The Black Stallion's Blood Bay Colt (16 page)

George came running up, took one look at Jimmy's distorted face, then shook his head sadly at Tom. “I knew it would come,” he said, “—just like last year, same time.”

“Nothing's come,” Jimmy mumbled, but his eyes were glazed. “I'll be all right in a minute. It's just uncomfortable, that's all. I'll need some bicarbonate of soda, George,” he added, meeting his friend's eyes.

“You need more than that,” George answered quickly. “We tried that last season. We're not goin' to have another attack like that one. We're goin' to see Dr. Morton now—like we shoulda done last year.” George's voice and face were adamant. He wasn't going to listen to any objections from Jimmy.

Tom knew that Dr. Morton was a stomach specialist in Pittsburgh, twenty-five miles away, and that George had tried without success to get Jimmy to see him months and months before.

Whether Jimmy realized that George was determined to take him to Dr. Morton, or the stomach pains were more severe than he pretended they were, Tom didn't know; but for one or both reasons Jimmy followed his friend obediently to his car. George got behind the wheel.

“Can you stay until we get back, Tom?” George asked while starting the motor.

Tom nodded, Jimmy didn't say anything until the car was moving, then he said, “I didn't get to feed the colt, Tom. You do it, please.”

Again Tom nodded. He stared after the car long after it had disappeared down the road. Poor Jimmy. It was one thing on top of another. Finally Tom turned and went inside the shed.

He fed Bonfire, stood beside him while he ate, then took the colt to the paddock behind the row of sheds and turned him loose.

He was watching him go about the paddock, noticing the sun picking up the brilliant red of his coat and making it glisten. But Tom's thoughts weren't with the colt just now, for he was worrying about Jimmy. So he was startled when he heard a voice say, “He's a grand-looking colt, Tom. Jimmy is proud of him, I'll bet.”

Turning around, he saw Miss Elsie. As usual, this time of year, she wore her gray sweatshirt, faded and turned inside out, the same kind as the one Tom wore. And like him she was hatless, her brown hair cut short and bristling.

“He's proud of him, all right,” Tom said. “But he's sick again, Miss Elsie. George just took him in to a Pittsburgh doctor.”

“I was afraid he'd be sick again,” she said, shielding her horn-rimmed glasses from the sun the better to see Tom. “Jimmy's getting on—and it's too bad this had to happen, because we need men like Jimmy Creech,” she added soberly.

Together they watched the colt for a long while. He was moving swiftly about the paddock, enjoying his freedom, and his mane swept back from his red neck like a black flame.

“You like him?” Miss Elsie asked without taking her eyes from the fast-moving colt.

Tom nodded but said nothing.

“You like him?” Miss Elsie asked again.

“He's the best,” Tom said quietly. “The very best that ever was.”

“You're generalizing, Tom,” she said. “And I've always told everyone around here that Tom Messenger was good on detail, and that's why he was going to make a fine horseman.”

Turning away from the colt, Tom saw the challenge in the woman's gaze. He turned back to Bonfire again and said, “He's pure-gaited. He's got good control of action and never leaves his feet when going at top speed. He's only a baby, but even now he never shifts or changes a beat as long as he's out there. He's it for Jimmy … and for George and me,” he added.

“That's better … and more like you,” was all Miss Elsie said.

Tom was silent for some time before he asked, “Did you find a future Mr. Guy among your two-year-olds?”

“No,” Miss Elsie replied, and she tried to draw her
upper lip over her prominent teeth with no success. “I don't have him in this year's crop.”

“You'll sell them again—all of them?”

“I think so, Tom. I'll know better next month.” She smiled as she added hopefully, “But maybe next year I'll have the one I've been waiting for. I have a yearling up at the farm who looks as good as yours. It's a filly, so maybe she'll be a female Mr. Guy. She's black except for four white stockings and a blaze.” Miss Elsie pushed herself back from the paddock fence, laughing as she said, “I call her the Princess with the four white stockings. She looks like the best I've ever had.”

And with all the colts Miss Elsie had bred, raised and trained, Tom never had heard her say that before. He didn't think anyone else had, either. Miss Elsie knew horses, and she wouldn't say anything like that unless she honestly meant it. Her black yearling filly would be something to see.

Miss Elsie was leaving when she said, “I'll have my filly down here at the track this summer. You'll see her.” She paused. “You are going to be here, aren't you, Tom?”

“Yes, Miss Elsie,” Tom replied. “I'm taking care of Bonfire while Jimmy and George go out to the fairs.”

Tom watched Miss Elsie climb into her jeep and go bouncing down the road; then, after spending a few minutes more with his colt, he went into the shed to clean Bonfire's stall and bed it down for the night. He decided he'd stay there until Jimmy and George returned.

It was almost dark when Tom saw Jimmy's car come down the road. Jimmy was sitting beside George
and Tom felt relieved to see him, for he had been afraid that Jimmy might have something seriously wrong and be hospitalized.

They left the car and as they came toward him Tom searched their faces. Jimmy grinned. “Nothing wrong with me at all,” he said.

“Don't let him kid you,” George muttered. “He's got an ulcer. He's had it for years.”

“The doc said a lot of people had 'em,” Jimmy retorted. “Nothing for you to get all upset about.”

“
You
were the one who got upset when he told you to live a quiet life with no more excitement,” George reminded him. “That would mean giving up racing, and hopping from one fair to the next, wearing yourself out.”

“That's silly,” Jimmy said angrily. “I might as well be dead as to give up the fairs.”

“Then you got to follow that diet he gave you and take it as easy as possible,” George returned. “And don't get upset about anything. We'll get along all right.”

“Who's upset?” Jimmy shouted angrily. “I never get upset. You're the one who gets all excited about everything.” He stalked into the shed, still bellowing.

George stayed with Tom at the door. “Sure,” he said. “I'm the one who gets upset, all right.”

“How serious is his ulcer?” Tom asked.

George spat his tobacco juice on the ground, thought a minute, then said, “The doctor wasn't too worried about it. Says there's a lot of people like Jimmy walking around with one and they don't even know it.”

“What do you mean people like Jimmy?” Tom asked.

“Guys who've worked hard all their lives an' have a lot of worries like Jimmy has had, 'specially the last few years. About makin' ends meet, I mean. That and never sitting down a moment, and taking all the responsibility, thinkin' no one else can handle a horse like he can. All those things, plus never takin' time to eat a decent meal when we go to the fairs, all add up to ulcers—that's what the doc said, anyway.”

“And he wanted Jimmy to quit?”

“Sure, for a season or two, anyway. Jimmy wouldn't have any more pains if he took it easy and rested.”

“But he won't do it.”

Shaking his bald head, George said, “No, and I guess we couldn't expect Jimmy to give up the fairs. The doc knows that, because he's known Jimmy from 'way back. So he gave Jimmy a long list of things he could eat and things he couldn't eat and some medicine to take. He told Jimmy to stick to that diet or he'd have more pains which would get worse in time. An' he made Jimmy promise he'd try hard not to get excited about anything. An' Jimmy promised he would … that's all there was to it, except Jimmy's got to see him again as soon as we get back from racin'.”

“Do you think Jimmy will do all the doc made him promise to do?”

“Guess so,” George said. “Jimmy don't like those pains … that attack he had today was pretty bad. An' the doc scared him by telling him they could get worse than that, much worse.” George smiled, adding, “He
sure made Jimmy mad when he told him no more gum chewing. That's bad for Jimmy, the doc said. And Jimmy likes his gum as much as I like my tobacco. But Jimmy said he'd give up gum. Jimmy said he'd do a lot of things today, an' I'm only hoping he will.” Putting his arm around Tom, he said, “Let's get Jimmy and close up shop. It's getting late and we all oughta be home.”

Together they walked into the shed, each wondering what the months to come would bring for Jimmy Creech.

The few weeks before Jimmy and George left for the fairs were good in many respects. Jimmy seemed to be more relaxed and had no more attacks. School closed for the summer, and Tom was able to spend every day at the track, helping George and Jimmy even more than before. And Jimmy, surprisingly, allowed Tom to take more responsibility off his shoulders by letting him work Symbol every other day. They taught Bonfire to work on the longe, encircling them at the end of the long rope.

And finally they hitched the colt to a training cart. Bonfire felt the shafts against his sides as Jimmy turned him by pulling gently on the lines. Tom stood near the colt's head, ready to quell any fear Bonfire might have of the cart he drew behind him. But there was no sign of fear, no fractiousness while the colt springily walked about the track, his eyes clear and large as he watched the track ahead, his ears pricked up and only shifting when Tom spoke to him. The boy was aware of Bonfire's eagerness to step out, yet the colt did not pull and awaited Jimmy's commands through the lines.

Tom turned from the colt to tell Jimmy, “He's taking to it like an old-timer!”

“The Queen was like that. And he's soft-mouthed like she was,” Jimmy called back. “But you're just as much responsible for makin' it this easy, Tom. You taught him early to have full confidence in us, and that's most important of all.”

They walked around the track twice, and Bonfire never once made an attempt to pull away. Neither did he kick the two-wheeled cart he pulled so close behind. It was as though he knew that this was the beginning of his career on the track, and was eager to be on with it.

Later Jimmy told Tom, “Now until George and I get back, I want you to do just what we did today. I don't want you to get in the cart and have him pull you yet. I don't believe in rushin' a colt like that. All we're doin' is getting him used to the cart and track. He's only a yearling and there'll be plenty of time later on for the real work. To get most of his exercise let him use the paddock, and work him on the longe, too, so he won't forget what he's learned. Take him out to graze every day, too. I want him to have plenty of grass.”

Jimmy stopped talking until he was certain George was out of hearing distance. “I've decided to cut the season short this year if I can make enough money during the first couple of months to tide me over for the year. We should be back sometime in August. I don't want George to know just yet. He might think I'm gettin' soft or thinkin' too much about my—” Jimmy pointed to his stomach. “And it isn't that, Tom, I just want to get back to work with the colt. Not that I don't think you're capable of handling him, Tom,” he added
hastily. “You know what I said about your hands when I first saw you drive Symbol. Well, I'm sure of it now. You got more in your hands than I ever hoped to have. I know I'm not goin' to make you cocky by telling you this because you love horses and you're sincere in your desire to make them your lifework—just like I have. There's a lot more to learn, and I can teach you all that. But I never could have given you the hands you got; you were born with those.”

Tom said nothing when Jimmy had finished. It wasn't necessary to tell Jimmy how he felt. Within a few days he'd be alone with his colt again. How well he remembered his anxiety and lack of confidence at Uncle Wilmer's when the colt had come! There was no doubt in his mind now but that he could do exactly what Jimmy wanted him to do during the next few months. And it was a good and wonderful feeling. He and Bonfire had grown up.

Jimmy and George left for the fairs with high hopes for a successful season.

“If Jimmy only sticks to his diet,” George told Tom, “he'll feel well; then maybe we'll have the fun we used to have at the fairs.”

They put Symbol in the old van, Sadie, and left for Indiana, Pennsylvania.

For Tom, it was good having Bonfire all to himself again. He worked with him as though he alone was the trainer of this blood bay colt and was getting him ready to race the following season, to drive and share with him his first competition. Temporarily he forgot Jimmy Creech, professional trainer and driver.

Yet instinctively he followed Jimmy's instructions, walking to the side of the two-wheeled cart while Bonfire pranced around the track, eager to go but responsive and obedient to the lines. Often Tom thought of the joy it would be just to sit behind him a few minutes, to have those supple hindquarters working so
smoothly between his outstretched legs. But always he resisted the temptation, well remembering that Jimmy didn't want him to do it. He let the colt get his exercise in the paddock and while working him on the longe. And for many hours each day, he stood beside him while Bonfire grazed in the infield of the track.

There were times, too, when Tom added his own training lessons to those Jimmy had given him. He walked Bonfire up and down the wooden loading ramp, getting him used to entering and leaving a van, which would be so much a part of his racing life. And he walked him in and out of other sheds, now empty except for those of Miss Elsie, because Bonfire must get used to strange stalls and barns. And the colt followed, having full confidence in the hands which led him. Tom took him too to Miss Elsie's two-year-old colts, allowing Bonfire to nuzzle, neigh, and snort angrily occasionally at the other horses. Getting used to strange colts both in the stable and on the track was very necessary.