode, moving ever closer to Louisville and Churchill Downs. The
feel
of the Derby became stronger. It was in the air all about them. It came from pastures and barns, from the roaring wheels of other vans before and behind their own. It came from the eyes and voices of people lining the streets of small towns between Keeneland and Louisville.

On the outskirts of Louisville, Alec moved from
his chair to the cab window again. “I've been wondering if there have ever been any Derby winners who made their first start of the year in the Derby,” he said.

Henry didn't answer immediately, and Alec knew his friend was either thinking about the question put to him or wasn't going to bother to reply. Perhaps Henry was fed up with his questions, but Alec was determined not to stop asking them. Not until the Derby was over.

Finally Henry said, “Way back in the teens and twenties three horses won the Derby the first time out, if I remember correctly. Exterminator did it in 1918, Sir Barton the following year, and then Morvich in 1922.”

“But none since then?”

“No,” Henry grunted. “Aren't they enough?”

“Maybe it's harder to do it these days.”

“Maybe.” Henry's face lightened in a grin, his first grin in many miles. “I'm old enough to think it can still be done!” He paused while slowing down for a traffic light. “But if it'll make you feel easier I'll tell you that Jet Pilot won the Derby in 1947 with just a six-furlong race before the classic.”

“Will you give the filly a race before the Derby?”

“Maybe,” Henry said, starting up the van once more with the change of lights.

Going through Louisville, Henry took as many back streets as possible. But there was no way for him or the drivers of other vans to avoid the heavy traffic, for Churchill Downs was only ten minutes from the heart of the city. When the famous racecourse had been opened for the first Kentucky Derby in 1875 it
was outside the city limits. Now the corporate limits of Louisville extended far beyond Churchill Downs.

All the way to the track the huge horse vans were given the courtesy of the road by city drivers, who were accustomed to the lumbering trucks moving cautiously through their crowded streets at this time of year. Many a resident driver looked out his car window, calling loudly, “You got a Derby colt in there?” And if he got an affirmative answer from a van's cab, his eyes lighted. “Which one, Boss?”

Alec remained silent during the drive through the city. He sat in his chair, his eyes leaving the moving cars only to look at the black filly. Pressure and tension were mounting within him. And he knew there wouldn't be any let-up during the days to come. Instead it would get worse. He tried to think of the calmness and tranquility of Hopeful Farm. But it didn't help. It seemed that Hopeful Farm had never existed. He was being swept into the all-engulfing whirlpool of the Kentucky Derby, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Within a short time he saw the grandstand spires of Churchill Downs, reaching high above the homes adjacent to the race course. Then Henry was driving the van beside a wire fence and finally turning into the entrance to the stable area. Ahead of them were long sheds and barns, horses and vans, trainers and owners. Beyond was the brown ribbon of the track over which the great race had been run for more than three-quarters of a century. And still farther beyond loomed the gigantic grandstand, clubhouse and bleachers
where more than a hundred thousand people would watch the Kentucky Derby, just one week from the following day.

This was Churchill Downs.

Henry stopped the van in line behind others. Pulling on the handbrake, he left the cab. “I'll register at the Secretary's office,” he told Alec. “Stick inside.”

As if I'd leave the filly now
, Alec thought. He went to her, knowing that he wanted companionship more than she did. He was still with her when Henry returned a short while later.

The trainer looked through the small window. “All okay back there?”

Alec nodded and the van moved on again slowly, passing horses being unloaded, horses being walked by stable boys. The smell of wood smoke from small fires was strong in the air. Bandages, cloths, coolers and the countless items that make up a horse's laundry were hanging on lines. Over the loud voices of people and even above the roar of motors came the shrill neighs and nickering of horses. Alec had been at Hopeful Farm so long he had forgotten the commotion, the excitement of a track. And this was no ordinary race meeting that would begin tomorrow afternoon. This was the setting for the swiftly approaching Derby!

“Henry, which colts are here?” he asked.

“Eclipse and Silver Jet are the big ones. There are a couple other Derby horses who'll go only if it's a muddy track. That's all the information I had time to get in the Secretary's office, except that Golden Vanity and Wintertime are now on their way over from
Keeneland. We beat them in.” He smiled. “That's one race we've won, anyway.”

“How many horses do they expect to start in the Derby?”

“There's no way of telling how many will be shipped in,” Henry said. “They were surprised to see me here. Maybe more trainers will surprise 'em next week.”

Alec thought again of the long list of three-year-olds nominated for the Kentucky Derby last February. There had been more than a hundred. A great number of them had been hopelessly beaten in preparatory races, yet he knew their owners might nevertheless start them in the Derby. And would there be others, too, colts and fillies like Black Minx, unraced and untried? Next week they would know.

At the end of the stable area Henry brought the van to a stop before Barn 10. When he appeared at the side door, Alec pushed the gangway down to him and checked the floor matting to make certain it would not slip.

Henry said, “All the Derby horses will be at this end of the stable area. Eclipse and Silver Jet are just up from us in Barn Eleven.”

They unloaded Napoleon first. Then the filly was taken down the gangway. They had no trouble with her, for the sight of grass after her long trip made her more than eager to leave the van.

“Take her for a short sightseeing tour while I fix up Napoleon and get her stall ready,” Henry said.

The early afternoon was more balmy than hot.
Black Minx pulled toward the grass on the other side of the stable runway, and Alec went along with her. He let her graze a few moments, then pulled her up. “C'mon, girl,” he said, “we need to get the travel kinks out of our legs.”

At his touch she moved beside him, walking a little sideways and fighting her lead shank. She neighed constantly and shook her small head. But Alec was not disturbed by her restless antics. She had been on the road a long time.

Beneath the overhang of their barn, he saw Henry talking to three men with pencils and pads in their hands. Knowing they were reporters, he kept Black Minx away. But they turned searching eyes on him and at the filly as he led her down the runway.

This was Derby Town, the backstage of racing. The clutered activity of unloading vans, of jockeys, exercise boys, owners, trainers, grooms and the multitude of people directly or indirectly concerned with racehorses milled about the stable area. It didn't make things easier for him or the filly. But there was no escape, for they were now a part of Derby Town.

Only on the track was it quiet, for it was long past the hours of gallops and breezes and works. Alec led the filly toward it, seeking a few moments' reprieve from the clamor of barns and runways.

Barn 11 was just off the road to his left. He saw the crowd standing in front of the stall nearest him. The area in front of the door was roped off, preventing people from getting too close to the horse whose head was over his half-door. Alec had no trouble recognizing Silver Jet's small gray head. Standing near the colt was
the towering Tom Flint, wearing the same wide-brimmed sombrero he'd worn when Alec had seen him on television. But this was not a picture on a screen; this was real.

Tom Flint was talking to newsmen, but he stopped to glance at the filly as she walked past. The eyes of reporters, grooms and all the others were on her for a moment before they turned back again to Silver Jet. Alec heard Flint tell the newsmen, “If we have a fast track for the Derby I won't be too worried about the result.”

Alec left the gray colt behind, going carefully around a parked van and milling people, all eyeing the filly and some asking, “That a Derby horse, son?” His standard reply was, “We don't know yet.”

At the far end of Barn 11, another group stood in front of a similarly roped-off stall. Alec saw Eclipse's white face and big head. Holding the colt's halter was a man as short and heavy as Henry. He wore no hat and his bald head was bared to the sun. Alec recognized “Red” Dawson, trainer of Eclipse. He heard Dawson tell the reporters, “Our colt is sharp and getting sharper every day now. If we don't get any bad breaks like we did in the Wood Memorial, we'll catch Silver Jet in the big one.”

Alec led the filly on, saying over and over to himself, “This is all real. We're part of the show.” He wasn't scared but he couldn't get into the spirit of things. After his months spent at Hopeful Farm, he found the pressure of the Derby a most difficult way of going back to the races. Yet within him surged a rhythmic beat of what he knew was stimulation. One could not be a part
of the Derby picture without feeling all the tradition and prestige behind it.

He put his hand on Black Minx's neck and she jumped at his touch. He was aware then that she was as keyed up as he was.

The gate to the track was open but he led the filly away from it and walked along the high wire fence separating the track from the stable area. But here too were signs which told of the imminence of the approaching Derby. Around the mile track sped tractors, harrowing and watering the surface to get it into the finest possible condition for the classic race.

Alec's gaze ranged over the great stands beyond, their multitude of seats empty and waiting. Starting the next day, they would fill a little more with each afternoon's racing, until on the following Saturday they would overflow into bleachers and infield, onto the track and countless rooftops.

Alec turned around at the noise of an approaching van. Barn 8 was nearest to him, and the van stopped before it. Hundreds of people were emerging from the stable area and hurrying toward the barn. Alec knew of only one colt who could attract so much attention upon his arrival. Before the crowd reached the van, the gangway was down and Golden Vanity had been unloaded. The statuesque chestnut colt stood still, yet his long muscles were trembling in his nervousness. Then the crowd moved in, blocking Alec's vision. He heard the high voice of the colt's trainer. “Keep back now! Give him room!”

Alec took the filly away from the fence. It was an ideal time to walk back unmolested to their barn. He
and Henry had a lot of routine jobs and unpacking to do this afternoon. “Come on, girl,” he said. “We'll see enough of this track all next week.”

Alec left without catching another glimpse of Golden Vanity. This was the beginning,
Derby Day minus eight
.

Shortly after dawn the next morning Alec took the filly for a mild gallop to chase away any travel stiffness left in her legs. They were the first on the track, although the stable area rang to the shouts of grooms, whose work for the day had already begun.

Black Minx galloped easily, seemingly as much at home here as on the training track at home. The Derby racing strip was in excellent condition; there was no jar from the springy cushion as her feet sped over the track. All down the homestretch and partially around the first turn they passed the great stands, their empty seats looming ever backward. Down the backstretch went the filly and her rider, passing the endless barns, and speeding through air that was thick with wood smoke from the small fires in makeshift stoves and metal drums. As they went around the back turn and passed the stands again, Alec glanced at the presentation stand, where next Saturday's Kentucky Derby winner would go. Here was the Derby winner's circle—
the goal of every breeder, trainer, owner and jockey in the sport!

Henry was still standing at the track gate when they finished. He took the filly's bridle and led her back to their barn. When Alec dismounted, the trainer said, “I'll cool her out. You get your breakfast.”

Alec walked through the busy stable area, his jacket collar up and his hands in his pockets, for the spring morning air was brisk. Like the filly, he was beginning to feel a little more at home at Churchill Downs. A good night's sleep on his stable cot had been a help. Henry had slept in the barn too, for they weren't hiring any extra help, and would take care of the filly themselves. This meant that at least one of them must always be near her, for the stakes in the Derby were high.

After Alec had bought a morning newspaper, he went into the stable area's cafeteria. It was crowded but he saw no one he knew—perhaps because he didn't look very hard. After choosing a breakfast of cereal, eggs and bacon, he carried it on a metal tray to a table.

He read the paper while he ate. There was a large picture of Golden Vanity with his trainer, taken just after their arrival the day before. The colt's trainer was young and smiling. He looked most confident, as if he had great visions of winning not only the Kentucky Derby, but every other important race that year. Yet his statement to the press was modest. “I know Golden Vanity ran a fast race at Keeneland, and we're happy to be here for the Derby.”
A little too modest
, Alec thought.
A little too confident
.