The Black Stallion's Blood Bay Colt (12 page)

The drivers released their horses from prancing walks and moved quickly down the track to the first turn. There they stopped and then came back past the grandstand. Reaching the bleachers, they turned
cautiously to avoid one another's sulky wheels and horses and went down the stretch once more, moving faster now. Each repeated this fast scoring warm-up, then filed around the turn and down the backstretch, ready to come in behind the mobile starting gate awaiting them just off the back turn.

“Your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said. “For those of you who have never had the opportunity of watching the mobile starting gate in action, I'd like to explain briefly how it works. Our starter, Mr. George Reed, is riding in the back of that open convertible you see awaiting the horses just off the turn out there. You will notice the long poles to each side of the rear of the car and extending across the track. Behind these ‘wings,' as we call them, the horses will come into their post positions. Mr. Reed will have his driver start the car moving away from the horses as they come up behind the ‘wings' of the starting gate. By means of a microphone which is about his neck, and a loudspeaker at the rear of the car, he is able to instruct the drivers as to their position, conduct and speed while they all come down toward the starting line. He will bring them down the stretch, slowly at first, then faster as they approach the starting line directly in front of this booth. He will keep them together until he sends them off; the ‘wings' of the mobile starter will swing away from the horses as they cross the starting line, and Mr. Reed will pull away from them and around the track. The race will then be on, ladies and gentlemen. The horses are now fanning out as they round the back turn and move toward the starter. This is the first heat of the first race on your program; the race will be for
the best out of three heats and the second heat will take place just about one hour from now. Keep your eyes on the starter and the horses, ladies and gentlemen. They're coming behind the gate, and Mr. Reed is moving away from them.”

Tom, his fists clenched around the paddock rail, stood beside George, and the skin over his knuckles tightened until it was white as he saw Jimmy take Symbol to the outside position close beside Ray O'Neil, driving Crusader. “Does Jimmy know how to get away behind these mobile starting gates, George?” he asked tensely.

“They had one at the York Fair; that's the only time he's been behind one,” George replied. “He did all right. It doesn't take Jimmy long to learn anything. But he hates 'em,” he added, “—just like he does anything else that's different from what it was forty years ago. Modern, silly gadgets, he calls 'em.”

“But these mobile starters get the horses away better,” Tom said, “and faster, too. The old way, when they come down to the starting line by themselves, they're usually never together and are called back to start all over again. This mobile gate makes certain they get off the first time. It's easier on everyone, it seems to me—the horses, drivers and the people watching. They know the race is on when they come down now.”

“Sure, I know,” George said. “But like I said, Jimmy don't like any changes. He likes to keep the sport the way it was. Some of his criticisms of this mobile gate are good, too. He says the horses don't like those ‘wings' and the car in front of 'em; and then the
wheels of the car usually throw dust in their faces. Yep, there's a lot to what Jimmy says. But here they come now. Watch 'em, Tom.”

The horses were in position, pushing their heads toward the barrier in front of them as the car moved away, increasing its speed. Jimmy's face was taut, and Tom saw him bring Symbol ever closer to Crusader. Ray O'Neil glanced at Jimmy but said nothing; yet he kept his position, and their spinning wire wheels were dangerously close.

George Snedecker's hand left the rail to rest on Tom's arm as their gazes followed the pounding horses, going ever faster down the stretch toward the starting line.

“Don't come any faster, gentlemen,” they heard the starter warn the drivers. “Keep your horses back. Don't charge the gate! Hold your positions now. Not so fast on the outside there. Mr. Creech, keep your horse back! Mr. Creech, don't crowd Mr. O'Neil! All right now. Keep it that way! We're coming down. GO!”

Tom and George leaned far over the rail as the crowd yelled to the quick thunder of unleashed hoofs. The line of horses drove as one down the stretch for the turn. The silks of the drivers blended into a large indistinct mass of colors as they bunched, moving toward the rail. For a second, Tom could make out Jimmy's red-and-white silks, then he, too, moved toward the inside; a flash of green went with him and Tom knew Ray O'Neil and Crusader were going with him in an attempt to reach the turn first. He could make out nothing now of what was happening; he'd have to wait until they came around the first turn.

George muttered, “Symbol's got the early speed. Jimmy might get away with it. But he's takin' a chance—a big chance.”

Suddenly, from the top tiers of the grandstand, came a sharp cry. From the moving mass on the turn, a horse swerved abruptly toward the outside rail and behind him careened the sulky with its driver trying desperately to stay in it and stop his horse at the same time.

The announcer's voice came quickly over the public speaker. “Accident! Left wheel of sulky broken! It's number seven; Mr. Creech's entry. But there's no danger. He's stopping his horse. Will Mr. Creech's groom go to his assistance, please! Keep him on the outside of the track, there's a race going on! And now going in to the backstretch we have Crusader on top, followed by Sandy Hanover and tucked in the third position is …”

George and Tom had jumped the rail and were running down the track past the grandstand. Jimmy was off the broken sulky and was standing at Symbol's head, awaiting them.

“I didn't think he could get around all of 'em,” George said. “He shouldn't have tried.”

“Crusader went up with him,” Tom said.

“Yeah, it could have been O'Neil who did it to him,” George said. “Crusader is fast at the break and O'Neil is no dumb bunny—even though he is a lot younger'n Jimmy. Jimmy probably thought he could force him back, and he got the worst of it.” They were only a few yards away from Jimmy now, and George added, “He's goin' to be mad. Careful what you say, Tom. Let him do the talkin.' ”

Jimmy's face was filled with rage. But he said nothing when they joined him, only nodding toward the wheel, which was smashed beyond repair. George lifted the sulky's axle off the ground, and they moved up the outside of the track, with Tom leading Symbol while Jimmy walked beside him.

They were passing the grandstand when the horses came down the stretch for their first trip around the track; they had one more lap to go for the mile distance and the finish of the race.

“Crusader with Ray O'Neil three lengths on top at the half,” the announcer said. “Princess Holly closing fast on Sandy Hanover. Flash Count is coming up on the outside. He's moving fast! Here they come!”

As the horses passed them, Jimmy Creech glanced only at Crusader, leading the way. He muttered something to himself, but said nothing to Tom. When they reached the bleachers, the attention of the crowd was focused on the race now being staged on the backstretch, but a few people turned to Jimmy and clapped lightly, attempting to let him know they shared his misfortune. Jimmy touched the peak of his cap, but Tom noticed his face redden and realized the people's applause had served only to make him more angry. Jimmy needed a rest, a long rest. He was sick mentally and physically. The immediate future was going to be hard on all of them, Tom knew, for there was no telling what Jimmy would do in his present state. And there was the colt to think about. He wouldn't want anything to happen to the colt or the Queen.

They were leaving the paddock gate when the horses entered the homestretch for the finish of the
race. Turning, Tom saw that Ray O'Neil had Crusader five lengths in the lead. The sound of hoofs died beneath the roar of the crowd as the race ended; then the announcer's voice came clearly to them, “First, Crusader; second, Princess Holly; third, Flash Count; fourth …”

Jimmy Creech, his head down, gave no evidence of having heard the results.

It was well after four o'clock when they left the fair for the farm. Jimmy sat beside Uncle Wilmer; Tom and George were in the back with Aunt Emma, who once more held her mincemeat pie, minus three pieces which the contest judges had eaten. Tom hadn't asked her how she'd made out. He didn't have to ask; he had only to look at that sober, lined face and he thought he knew. That's why he was so surprised when he saw the red ribbon tucked away in Aunt Emma's pocketbook when she opened it to get her handkerchief. “Y—You—you won a prize!” he said in amazement.

His aunt shrugged her shoulders, and turned again to look out the window of the car. “Only second,” she said. Tom thought she had finished until he heard her mumble half to herself, “To think they gave first prize to Mrs. Yoder.” She snorted. “Young enough to be my
granddaughter
.” Aunt Emma snorted again, then was silent.

Uncle Wilmer was the only one who cared to do any talking, and he couldn't say much now that he was driving through Reading's downtown traffic. Even George was alone with his thoughts. Tom sat back in his seat and thought bitterly,
A great day at the fair!
Everyone feels swell for it. Sure. Jimmy and Aunt Emma are angry because younger people did something better than they did. George is worried about Jimmy, and I'm worried about Jimmy, the Queen and the colt. But perhaps Jimmy will snap out of it; he's had spells like this before. He'll be able to take it easy now that the racing season is over and he can go back to Coronet.

George told me
, Tom continued thinking,
that a good hot meal tonight and seeing the colt will make Jimmy see things in a different light. With Aunt Emma's cooking, Jimmy is certain to have the best of meals. And when he sees the colt he'll know he's the best, too. But it's funny that Jimmy shows such resentment toward anything new in harness racing, especially the night raceways and the men who race there. This Ray O'Neil seems to be a very nice guy, and he's not so young as Jimmy makes him out to be. He's in his thirties. Jimmy was driving at that age. But he doesn't think of that, not Jimmy. And O'Neil can drive, there's no doubt about that. He hadn't let Jimmy force him back, and had gone on to win. Then, after the heat he'd been nice enough to come around to offer Jimmy a spare wheel to use in the second heat of the race when he heard Jimmy didn't have one. But Jimmy had given him a curt refusal, and said he was withdrawing from the race. That's what Jimmy had done. He hadn't even gone out for the second heat. And that wasn't like the old Jimmy, either—to quit a race
.

“What's the color of the colt, Tom?”

It was Jimmy's voice and Tom lifted his gaze to find the man turned around in his seat, looking at him. “He's a bay, Jimmy,” Tom said. “Black mane and tail, what there are of them now,” he added, smiling. “But it's hard for me to tell what shade of bay he's going to
be, because he's still covered with furry baby hair. Maybe you'll know. But it doesn't look as though he's going to be that dark mahogany brown like the Queen. I think he's going to be lighter, much lighter, maybe even a red bay.”

“You mean a blood bay,” Jimmy corrected.

“Same thing,” George interrupted. “Red or blood bay.”

“But blood bay is better,” Jimmy said. “I've never had a blood bay before,” he added quickly, and a sudden, eager light came into his eyes. “You like him, Tom? You see nothing wrong?”

Tom responded fast to Jimmy's enthusiasm. “He looks wonderful to me, Jimmy. But I'm not—”

“You got a good head for horses,” Jimmy said. “If you say he looks good, he'll look good to me, too.”

“And Jimmy's not foolin',” George said.

Tom turned to George Snedecker and saw the relief in his face too at Jimmy's interest and sudden enthusiasm.
That's Jimmy for you
, Tom thought;
on again, off again;
but this man so interested in his blood bay colt was the real Jimmy.

Less than a half-hour after leaving the fair, they turned down the lane leading to the farm. While the car careened over the rocky route and all of them bounced hard on the springless seats, Jimmy said, laughing, “Y'ought to get a new car, Wilmer, or build a new road!”

“Heh?” Uncle Wilmer asked.

But Jimmy didn't repeat his statement; instead he turned to George. “We'll see him in a minute, won't we, George?”

“Sure will, Jimmy.”

They emerged from the woods and the barn was ahead of them. As they crossed the brook, the Queen came from her stall and into the paddock at the sound of the car. She raised her head, whinnying to them. From inside the stall, the colt echoed her whinny. As they stopped the car, there was a rustle of straw from the stall, and Tom said, “I'll bet he was down, sleeping.”

Jimmy was out of the car first and went to the mare. But no sooner had he reached her than the colt came bolting out of the stall, head high, ears pricked, eyes searching, and seemingly covered completely by straw entwined in his coat. He had been down, all right.

Tom climbed through the rails of the paddock fence to go to him, but Jimmy and George stood still, content at first to look at the colt from a distance.

Quickly the colt came to Tom, nuzzling his hands and pockets, while the boy talked to him and ran his hands over the hard body, removing the straw. Then he scratched him on the spots he knew the colt liked best. For a long while Jimmy and George just stood there studying the colt. And the colt turned his large, wondering eyes toward them, trying to figure them out, too.