The Black Stallion's Sulky Colt (6 page)

Suddenly Bonfire took a mighty leap, scaring the brown gelding, who jumped too. Alec fought for control when his horse broke from his hands and swerved across the track before straightening out. Bonfire was running directly ahead of them. But the seat of the cart was empty.

Then Alec saw Tom, stretched out on the track before them. He tried desperately to pull his horse away
but it was too late
. He heard the thud of shod hoofs on flesh. Then the cart lurched as a wheel went over Tom. As Alec slumped weakly in his seat, the last thing he remembered seeing was Tom's face with the mouth open slightly as though the boy were pleading with him not to let the horse hit him—and Tom's hand raised in a pitiful attempt to ward off the oncoming hoofs.

Later Alec found himself back at the stables, stripping Bonfire of his harness. Everything he did came automatically, requiring no mental effort. He thought only of Tom's inert body being carried from the track and placed flat in the back of someone's car. George had gone with Tom to the nearby hospital.

Alec hoped desperately that Tom was going to be all right. He washed Bonfire and then began walking him. It was now mid-morning, with a blistering sun beating down upon them. Yet Alec felt terribly cold. He shivered with chill and walked the blanketed colt faster. Finally he broke into a half-run and Bonfire trotted beside him. Suddenly he realized what he was doing and came to an abrupt stop. The stable area was unusually quiet.

Alec knew that the reason he had run was that he was trying to get away from the mental picture of Tom lying on the track. But he knew too that it did him no good to run. He went forward again, walking slowly.

For an hour more he walked Bonfire, fighting the thoughts thrusting themselves into his consciousness. First, he told himself that Tom wasn't hurt badly. Maybe a sprained shoulder. Maybe not even that. Tom would be back with them by … well, maybe tomorrow. But this reasoning did not help. He knew he was only fooling himself. There was no telling how much injury the gelding's heavy hoofs had done. He could only pray that they had missed Tom's head.

Alec took Bonfire back to his stall and then went to the tack room, where he lay down on his cot. He told himself that accidents like this happened sometimes. It was horse racing. It was the chance every jockey and every driver took every day, many times a day. It wasn't surprising that accidents happened. What really was surprising was that they didn't happen more often. He knew this. He had accepted it years ago. Everyone in the sport accepted it, Tom included.

Alec's eyes rested on Tom's cot, rumpled and unmade, just as the boy had left it early that morning when he'd been so eager to get to the track to try out the new blind.

Alec rose from his cot and hurriedly left the room. He walked aimlessly about the stable area, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. If only he hadn't suggested the blind. If only he'd let Tom and Bonfire alone.

An empty cardboard box lay in his path. He kicked it viciously, watching it turn over in the air and come down.

“Go ahead, kick yourself around too,” he told
himself bitterly. “But it won't do any good. It won't help Tom.”

Alec walked faster and faster until he was almost in a run. Sometimes he was able to drive Tom's face from his mind. But most of the time it was there before him, just as it had been on the track—so pale, so pleading. And subconsciously he kept repeating, “I did it to him. I lost control of my horse or it wouldn't have happened. Because I can ride I thought I could
drive
. I insisted upon getting out there with him. I wanted to help and instead I blundered terribly. I've made things worse than they'd ever have been if I'd left him alone. I did it to him. I'm responsible.”

Later he went back to the stall and stayed with Bonfire. He groomed the colt, trying not to think and just waiting for George to return. Finally a voice from the doorway said, “I'm back, Alec.”

The brush fell from his hand. He picked it up and then turned to George, his eyes asking the question he wanted to have answered.

“He's got a broken leg,” George said. “Nothing more.” He studied Alec for many seconds and then added, “It could have been a lot worse. Don't take it so hard.”

“I know,” Alec answered. “I was so afraid we'd hit him in the head.”

“Something knocked him out but not the gelding's hoofs. Maybe it was the cart. I don't know. Anyway he's not bad off, considering everything.”

Alec left Bonfire's side and went over to George. Tom was going to be all right. That's what he'd hoped
for. Now he'd be able to get rid of that awful mental picture. He'd never hurt anyone before. He'd taken plenty of spills himself but this had been different, very different.

The two stood in the doorway, their eyes on the blood bay colt.

George said, “Bonfire's goin' home, Alec. There won't be any Hambletonian for him.”

“Or for Tom or Jimmy,” Alec heard himself add quietly. And then he wondered why he didn't offer to race Bonfire. Wouldn't he have done so under any other circumstances?

George said, “Yeah, it's goin' to be tough on Jimmy, all right, but it's a lot worse for Tom. He'll be laid up for at least three months.”

“Is that what they said?”

George nodded. “The doctor recommended that Tom be taken to a Pittsburgh hospital so he'll be near home. The doc's contacted a fine bone specialist who'll do the operatin'.”

“Operate?” Alec asked, startled. “Can't they set it without operating?”

“The thigh bone is broken. The doc said it's the most important bone in the body—it carries most of the weight. They'll operate and put in a temporary pin. It'll mean Tom won't have to wear a heavy body cast while the bone is healin'. He'll be able to get around with crutches. He's pretty happy about that.”

Alec thought bitterly,
I'll bet he's happy. I'll bet he feels just swell. The poor guy
.

George went on, “So I'm flyin' to Pittsburgh with him tomorrow. We get an ambulance at both ends, an'
all the arrangements have been made. But I'm stayin' with him to make sure everything goes just as they say it will. Tom's not goin' through this alone. Not with me around, he isn't.”

“What about Bonfire?” Alec wanted to know. “How's he getting back, George?”

“I've already hired a guy to drive our van back with him.”

“And Jimmy?” Alec asked. “Have you called him?”

“I'm doin' that right away.” George went to Bonfire and gently rubbed the colt's head. “Looks like we're all goin' to be turned out to pasture for a while,” he told Bonfire. “Next year maybe things will work out better for us. 'Course you'll be too old for the Hambletonian, but you got to take the bad with the good. Jimmy will see it that way, I know.”

Alec watched the old man and the colt, but said nothing.

George asked, “I guess you'll be goin' home, Alec, won't you?”

“Yes. There's no reason for my staying now.” Alec lowered his gaze to the straw bedding. Was it over for him too? Was he any different from what he'd been before coming to Roosevelt Raceway, before meeting Bonfire and Tom and George? Or even before the accident?

Alec turned to Bonfire again. He didn't like this continual gnawing inside him. He didn't like the way he felt at all.

He loved Bonfire. Why then didn't he ask to take over this colt? Probably Jimmy Creech wouldn't let him do it. But at least why didn't he ask? Was he afraid
to train and race Bonfire? Of course not. He'd never been afraid to race
any
horse. But before this morning he'd never hurt anyone, either.

Again Alec was conscious of the tightness within his chest. He wanted to shout to George that
he had to race Bonfire
. But he could say nothing.

A moment later he heard a familiar voice, one that was warm and friendly and casual. “I can't figure you out, Alec. You ask me to come and I come. Then the minute I get here you say you're goin' home.”

Alec turned and looked at the short, broad-shouldered man leaning comfortably against the stall door. No longer could he keep his feelings to himself, and especially not from somebody he had known and worked with for so many years. Henry Dailey could almost read his mind. But all Alec said was, “You're a little late, Henry.”

Henry smiled and came inside, his bowlegs taking him quickly over the straw. “Never too late,” he said, holding out his hand to George. “Hello, George. My name's Dailey.” He nodded toward Bonfire, adding, “I've been standin' outside lookin' at him while you fellows been talkin'. A grand colt, a beautiful colt, just like you said, Alec.”

Removing his battered hat, Henry ran a handkerchief over the top of his brow and through his long white hair. “A scorcher,” he said, turning to George again. “This is the kind of a day when you ought to be thankful you got no hair to make you hotter, George.”

The old groom frowned and shifted his tobacco chaw from one side of his mouth to the other. George didn't like to be reminded of his baldness. Nor did
he like the way this man took over the stall, so casual, so confident.

Alec too was impressed by Henry's attitude. It was as though nothing unusual had happened, as if Henry dropped around to Roosevelt Raceway every day.

Henry replaced his hat. “Let's get a cup of coffee and talk, Alec,” he said. Outside the stall he stopped and looked back at Bonfire. His eyes were still on the colt when he said, “George, I wonder if you'd mind puttin' off your phone call to Jimmy until we get back? I'd like to talk to him too. I got a feelin' Alec and me won't be goin' home.”

All the way to the cafeteria, Henry maintained an incessant stream of small talk. Sitting down at the table, his coffee before him, he said, “You're sure you don't want anything to eat, Alec? Have you had lunch?”

Alec shook his head. “I'm not hungry. I'll get something later on.”

“Everything's fine back at the farm,” Henry said. “That War Admiral mare is over her cold. I had the vet give her the terramyein shots like you said to do. The only trouble with usin' those drugs is that they cost too darn much. Our bill from the vet alone the past few months is almost as much as what it would cost us to buy another good broodmare.”

Alec said, “It's better than losing our horses.”

“Yeah. Sure. I'm with you a hundred percent. You know that, Alec. All I mean is that we've had more than our share of sick horses this year.” He paused before adding, “The Black is sure feelin' good. But he misses you, Alec.”

Henry finished his coffee and went to get another
cup. When he came back he talked about Roosevelt Raceway for the first time. His voice and manner didn't change. Both held the same casualness as before. “I looked at the horses here while I was tryin' to find you, Alec. They're a lot different from what they used to be. If harness racin' has changed so have the horses.” Henry chuckled. “Why, I remember my father unhitchin' his mare from a plow and takin' her into town for an afternoon of racin'. There was nothin' unusual about that in the old days. It was what was expected of harness-racin' horses, an' they were built for it.”

Henry turned to look out the window in the direction of the stables. “I guess I shouldn't be so surprised at the change in them after all the years I been away from this sport. They're a racy bunch now an' I can't see any of 'em pullin' plows. They're built for speed, not work.” He chuckled again. “But did I expect harness racin' to stand still any more than our own sport? These horses are the result of careful line breeding. Some of 'em are just as fine-boned as anything I've seen at our tracks.”

Alec said, “I thought you'd like Bonfire.”

“Yeah, I was includin' him, all right. He's racier than any of 'em. There's a lot of the Black in that colt. No mistake about that.” Henry paused and for the first time his eyes and voice lost their lightness. “But don't get the idea from what I've said that this sport's for me. I want no part of it except to help you with Bonfire.”

Alec looked up. “Is that why you came?”

“Of course. I felt pretty bad after your phone call
the other day. When I didn't feel any better about it this morning, I hopped into the car and came down.”

Alec's gaze shifted uneasily. “As I said a little while ago, you're too late, Henry. Tom's in the hospital. Bonfire's going home.”

“He's not goin' home, not after I get through talkin' to Jimmy,” Henry said emphatically. “Don't you worry about that none. Let's talk about you and Tom. What happened out there this morning?”

Alec told him as quickly and simply as he could. He didn't look at Henry but he knew his friend's eyes were focused on him.

When Alec had finished Henry said, “As George said back there, it could have been a lot worse. Tom will be all right. Forget about him for a while, Alec.”

“It's not that easy.”

“I know,” Henry said understandingly, “but you'll manage it.”

“I never hurt anyone before, Henry. It's not like taking the fall myself. This is different, somehow. It's hard to explain.”

“You don't have to explain. I know how you feel, Alec. We'll lick it all right.” Henry paused. Then he said, “Let's not talk about it any more. Let's get back to the colt. He can't talk, so we'll have to figure out for ourselves what we're up against.”

For more than an hour they discussed Bonfire. Afterward Alec felt much better. He got something to eat, and when he'd finished said, “Everything seems different with you here, Henry. I know you'll be able to help him.”

The old trainer said, “Maybe I will and maybe I won't. All I can do is give him a chance to regain his self-confidence. If he has the courage to come back an' the will to race again, he'll make it all by himself. I'll just be doin' the groundwork.”