The Black Stallion's Blood Bay Colt (2 page)

“A few days later this guy from Hanover Farms comes around looking for broodmares and he sees the Queen. And he asks Jimmy how about selling her. He'd asked Jimmy that same question for the last three years, but Jimmy never even listened to him. But this time it was different. I hear Jimmy say quick-like, ‘Sure, if you give me my price.' And that wasn't like Jimmy. Not in the 'most fifty years I've known him has he ever put a price on any horse he loves—and he sure loves the Queen. He lost mighty few races with the Queen.”

“If he really loved her he wouldn't sell her,” the boy said bitterly. “Why's he doing it, George?”

“He's asked a good stiff price, Tom. And with the money he can buy another horse to race this summer—maybe even two or three more.”

“He's got Symbol to race,” the boy said quickly.

“Symbol is too old jus' like Jimmy and me,” George muttered. “He oughtn't to be racing any more. Jimmy picked him up at the sales a couple of years ago. He was the only horse Jimmy could afford to buy. Jimmy doesn't have much money any more. He's just hanging on … that's all Jimmy's doin'.” The old man paused to spit tobacco juice in the pail which he used as a spittoon. “So I guess Jimmy wants enough money to buy a good racehorse now. It's like he wasn't figuring on having many more years and he wants to do this one up big.”

“I still don't understand,” the boy said.

“I do,” George returned slowly. “I guess I understand pretty well how Jimmy Creech feels.”

The boy shifted uneasily upon his feet, his eyes leaving George for the semi-darkness of the shed's interior. Finally he walked inside, coming to a stop directly beneath the bared light bulb just within the door. He twisted the bulb almost savagely, extinguishing the light; then, turning, he slid the shed doors wide open, allowing the sun to penetrate the gloom. “It's like a morgue in here,” he shouted angrily to George Snedecker. “It's almost summer. Remember?”

“Sure,” George mumbled. “It's almost summer.”

The boy walked into the tack room, his eyes gleaming, his steps hurried. He took a quick look at the worn harness, then went to the two windows, opening them wide. Leaving the room, he hurried down the shed, passing the empty box stalls. When he came to the door at the opposite end he pushed heavily against it until, creaking, it too slid open, and the morning light flooded the shed.

For a moment the boy stood in the doorway, staring at the track before him. Two trotters swept by, the wheels of their training carts gleaming in the sun. Then Jimmy Creech went by with Symbol, and tears welled in the boy's eyes at the sight of Jimmy's thin huddled figure in the seat. “Why don't you take off that muffler and that silly cap, Jimmy?” he muttered angrily. “Why don't you look up at the sun? Let it get at you, Jimmy. That's what you need.”

Then abruptly, Tom turned and walked toward a box stall on his left. Opening the door, he went inside,
and his eyes and voice were soft as he said, “Hello, Beautiful.”

The heavy-bellied bay mare came to him, shoving her soft muzzle against his chest. And as his hand followed the white blaze that ran from her forehead to her nostrils, she sought the pockets of his sweater for what she knew would be there. He let her pull the carrot from his pocket, then took it from her again, breaking it into small pieces and feeding them to her one at a time. “And chew them well, Queen,” he said. “You have to be careful about everything you eat and everything you do now. It won't be so very long before your foal comes.”

Then the boy stopped talking and looked at the docile head before him. He raised his hand to touch her again, hesitated, then threw his arms about her neck, burying his head in her long black mane.

When Jimmy Creech brought Symbol back from his workout, he found Tom in the Queen's stall. For several minutes he stared at Tom's turned back without the boy's knowing it, then moved on.

George Snedecker had the cooling blanket on Symbol and was walking him alongside the shed when Jimmy joined him.

“Tom's taking it pretty hard,” Jimmy said quietly.

George nodded but continued walking Symbol.

Jimmy fell in beside him. “I never should have let him hang around so much,” Jimmy said. “That's what I get for taking an interest in the kid.”

George looked at him but still said nothing.

“Have you seen that guy from Hanover Farms
yet?” Jimmy asked. “He said he'd be around at eight o'clock.”

“I saw his car up the row. He might be in one of the other sheds.” George paused. “Why don't you go up and see? Let's sell the mare if we're going to,” he added sullenly.

Jimmy looked at him. “What's ailing you?”

George Snedecker made no reply.

“Has the kid got to you, too?” Jimmy asked bitterly. “I suppose you think I'm a heel too. Whose mare is she, anyway? And who has to foot the bills around here?”

“Your mare. You foot the bills,” George said brusquely.

They walked for a while before Jimmy spoke again. “That's what I get for playing nursemaid to a kid. I should have sent him on his way when he first came around.”

“But you didn't,” George said quietly, turning Symbol around. “You let him stay and you talked horse to him by the hour. You wanted it that way. For some reason you wanted it that way.”

Jimmy Creech said nothing, but George heard his footsteps and knew he was following him.

“Find that guy from Butler and sell the mare,” George said again. “They don't get a chance every day to buy a broodmare like the Queen. An' like you said, she's yours. I don't care what you do with her. I only work for you. And what do you care how the kid feels? He's nothing but one of the hundreds running around towns like Coronet. He'll forget all about the Queen in
a week. Maybe he'll forget all about horses, too—forget everything you ever told him. He's nothing but a skinny, overgrown high-school kid who ought to be running around with fellows his own age anyway, instead of hanging out with us old fogies.”

The footsteps behind him had stopped, but Jimmy's tense voice came easily to George. “He'll never forget the Queen—or horses. It's in him deep, just as it was in me.”

The footsteps came again, but this time they were retreating and George knew that Jimmy Creech had gone to find the buyer from Hanover Farms.

George was still walking Symbol when he saw Jimmy Creech returning. Jimmy's head was burrowed deep in his brown muffler, but his skinny legs moved quickly over the road. George stopped walking Symbol.

“Shall I get the mare out?” George asked when Jimmy was within hearing distance. “Does he want to take her now?”

Jimmy raised his thin face, and the only thing about him that seemed alive were his hazel eyes flecked with tiny pinpoints of brown. “No,” he said. “He didn't buy her.” His gaze dropped as he added. “He wouldn't give me my price.”

“Uh-huh,” George said.

Jimmy looked up at him. “He tried to talk me down, but I wouldn't have any of it.”

“Sure,” George returned, smiling. “Sure, Jimmy.”

Their gazes met and held.

“That's the story,” Jimmy said.

“That's
your
story,” George replied. He motioned
with his head in the direction of the shed. “Go in and tell Tom. He'll be anxious to hear it.”

Jimmy moved away. “Yes, I'd better,” he said, “because he'll be taking care of the Queen this summer—”

“And the foal,” George interrupted, laughing. “Don't forget to tell him what to do when the foal comes.”

George watched Jimmy until he had disappeared inside the shed; then he turned to the sun, shining brightly now in a cloudless sky. “Summer,” he said. “Good old summer. What it can do to a man! The sun and the kid. What a combination! Maybe it's not the end of Jimmy Creech, professional reinsman, after all. Maybe not by a long shot.” And humming, George continued walking Symbol.

Ten days later Tom Messenger stood anxiously at a fork in the road, awaiting the Queen. He had been there for many hours, watching the heavy traffic come over the hill, most of it speeding by to his left on its way to Philadelphia. To his right was the blacktop road which led through rolling fields beyond to the sanctuary of his uncle's farm, where the Queen would have quiet and peace to bring her foal into the world.

Very often Tom would glance at the clock on the gas station behind him. It was well after three o'clock. If Jimmy had shipped the Queen at dawn, as he had planned to do, the truck should have arrived an hour ago. It would be an open truck, a two-and-a-half ton truck, Jimmy had said. He couldn't miss it, for the Queen would be standing right there for him to see. She would have been on the road nine hours by now. Would it have hurt her any? In her condition, he meant. The Queen was due to foal sometime next week. Jimmy had said the trip wouldn't hurt her. He'd
said he had shipped many mares only a few days before they foaled, and it had never bothered them. Tom hoped Jimmy was right. He hoped desperately that Jimmy was right. He didn't want anything to happen to the Queen—or the Queen's foal to come.

The boy's eyes remained on the traffic coming over the hill. He wouldn't look at the clock again, he decided. It didn't make any difference how late the Queen got here, just so long as she got here. That it was late was so much the better. It meant that Jimmy had hired a good driver, one who was going slowly, taking it easy for the Queen's sake.
So there's no rush
, Tom thought.
I've got all the time in the world. Just take it easy with the Queen, Mr. Driver, and I'll be here whenever you come
.

While Tom waited patiently, he let himself think of what it would mean to care for the Queen all by himself. There would be just the Queen and himself this week, but maybe next week there would be three. He'd always dreamed of something like this happening to him. And Jimmy Creech had made it possible.

“I know the Queen will be in good hands, Tom,” Jimmy had said. “I know how much you love her, and that's more important than anything else at this point. Just take good care of her, as I know you will, and nature will do the rest.”

Jimmy had made it sound so easy. But then Jimmy had seen a countless number of foals born, while this would be Tom's first experience. As he thought about it, Tom felt a little queasy. What if something went wrong? Jimmy had said it wouldn't be necessary to get a veterinary unless complications set in. Nine chances
out of ten everything would be all right, Jimmy had said. But then, Tom figured, there was one chance in ten something
would
go wrong, and it was this lone possibility that caused the palms of his hands to sweat while he waited for the Queen.

He saw the open truck as it came over the hill. He made out the Queen's blanketed body as the truck drew closer. Her haunches faced the front of the truck. Jimmy had put her in backwards to keep the wind from her face.

Tom moved quickly to the middle of the fork, one arm raised, his heart pounding. The truck pulled out of the long line of cars and headed for the blacktop road, slowing as it neared him.

Tom's eyes were upon the Queen. He saw that her hooded head was down low, her body slumped. “Is she all right?” he asked anxiously of the driver.

“A long haul, but I took it easy,” the man said. “Where do we go from here? I've got to get back tonight,” he added impatiently.

“Just a few more miles,” the boy said. “Follow this road. I'll ride in back.”

Quickly Tom climbed over the rail of the truck. It lurched forward and Tom steadied the mare. She raised her hooded head, recognizing him; then her nose went to his pocket. Smiling, he produced a carrot and fed it to her.

“Soon you'll be home,” he said. “Just a little farther and then you'll be able to take it nice and easy.”

The road wound with the foothills, going ever upward in the direction of a low range of heavily wooded mountains. Tom looked toward them, for in the valley
at their base was his uncle's farm and a home for the Queen.

The driver called back to him through the cab window, handing him a long envelope. Tom held the letter in front of him, shielding it from the wind. It was, of course, from Jimmy Creech.