The Black Stallion's Filly (6 page)

It was the first of December when Henry took Black Minx out of the barn. She stood in the cool and brisk morning air with her highly polished body brilliantly reflecting the sun's rays. Her first week of stall schooling was over. She was ready for a little freedom. But she wouldn't be allowed to romp for hours on end as did the mares, weanlings, stallions, and even old Napoleon. No, she would be given just a short time to frolic alone. Then Henry's hand would be on her halter again. She was different from the others; her goal was the Kentucky Derby only five months away. Her days would be spent under saddle, jogging, galloping, and breezing. Always she would feel the weight of a rider on her back, his hands on her mouth. She would know no other life for a long, long time to come.

Henry's hand moved against the filly's head, shifting her balance so she was always in motion and couldn't collect herself to rear or paw. He had led her about inside the barn many times during the past few days. She tried fewer tricks now than she had at first. Still he had to be very careful, never giving her a chance to think of anything but what he wanted her to
do. He turned to Alec, standing a short distance from them.

“Did you put Satan in the barn?” he asked.

“Yes,” Alec replied, “and Napoleon is in his paddock, as you wanted.”

“How about the Black?”

“He's in his field,” Alec said. “It's a nice morning and I only put him out there a short while ago. He needs the exercise.”

“I guess it'll be all right. He's probably at the far end of the field, isn't he?”

Alec nodded, but his eyes were on the filly. Henry had stopped moving her in those small circles. Alec waited to see what she'd do. Sure enough, her foreleg came up and she pawed the air. Henry brought the end of the lead shank smartly against her leg.

“Mind!” he said firmly. “Stand still.”

Alec knew that she had not struck out viciously. She had done it more in play. But it would not have been much fun for anyone to have been on the receiving end of such a blow.

Henry was moving her again. “One good lick at exactly the right moment is worth a dozen taps poorly timed and placed,” he said. “She'll learn.”

They started up the road, the filly walking between them. Alec put a hand on her neck, rubbing it gently. She had a mind of her own, but she'd come around, all right.

After she had worked off some of her excess energy by running around the paddock, he would ride her for the first time. He wouldn't have any trouble. He could stick with any kind of a rough colt, so he wasn't
worrying about that. And the moment he sat in the saddle he would know a lot more about her than he did now—perhaps even more than Henry. He wanted to be pleased and happy with what he found. He wanted Black Minx to be the filly Henry thought she was.

Before Henry turned the filly loose in the paddock, he had Alec go up to the far end to flag her down if she built up too much speed. Leaning against the fence, Alec waited. He saw her go over to look at Napoleon in the next paddock. The old gelding pricked his ears, then drew back, a little startled, as Black Minx bolted up the field, kicking out her hind legs.

Alec watched her closely as she neared him and then cut across the paddock. She had gone smoothly into her gallop, so much like the Black and so unlike Satan, whose first movements were heavy and ponderous. Alec liked what he saw, and his gaze shifted to Henry at the other end of the paddock. He knew Henry was enjoying the filly's action, too.

Black Minx stopped suddenly to rear high and paw the air. When she came down, she was off again with lightning swiftness. Alec knew then she'd never be left at the post, not with such getaway speed. But would she be able to maintain her speed over a distance? Some horses were built for sprints, some for distances. Her smallness made him think she might be a speed horse, a sprinter. But Henry maintained she would be able to go a classic distance, the full mile and a quarter at which the Kentucky Derby was run.
Well, why shouldn't she be able to go the distance?
Alec asked himself.
Wasn't her sire the greatest distance runner of them all?

Again the filly came up to Alec's end of the
paddock. But this time she brought herself to an abrupt stop a short way from him. She reared, pawing the air, and whinnied shrilly. She even took a few steps on her hind legs, walking with the perfect balance and grace of a ballet dancer.

Alec didn't move. It was a pretty trick to see, but just now it had no place in her training as a racehorse.

“None of that, girl,” he called to Black Minx.

Finally she came down and stood still, as though waiting for him to make a move, to run, so she could chase him. But he remained still and, after a few minutes, she snorted and bolted away. After going a short distance, she stopped, whirled, and came back to stand before him again. Her eyes were bright in her eagerness to play.

Alec watched the filly closely, knowing that she was more apt to try her tricks with him than with Henry. He was more the age and size of the Chandler kids, who had played with her so long. But he would have none of it. He would do nothing to hinder Henry's work in making her the racehorse he wanted her to be.

Black Minx's large eyes never left Alec. She moved a step nearer to extend her head toward him, her muzzle quivering excitedly. Alec waited, talking to her in a low voice but never moving. His hands remained at his sides. He did nothing to encourage her to come closer, to search his pockets, to nip, to play.

Suddenly she snorted again, tossing her head up and down with mane and forelock flying. Alec still didn't move, and finally she turned away from him,
holding her head and docked tail high. Her manner was one of disdain and disappointment.

Her name suited her well, for certainly she was a little minx, Alec decided. Minx meant a pert girl, one inclined to be forward, impudent, even intentionally mischievous. Well, that was this filly all over!

He saw Henry move toward her as she stood by the fence, watching Napoleon. Apparently the old trainer thought it was time to take control again. She had stretched her legs and worked off the edge of her abundant energy. Alec knew that Henry hadn't enjoyed watching her tricks, her playfulness. From now on she wouldn't get a chance to frolic alone. From now on she would leave the barn only under saddle.

Alec waited until Henry had skillfully maneuvered the filly into the corner of the paddock. When the trainer had her by the halter, Alec started down.

More than ever he was anxious to ride her. He had liked her easy way of going about the paddock. But only when they had her on the track would they be able to learn what kind of racehorse she would be. Her mischief and bad manners could be corrected. More important were her speed over a distance, a will to win, and gameness. All three were necessary if she was to become a champion. Within a few minutes they'd start up the long road that would give them their answers during the months to come.

Henry was waving to Alec, urging him to quicken his steps. He broke into a trot, but continued thinking of the filly.

She had a mind of her own, and that to him
indicated she'd inherited some of the Black's temperament. Not all of it, thank heavens. No more than Satan had. A little of it went a long way. Then certainly she should have
his
tremendous will to win and gameness! Alec's eyes were shining brightly as he neared Henry and Black Minx.

“Get the tack now,” Henry said.

Alec nodded and went on to the tack room in the stallion barn. A few moments later he helped Henry put on the filly's bridle. She gave them no trouble with it or with the light saddle that they placed snugly on her back. She had worn each in her stall the week before, and was used to them again.

Henry clasped his hands, ready for Alec's knee. His face was serious, even a little grim. “I don't know how long it's been since she's had anyone on her back,” he said quietly.

Alec raised his leg and was boosted up. He knew Henry wasn't worrying about his ability to stay on the filly. The trainer's concern was mostly due to wondering how she'd look to him under saddle. Henry, too, was well aware that this was the beginning of the road which would take Black Minx to the Derby post or end in her complete failure as a racehorse. Alec felt the light black body beneath him quiver, then shift uneasily.

Henry held her by the bridle. “Stick with her,” he said, “but don't force her unless you have to. Go slow so you can feel her out.”

Alec nodded, taking up rein as Henry left to close the paddock gate. The filly slid quickly to the side but
Alec moved just as fast. He felt out her mouth and pressed his knees a little tighter against her sliding body. He talked to her all the while. Finally she came to a stop.

Henry returned to take hold again of her bridle. He led her past the stallion barn, and the filly's only sudden move was to turn her head toward Napoleon, who stood at his paddock gate watching them.

After going a short distance, Alec said, “Let me have her, Henry. If she's going to try anything, I'd rather have her do it here in the field than on the track.”

Henry's hand left the bridle. “Okay, Alec. Jog her over, then give her a gallop of a mile and a quarter. A slow gallop unless I give you the word to step it up a bit. That's all I want today.”

Henry dropped behind them. For a moment the filly stayed at her fast walk, then her ears came back. Alec smiled. It was as if she had just realized she was alone with him and free of Henry for the first time. Tossing her black head, she moved into a jog. Alec rose in his short stirrups, talking to her all the while.

And now he realized more than ever that she wasn't as small as she looked. Her parts were so well put together that she just seemed small until you rode her.

“Act nicely now,” he said softly. “Easy now, girl.”

Black Minx's heavy mane was tossed back against Alec's head. He felt her mouth working on the bit. She was feeling him out just as he was doing with her. She turned her ears at the sound of his voice. Quickly, jerkily, she moved them back and forth. He believed she
was trying to decide just how far she could go with him. Suddenly she tried to find out. She swerved abruptly, seeking to unseat him. But he moved with her, his knees and hands firm. Finally he straightened her out again.

“You can't get away with it,” he told her softly.

The filly grabbed the bit and bolted. Alec's hands gave in to her, but only for a second. Then they moved quickly and he had the bit loose from between her clenched teeth. He brought her down to the jog Henry had ordered.

“I told you not to try it.” He patted her neck.

She extended her head, wanting more rein. She stayed quiet, so he gave in a little. Again he felt her teeth champing on the bit, still feeling him out, not yet ready to admit that he was able to outguess her. He was ready when she swerved once more. His hands and knees tightened as he went with her, then straightened her out again.

For the remaining distance to the track the filly gave him no trouble. Alec rubbed her neck fondly. She knew just how far she could go with him. Perhaps she'd be a good little girl from now on.

He jogged her halfway up the track, then turned, awaiting Henry's signal to gallop. He was to take her a mile and a quarter, two and a half times around their half-mile training track. He turned to the field beyond but couldn't see the Black. The stallion was down in the ravine. Henry waved his hand, and Alec gave the filly some rein.

She moved quickly into her gallop, and the
smoothness of her gait caused Alec to think again of how like her sire she was. He pressed his head close to her neck. “Come on, you little Black,” he said excitedly. “Come on!”

Like her great sire, she kept her head high and her ears pricked forward while she galloped. Alec felt the flowing power, controlled now, but promising a world of speed when he asked for it.

They passed Henry, and Alec wanted to shout to him that here was a fine filly. Here was one with extreme speed, a filly worthy of her great heritage. But he controlled his enthusiasm. He would give her more rein. Let Henry see a little of it for himself.

His hands moved forward as he took her into the first turn. “Now, Minx,” he said. “I'll let you go a little more.” He began clucking in her ear.

She moved close to the rail, her strides never faltering. But neither did they pick up any speed. A shadow of concern passed over Alec's face. They came off the turn and entered the backstretch. She may have been a little afraid of the turn, Alec decided. He gave her more rein, clucking to her again. “Now, girl! Let's pick them up.”

Her strides neither lengthened nor came faster. Still moving smoothly, she made no effort to increase her gallop in spite of the slack rein, the clucking in her ear. Alec slid closer to her neck, talking to her, urging her on. But her only response was the constant flicking of her small ears, forward and back. All through the backstretch, around the turn and down the homestretch she continued her slow, easy gallop.

Henry shouted, when they passed, “That's good, Alec, but move her up a little on the next round!”

Move her up a little!
Alec grimaced at Henry's instructions. He sat quietly in the saddle, feeling miserable for Henry, for himself. He couldn't get an ounce more speed out of this filly. She knew what she was doing, and what he wanted from her. But she just wouldn't run for him! Perhaps a whip would bring the speed out of her. But forcing a horse to race with a stick wasn't for him or Henry or Hopeful Farm.

Alec took the filly into the first turn again, sick with disappointment in this first daughter of the Black.

Sires are only half
, he reminded himself.

But this filly is out of a good mare. And she has the Black's looks and temperament. She has the Black's speed!
He could feel it in her every movement. Yet she wouldn't use it, and neither he nor Henry would ever beat it out of her with a whip.