The Black Stallion's Filly (5 page)

Reaching the weanling barn, he went through the same feeding and watering routine he had followed in the stallion barn. He hurried a little, for he knew that the broodmares were most likely nickering impatiently and might awaken Henry. His friend needed all the sleep he could get this morning.

Alec ran most of the quarter-mile which separated the two barns. When he had almost reached the broodmare barn, the lights went on; he knew Henry was up. Going inside, Alec found him pitching hay to the mares.

“Why didn't you stay in bed?” Alec asked a little angrily. “You need more rest.”

“Couldn't sleep any longer. Anyway, I don't require much.”

Henry's hair was tousled and his face crusted with sleep. He had taken time only to pull on his clothes before coming downstairs.

Alec said, “I'll finish up the mares. Go see your filly.”

Henry grunted. “Okay,” he said, and hurried
down the end corridor to the other side of the barn where they had put Black Minx.

After Alec had run fresh water for the mares, he gave them their hay and grain for the morning. A shrill neigh came from the filly. Henry would take care of her, all right; he would treat her like a princess. Already she had one of the largest stalls on the farm—a foaling stall—for Henry had insisted that she be given plenty of room to move about after her long trip.

Finishing with the mares, Alec joined Henry. He found him standing outside the filly's stall door. As the two friends moved along together, Alec watched the Black's first daughter. He noticed first that she wasn't touching her feed. She just stood there, her black body tense and expectant, her small head turned toward them with sharp eyes, inquisitive and waiting.

“Why isn't she taking her feed?” Alec asked.

Henry's gaze didn't leave the filly. “Her groom at the sale told me that when she gets excited the only way to get her to eat is to feed her out of your hand.”

It wasn't necessary for Alec to ask Henry if the filly was excited now. Everything about her indicated it. “How long has this been going on?”

“The hand-feeding?” Henry asked. Without waiting for a reply, he added, “Since she was a foal.”

“No, I meant her excitement.”

“She's been excited ever since the sale, but she'll get no hand-feeding from me. She's been spoiled long enough. She'll eat out of her box or not at all.” Henry paused. “She'll get to it eventually. She did on the trip up.”

Black Minx moved a little closer to them, pushing out her muzzle.

“She has a lovely head, Henry,” Alec said. “It's small and well shaped, like the Black's.”

Henry nodded. “She's a big little filly,” he said with a sudden rush of eagerness. “Not at all as small as she looks. See how deep and well sloped her shoulders are, Alec. And her withers couldn't be better. Look at her hindquarters, too—big and strong.” Henry was pointing now, his hand extended over the stall door. “She's well ribbed up in the middle, too, and those legs of hers are just as clean and shapely as I like to see 'em. She'll go a distance. Mark my words, Alec. She'll be more than a sprinter, a lot more!”

Alec saw the filly's muzzle move. “Careful, Henry!”

But he was too late. Black Minx had nipped and torn Henry's shirt.

They stepped back while Henry pulled up his sleeve. There were no teeth marks. She hadn't caught his flesh.

“My fault for not watching what I was doing,” Henry grumbled. “She tried it a couple of times on the trip, too, but I was always ready for her.”

“She doesn't look mean,” Alec said.

“She's not. She just doesn't know any better.”

“What do you mean, Henry?”

“Well, here's the story I got on her. This filly was only a weanling when old Doc Chandler died. His widow sold all their stock, but she kept Elf as a saddle mare for herself. She gave the filly to her young grandchildren as a pet. And a pet is exactly what they made
out of her. The kids—they were about high-school age—taught her what they thought were cute tricks. Stuff like gettin' her to rear and paw the air at them, and sometimes to put her forelegs on their shoulders while they walked in front of her. Then, too, they always had her lookin' for carrots and sugar in their pockets. She'd pull away at their clothes, and they'd laugh about how she had such a time finding what they had for her.”

Henry stopped because Black Minx had moved to her feedbox and was whiffing her grain; finally she began to eat. “See, Alec,” he said. “You just got to have patience and wait for her. We'll make her a real good-mannered lady one of these days.”

For several more minutes Henry watched the filly before continuing his story. “Anyway, Alec, the Chandler kids thought all those tricks were pretty funny at first. But when she started growing up and getting stronger the tricks weren't so funny any more.

“They kept away from her when she started rearing and pawing the air at them. They stopped carrying tidbits in their pockets. Her hoofs and teeth were big and strong, for she was a yearling now, and she could hurt when she played or went after carrots and sugar in their pockets. The kids didn't want to play any longer but she couldn't get that into her head. She'd played too long with them to stop all of a sudden.”

Henry gestured at the filly's hindquarters. “That docked tail, for instance. Let me tell you how she got it.”

Alec's eyes were on the pitiful little chewed-off tail that was most unlike the filly's sire's.

“There's no doubt that the filly, as a yearling, was
hard to handle and very mischievous. But it wasn't her fault she'd got that way. Whenever the kids entered the paddock in front of her barn she'd run after them, probably thinking of the game of tag they'd taught her. But now the kids were scared and ran, and most often, I guess, they got real angry with her. Anyway, one day she caught one of the boys and nipped him, taking off some of his sweater and some of the skin off his back. As I heard it, he was more mad than hurt. So a few minutes later when he saw the filly going into her stall at the end of the paddock, he ran after her and slammed the door hard to keep her penned up. The heavy door caught her tail, and when the vet came he had to amputate most of it.”

Alec's face was grim. He said nothing when Henry concluded with, “So that's the way it's gone for this little filly. No wonder she bites and paws. But I know I'll be able to do something about both. It'll just take time and patience.”

After a while Alec pushed himself away from the stall door. “Did the Chandler kids keep her after the accident to her tail?” he asked.

“They left the picture,” Henry said, “by going to college, and Mrs. Chandler turned the filly over to a trainer to be raced as a two-year-old. But she picked a guy with a big stable, who was never able to give the filly all the time she needed after what she'd gone through. He took her along with his stable to Florida last February and started her in one race.”

“What's she do?”

“Swerved across the track before she reached the first turn, and went through the rail. It took twenty-nine
stitches in her breast to put her back together again. The jockey, Nino Nella, got a fractured collarbone out of it.”

“You sure got yourself a filly,” Alec said grimly.

Henry turned to him, and Alec noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. Yet when he spoke his tone was sharp, even a little defiant. “Do you think, Alec, that I could have got this filly for a thousand dollars otherwise? No, sir. No one else at the sale wanted to take the time with her. They all got too many horses to go to all the bother of makin' over a spoiled one. But I got the time. And I know something else. She's got the blood and the body and the spirit to make a classic horse.” He paused, smiling now. “Do I look as though I'm taking a real deep plunge having such high hopes for this filly?”

Alec's face lightened too. “You look as if you think you are,” he said. “You look as though you find it more exciting than comfortable.”

“Maybe so,” Henry said, turning back to his filly. “But this little girl and I are going out to win the Derby. We're going to …”

“You're going to
what
?” Alec couldn't keep the astonishment from his voice.

Henry just repeated, “The Derby, Alec. We're going out to win the Kentucky Derby.”

When Alec spoke again he had regained full control of his voice. “It's almost December,” he said calmly, “and in five months, by the first week in May, you're going to have rid this filly of her bad manners and have her trained and ready to go
a mile and a quarter
?”

“I'm going to try, Alec,” Henry said.

Alec turned away. “Come on, Henry. Mom has breakfast all ready by this time. You need some good strong coffee.”

But Henry didn't move from the stall door. “I'll be there in a little while, Alec. I want to groom her down good when she's finished eating.”

Alec turned back. Henry wasn't looking at him; he had eyes only for his black filly.

It was light when Alec left the barn. His brow was puckered, his thinking confused. What Henry planned to do with Black Minx was fantastic, incredible. With her background, faults and lack of training, how could Henry possibly think of her even as a Derby
starter
? And even if he was miraculously lucky and got her to the post, what possessed him to think she might win? From the running of the first Kentucky Derby in 1875 until now,
only one filly
had won the great classic, and that was Regret, back in 1915. Fillies just didn't win the Derby. They just couldn't beat good colts over that grueling distance of a mile and a quarter so early in the spring of their third year. Countless record-breaking fillies had tried it, only to be licked in that last hard furlong. Yet Henry had said,
“We're going out to win the Kentucky Derby.”

Alec pushed his red hair off his forehead. He hated to think that Henry, after all his years of experience, was letting his emotions carry him away. No, it couldn't be that, Alec decided. He wouldn't let himself even think it. Instead he went back in memory to the days when Henry had taken him and the Black under his wing, when Henry had encouraged him to race the
Black because he had confidence in Alec's ability to handle the stallion on the track.

At the time Henry's enthusiasm had sounded just as fantastic as what he'd said a few moments ago. But it had turned out the way Henry had said it would. He had ridden the Black to victory over the two best horses in the country.

Then Satan had come along. Alec hadn't thought it possible for any horse ever to approach the Black's blinding speed. But Henry had looked at the weanling Satan and said, “This colt might make you change your mind, Alec.”

Fantastic again
at the time
. But Satan's race records now proved how right Henry had been.

Alec stopped in front of the house. He wanted to clarify his thinking before going inside.

If Henry had said he was going to get Black Minx ready for the Kentucky Derby, he'd do just that. It didn't mean necessarily that she'd win, but it did mean that she would be trained for that classic in early May. She would be ready to go the full mile and a quarter.

Alec decided that during the months to come he would never again question Henry's ability to reach his goal. Instead he would help Henry with his filly in every way possible—just as Henry had helped him with the Black and Satan.

Alec continued up the walk, ready now for a good breakfast.

For Alec it was like old times having Henry around every day. That week, the last in November, they exercised Satan and the Black. Together they handled weanlings and broodmares, and performed routine farm chores. Henry was his former cheerful self because he had a coming three-year-old to get ready for the following spring and summer campaigns. Alec laughed more, too. He found that, after all, he had not divorced himself completely from the lure of the racetrack; he could still be excited by the schooling of a young racehorse.

He watched Henry with the black filly, taking a keen interest in each step of her progress. He marveled again at Henry's unlimited patience that had done so much to win his reputation as one of the finest colt trainers in the country.

“Just give me a break in the weather and I'll have her ready,” Henry said over and over. “An easy winter,
so I can get her out on the track 'most every day, is all I ask.”

The weather was mild that week, but Black Minx didn't set foot on the training track. Instead Henry kept her in the barn, and he got to know her ways pretty well.

Alec noticed that Henry was all business when he entered her stall, which was often. Never did he fondle her or play, as Alec might have been tempted to do. Henry went about his work with the unconcern of a man accustomed to handling horses—with the least amount of fuss or outward exertion. He was gentle but firm with the filly, and always on the alert for any bold move she might make toward him. Only his hand would reach out when it came; one sharp slap on muzzle or foreleg was his reprimand.

Alec had no idea how many times a day Henry groomed Black Minx that first week. Lots, anyway. Her body shone like glossy satin from soft sponges, soft brushes, soft cloths. But Henry wasn't at all interested in bringing out the beautiful luster of her black coat. Rather it was his way of teaching her good manners.

“We're just getting acquainted now,” he had told Alec the first day he spent with her. “No more hand-feeding, and for the present a lot of grooming. That may be all we'll have to do to stop her nipping. I don't know. But we'll start there, anyway.”

The filly had stood tied very short with a soft cotton rope around her neck and through her halter.

“I watched the groom getting her ready at the sale,” Henry had continued. “He made the mistake most people make with a filly like this, and that probably
goes for the trainer who took her to Florida. He gave her too much freedom of head, and when she turned on him he tried to straighten her out by a blow with his brush or towel. The trouble was he usually missed. So it all became a game to her, like everything else. I keep her tied short. I want her to learn I mean business. But at the same time I want to make my grooming a pleasure for her, so I use nothing but soft cloths and the like. She's thin-skinned and ticklish. Never should she be given a real hard going-over.”