Man O'War (37 page)

“Maybe you will, and maybe not,” Frank answered patiently. “Mr. Riddle likes you for sure, but when his breeding
operation does begin, I suspect it'll be in Kentucky under the management of someone with a lot more experience than he has. Mr. Riddle may own the greatest racehorse in the world but that doesn't mean Man o' War can do without the best mares and the best
supervision.
Whoever handles Man o' War will have his own stud groom, his own staff, believe me.”

“There'll be a place for me,” Danny said, but a note of anxiety had crept into his eyes and voice. “I'll get a job taking care of his colts and fillies.”

Frank smiled sympathetically. “You'll have to wait well over a year more for that,” he said patiently. “Buck and I will be waiting for his colts and fillies, too, but meanwhile we'll be handling horses that will be running after the records he's set for them. It'll be interesting, even exciting …”

“After him it could never be the same,” Danny said. “Not for me, anyway.”

Frank shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “You're older than I thought, Danny. Maybe you're even older than Buck an' me here. Maybe you oughta' retire at that.”

Buck grinned. “Yeah, man, put him out to pasture … that's what we oughta' do.”

The railway car became silent and only the clicking of the wheels could be heard. Danny didn't feel very well at all, and he took solace and comfort in the nearness of Man o' War.

The days that followed at Belmont Park were easy ones for Man o' War, if not for those who took care of him. The big colt's workouts were shortened and slowed, and his afternoon walks became longer. Throwing him suddenly out of training would have caused serious damage and no one was taking any chances, even now. But Danny's duties were the same, for the stable routine was no different from what it would have been had Man o' War's campaign continued.

Danny knew his colt was suspicious of the long gallops rather than the bursts of speed he had been asked for before. He was anxious to run, for his leg had healed completely and there wasn't a blemish on him. Never had Danny seen him look better. He had reached his full height of 16.2 hands and weighed a heavy 1,200 pounds. He
looked
like the great horse he was. Most people who saw him thought it a pity that he would race no more.

Danny didn't let his thoughts wander far from the business at hand, which was the unwinding of Man o' War. That the big colt could have gone on to still greater glory in the United States and Europe was beside the point. Man o' War was a great champion who had needed no excuses during his campaign, and his day of full retirement was drawing near.

The crowds still came to see him at the stables, and he was truly worthy of their admiration. He had no imperfections. He was the perfect horse. He had everything a great horse should have, including heart. What he might have done, had Mr. Riddle decided to go on with him, no one would ever know.

Late one afternoon Louis Feustel came up to Danny as he was letting Man o' War graze at the end of a long shank.

The trainer's gaze swept over the horse, and then he said, “He's ready for the farm, Danny. I don't think the quiet life will bother him so much now. He's adjusted well to the light training we've given him.”

“He'd still like to run,” Danny said.

“He always will,” Feustel answered. “But he would have been a lot worse if we'd taken him directly to the farm from his last race. Most horses don't like the quick change in tempo. They lose flesh and are very nervous. The time we've spent here letting up on him has been well spent.”

“Then it's definite that he's going to Glen Riddle?” Danny asked.

“For a short while,” Feustel answered. “He'll go to Kentucky as soon as Mr. Riddle gets a broodmare band together. He has people buying some mares for him in Europe now.”

“Where will he go in Kentucky?”

“Mr. Riddle hasn't as yet found a suitable farm to buy, so he'll send him and the mares to Hinata Stock Farm. You know the place?”

Danny nodded. “Just six miles outside of Lexington,” he said, “at the junction of Russell Cave and Iron Works Pikes.”

“I guess so,” Feustel said, turning back to Man o' War. “You know that country better than I do.”

Danny could have told him more about Hinata Stock Farm, for it was only a short distance from Nursery Stud, where Man o' War had been foaled. It was close, too, to his own home, and there was a big elm tree with his initials cut in its trunk just outside the main gate. Hinata was managed by Miss Elizabeth Daingerfield, who, despite the fact that she was a woman competing in what a lot of people thought was a man's game, had a long, distinguished record as a stock-farm manager. And John Buckner was her stud groom. He, too, was one of the best. The farm and its staff were worthy to handle a horse such as Man o' War.

For the first time since he had left it, Danny thought of going back home. He didn't hold much hope of getting a job at Hinata, but at home he'd be near enough to watch Man o' War and see everything that happened.

Feustel turned to him again. “I hope he makes a great sire, Danny.”

“He will. He'll get good colts, maybe not as great as himself but they'll be winners.”

The trainer smiled at the boy's enthusiasm.

“I hope you're right. But even the best sires get more failures than winners, Danny. The mares bred to him will have as
much influence on the colts as he will, maybe more, for they're the ones who will raise and nurse the foals. A lot depends too on the kind of soil his youngsters graze on, the feed they eat, and the training that follows. Getting winners is always a long gamble, Danny.”

“He'll still get them,” Danny persisted. “He'll stamp them all with his great qualities. It couldn't be any other way, not with him.”

Feustel placed a hand on the boy's shoulders. “Okay, Danny,” he said. “I'll listen to you. I haven't forgotten how much you saw in Man o' War as a yearling.”

The trainer turned his gaze toward the nearby barns. “Now that he's going I'm giving you another colt to tend. I think we have some good ones this year, and they're all ready for their first lessons.”

Danny shook his head. “I don't want another horse, Mr. Feustel,” he said. “I'm going home, too.”

The trainer was still for a moment, then he said quietly, “I guess I knew you might say that. But think it over a little more, Danny. Give me your decision tomorrow.”

That night Danny lay in the darkness of the tack room without trying to sleep. He listened to the night noises and the deep breathing of the men in the other cots. He listened to the quiet movement of Man o' War in the adjacent stall.

It was all decided. He was going home. He did not need to think it over, as Feustel had suggested. If he couldn't get a job at Hinata Stock Farm during the months to come, he would still be near Man o' War.

He turned over on his cot, still not wanting to sleep even though he had made up his mind. Somehow he kept recalling Frank's words on the train:

“
Man o' War has broken all the records, and broken down all his competition. There's nothin' left for him to do but retire. You now … you still ain't made no mark yet in life … you got a long way to go yet before you think of quitting.
”

And old Buck had said, “
He sho is mighty young to be turned out to pasture, man. He sho is.
”

Danny turned back on his other side. Just as he'd told them,
he wasn't quitting. He just didn't want any part of the racetrack anymore with Man o' War gone. It could never be the same without him. So, instead, he'd watch Man o' War become a famous sire.

“
You'll have to wait well over a year more for his colts and fillies to come along
,” Frank had pointed out.

Danny shifted his weight again and the cot creaked beneath him. He tried to shut out their words of friendly advice. He'd be busy. There'd be lots of things to do besides watching other people handle Man o' War and just waiting around for the foals to come. Maybe … sure, maybe he'd even go back to school. It would be hard finishing after the two years he'd been away. He'd be kept busy,
real
busy.

Danny closed his eyes. That idea appealed to him more than anything else. He'd be studying hard and yet be close enough to Man o' War to watch what went on. He'd sure feel funny back in school, two years older than all the others in his class and bigger, lots bigger. He must weigh about 150 pounds now and was growing some every day, it seemed. There was no telling how big he'd get to be.

He opened his eyes. If he weighed about 150 pounds, that was just twelve pounds more than Man o' War had carried in winning the Potomac Handicap. He closed his eyes quickly, startled by the thought he had let enter his mind.

Minutes passed, and his throat became so tight he couldn't swallow. He must be crazy even to think of it. His heart kept pounding until, finally, he had to swing his long legs from the cot and sit up. He couldn't be seriously considering it. Yet he was. Why not? What had he to lose? He had waited a long, long time. But Man o' War, what about him? He might get hurt. Not if he kept him at a slow gallop, he decided. All he wanted was to ride him, just once.

He pulled on his coveralls without awakening the others, then stole across the room where the bridle usually hung. Even though he couldn't see anything in the darkness, his hands had no trouble finding it or the saddle. Carrying both, he quietly opened the door and went outside.

The night was pitch-dark with a heavy overcast that blotted out the stars. He had only to be careful about the stable's night watchman seeing him. Everyone else was asleep. He tiptoed to the door of the next stall. The watchman would be in his office at the far end of the row and might even be asleep. Strict vigilance of Man o' War had ended with the match race.

Danny opened the stall door and Man o' War whinnied.

“Shh,” Danny said quietly as he slipped inside.

Quickly he put the bridle on his colt, drawing the forelock beneath the black and yellow browband. The light saddle went on next, and Danny was ready for the lightning shift of the big body when he tightened the girth. But, actually, he had less trouble than when Feustel saddled Man o' War.

Man o' War snorted. Danny hushed him again, speaking quietly with his hands, the language both of them knew best of all. He knew he was breaking every rule in the book. If anyone saw him, he would be fired immediately. But it didn't matter now.

Outside, he looked each way, up and down the shed row. Again the big colt snorted, his eyes bright and ears pricked. The night wind swelled his nostrils and fanned his mane and tail.

Danny walked beside him, keeping one hand on the bridle, the other on the colt's neck. “Shh,” he kept repeating.

He led Man o' War into the wind, heading for the open gap in the big track. He wasn't going to take any chances of hurting his colt. He wouldn't ride more than a mile at a slow gallop,
just enough to remember forever that he had ridden Man o' War!

The stands loomed in the distance, a hovering bulk of steel and concrete and emptiness. Beneath his hands he felt Man o' War begin to quiver. Even without the tumult of a crowd or the music of a band, he was becoming excited. It seemed to Danny that Man o' War sensed the quickening of his heart as he stepped on the track rail and mounted him.

“Easy, Red, easy,” Danny kept repeating, but there was no easiness in his body as he let his weight come to rest in the saddle.

Man o' War shifted beneath him, his movement lightning swift and carrying him onto the track. Danny was ready for him. He had carefully watched other riders move with Man o' War in this very same situation.

“Easy, Red, easy,” he said again, and although he tried to keep the anxiety from his voice, he knew it was there for the colt to hear. He took up on the reins.
Not too tight
, he reminded himself.
Don't fight him or you're lost. But take hold or he'll get away from you. There, that's better.

He was riding Man o' War! He was moving him down the track, feeling the Herculean strength beneath him and wondering, oh wondering, if he could control it. The world had never looked so beautiful. No other night had ever held such suspense.

“Slow, Red … that's it. No hurry now. Just a gallop. No hurry. Slow … slow.” His hands, too, pleaded with Man o' War. But with every stride the surging power mounted.

He was standing in the stirrup irons as they went past the long, dark stands, and the wind was cold, stinging his face.

“Easy now, Red.” He let his weight fall back in the saddle, knowing that if he kept standing in the irons he wouldn't be
able to stay on Man o' War. He felt the mighty leap the second his pants touched the leather. It was comparable to nothing he had ever known before. Almost before Man o' War's hoofs struck the packed dirt of the track he leaped again, throwing Danny forward onto his neck.

Danny was scared now, not so much for himself as for Man o' War. It was important that he shouldn't let the colt go all-out. He shortened rein, taking a snug hold on Man o' War's mouth as he had seen the others do. Man o' War was finished with fast workouts. He was being let down. He mustn't extend himself.

“Slower, Red,” Danny called, and he shortened the reins still more.

Man o' War didn't like the tight hold that pulled his head against his chest. But he was responding to Danny's commands, for his strides shortened going into the first turn.

Even then they were flying, and Danny's excitement grew along with his ever-mounting confidence that he could control Man o' War. He gloried in the tremendous leaps that carried his colt far above the ground with all four legs almost drawn together! And yet with all of Man o' War's speed and strength, he was no wild-eyed monster, grabbing the bit and rushing headlong around the track. He was intelligent enough to respond to his rider's will, and that was one of the traits that had made him so great.