The Black Stallion's Courage

by Walter Farley

  “You’re not kiddin’ none, Don. Now take your boss—”

  “You’d better stick to two- and three-year-olds,” Conover interrupted. “They’re more your speed.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Henry answered soberly. “It takes some pretty smart thinkin’ to handle ’em that young.”

  Another trainer grunted. “It’s either that or they send you off to a madhouse.”

  “Tell ’em about that colt you picked up for almost nothin’, Henry, because nobody wanted him,” an old groom said.

  Henry turned to him. “What colt’s that?”

  “You know … that gray one you had at Aqueduct. The one that’d quit in the stretch because he was so scared of grandstand noises.”

  “Oh, that one. He was just the opposite of the filly.”

  “Yeah, that one. He won for you ‘cause you put earmuffs on him.”

  Henry grimaced. “Ear plugs, y’mean, not muffs.”

  “Sure, that’s it. Tell ’em that story, Henry.”

  “You’ve already told it,” Henry said, walking away.

  “Where are you going?” Alec called.

  “To bed,” the trainer answered without turning back.

  Don Conover called, “You’re even gettin’ to look like a horse, sleeping in that van of yours. Why don’t you get a room? My landlady’s got an extra one.”

  “I’ll consider it now that Alec’s here to keep an eye on the stable,” Henry said, stopping.

  “Sure,” Alec encouraged, “go ahead.”

  “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow,” Henry answered.

  “I’ll believe it when I see you between sheets,” Conover said.

  Henry shuffled off toward Hopeful Farm’s small black-and-white van. “Sheets and mattress don’t make a bed,” he said, his voice barely reaching them. “Any place but New York and I’m campin’ out anyway. Might as well use the truck.”

  The groom sitting on the water pail laughed. “The big apple of his eye,” he said. “Henry can hardly wait to get to Belmont!”

  No one else spoke. The group broke up, most of them feeling no different from Henry. They were eager to return to the big track but first they had a race to run—the Preakness with a purse of more than one hundred thousand dollars.

  Early the next morning Alec took the filly out to graze. It was Sunday and the racetrack was quiet except for the nickers of other grazing horses and the calls of their grooms.

  As with everything else Black Minx was very particular in her choice of grass. She would stop to crop a few mouthfuls and then go on, trying to find another patch that was more appealing to her fancy and discriminating taste. But this morning she seemed to be constantly frustrated in her search and soon Alec found himself closer to the other horses than he cared to be.

  “That’s far enough,” he said, giving the lead shank a tug. “We don’t want to cause any trouble around here.”

  Black Minx stopped obediently but didn’t graze. Instead she held her head high, looking past the other horses without a flicker of interest.

  Suddenly she gave a hard pull on the shank. Alec didn’t let her go and, frustrated once more, she lowered her head to graze. After a few minutes Alec noticed that she was beginning to break out with sweat despite the coolness of the air. He took a large silk handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed her coal-black coat. Like a lady, she seemed to love the touch of silk, too. He had found that it pacified her more than anything else.

  She’s as hot-tempered as the Black, he thought. Cross her in anything and she breaks out. Maybe it’s true of all fast horses. No, Eclipse isn’t like that at all. I’ve seen him galloped a couple of miles during the middle of the day with the temperature over a hundred and he didn’t show a mark. In fact he didn’t take more than a long breath or two.

  I wonder if he really is a great horse. Most of the guys seemed to think so last night. Ordinarily they won’t go all out on a horse until he’s been tried and proven over and over again. Even then they’re awfully careful about calling a horse great.

  Yet they’re comparing Eclipse to Citation and Man o’ War, even the Black! I don’t understand it. Eclipse will have to prove to me that greatness isn’t beyond him. Maybe he will—in the Preakness.

  Suddenly Black Minx jerked up her head, her eyes bright and ears pricked. Alec noticed that her coat was becoming splotched with sweat marks again. Finally she kicked out hard, her flinty legs snapping the air.

  Alec moved to her head, shortening the shank. The other horses—including Wintertime, who had just joined the group—were still grazing in the distance.

  “Let’s go in,” Alec said.

  Black Minx turned with him, sharply and willingly. Her hind legs split the air repeatedly and she came down on her toes. Alec pulled the shank to attract her attention. It wasn’t unlike her to kick at another horse. But to be kicking when there wasn’t the slightest chance of hitting her mark was strange. All the way back to the barn Alec watched her eyes, trying to figure out the coal-black filly.

  Henry was waiting for them at the barn, the old saddle in his hands.

  “Now we’ll really get down to work,” the trainer said. “Get the Black.”

  A few minutes later Alec was seated astride the great stallion, waiting for Henry and Napoleon to join them. There was no movement beneath him, yet he felt vibrations flowing between the Black and himself. With no other horse he’d ever ridden did he experience any such feeling.

  Henry led Napoleon out of the stall and mounted. “All set?” he asked.

  Alec nodded.

  Henry prodded the gray gelding with his heel. “Come on, old horse,” he said.

  The Black swerved abruptly against Napoleon. Henry mumbled something after the crushing impact of the two bodies and moved his mount a little ahead of the stallion as they went to the track.

  Henry had scheduled only a slow gallop for the Black. Even so, the press were waiting at the track gate for a look at the great horse. Photographers began pressing too close and Napoleon wheeled, lashing out with his hind legs.

  The Black went along with him but didn’t kick and Alec got him back in line. Now the frightened photographers kept their distance.

  “Napoleon’s a lot of horse this morning,” Alec said quietly to Henry.

  “What do you think a good stable pony’s for if it isn’t to keep order?” the trainer asked.

  “Does that include our competition on race day?”

  Henry grinned. “Let any horse get too close to him and he’ll find out.”

  They rode onto the track. “Watch your horse,” the trainer warned, “or he’s liable to jump out from under you.”

  “I’m all right, but let go of us pretty soon.”

  “I will. I just want to keep Napoleon beside him another minute. Look at him breakin’ out. Keep a tight hold, Alec. You’re not goin’ to gallop him with any twine string this morning. He’ll want to take over. A mile gallop is enough for today. Don’t let him get away from you. Take up on him. Watch him! Quick!”

  The Black slammed into Napoleon but the old gelding withstood the blow, snorting a little and pushing back as was his job. He kept the stallion in line.

  “I had no trouble at home,” Alec said. “He’s got plenty of miles behind him.”

  “This is the racetrack,” Henry answered, as if that explained everything.

  The trainer let them go at the head of the backstretch. Once free of Napoleon, the Black bolted. Alec allowed his horse to settle into stride and then pulled up on him, shortening rein and asking for obedience rather than demanding it. For several seconds there was no response. Greater became the stallion’s strides and wilder the whip of his long mane and tail.

  Alec longed to let the stallion go, to urge him on to his utmost speed. Instead he drew back still more on the reins.

  Henry had said gallop, so gallop it must be. “Easy, Black,” Alec told his horse. “Slow all the way down to a nice slow gallop. Not just a snug hold on you today but a
tight one. Not even a breeze. That’ll come later, maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. So will the fast works. It won’t be long before Henry sets you down. Then you can go all out as you’d like to do. But now we’ve got to listen to him. Slower, still slower. That’s the big guy.”

  Reluctantly the Black slowed, his ears flicking to the front, side and then back while he listened to Alec. He struck out playfully with his right foreleg and he never stopped asking for more rein.

  Alec sat very still, watching the rail speed by and counting off the furlong poles. He belonged here as nowhere else in the world! His horse ran for the sheer love of running and he shared this love with him.

  The Black rounded the far turn and went down the homestretch, snorting at sight of the long, empty stands. He stretched out his head and dug in a little more but there was no release of the iron against the bars of his mouth.

  “Easy,” Alec repeated. “Not today. Easy. Easy.…”

  The Black was listening to him, Alec knew. Otherwise there’d have been no holding him, bridle or not. His strides came slower and shorter. His oval-shaped hoofs beat on the track in quiet tempo. But there was nothing quiet within his great body. His eagerness to run was a living, breathing thing that constantly sought release. Alec felt the vibrations and they set him afire with a desire to let his horse go!

  “Easy … easy,” he began all over again, stilling temptation.

  The Black finished the mile gallop and as Alec brought him to a stop he thought, Why hasn’t the filly inherited just a fraction of her sire’s love for running? If she had, there’d be nothing to fear from Eclipse in the coming Preakness. Instead she prefers to romp and sulk.

  But the following day between the third and fourth race on Pimlico’s afternoon program, Black Minx showed Alec how wrong he was. Not only did the filly display the Black’s speed but his love for running as well! It just took a little more prodding to get it out of her. In this case the stimulus consisted of Pimlico’s twenty-five-piece band, its members resplendent in their bright red coats; a grandstand and clubhouse holding that day some twenty-five thousand screaming people; and last but by no means least the public-address system that made known to one and all that they were “looking upon the winner of the Kentucky Derby and probably the fastest filly of our generation.”

  Black Minx went on to work the most sensational mile and an eighth ever recorded at Pimlico racetrack. When she had finished and her time was announced, the crowd applauded as they had done for no winner that day. Their unified call was, “Bring on Eclipse!”

  Back in the stable area, Henry washed the filly and said, “We’ll have her sharp for the Preakness, Alec. She loves that crowd.”

  “Any crowd,” Alec corrected. “But you’re right, Henry. She’ll be ready.” He held the filly while Henry squeezed the sponge over her head. Her long tongue came out, catching the dripping water. Then suddenly she snorted, reared, and came down on her toes. She lashed out with her hind legs, sending the water pail flying.

  Henry stepped back, grunting, but he wasn’t angry with her. Instead he chuckled and said, “She sure feels good, Alec. That workout was just what she needed. But we mustn’t wind her too tight. She’ll break like a watch if we do. Give her a little more line. That’s it. Let her play around a bit.”

  Black Minx lifted her head, sniffing the wind; then she jumped forward, taking Alec with her. She rolled her eyes, showing the whites, but didn’t fight him. Suddenly her eyes became intense and fiery. She moved quickly around Alec, her muscles showing strong and lean beneath her wet skin. Tossing her head she neighed, and then stood still.

  Alec saw Wintertime being walked just a short distance away. Black Minx, watching him, again lashed out with her hoofs.

  “I don’t know what it is you have against him,” Alec said, “but wait until Saturday and take it out on him then.”

  The filly snorted.

  THE PREAKNESS

  7

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the race announcer said with grave dignity, “the horses are now coming onto the track for the running of the Preakness.”

  A respectful, almost reverent silence came over the great crowd. The members of the red-coated band rose to their feet before the stands and began to play. The spectators, too, stood up at the first strains of the immortal Preakness hymn.

  “Oh, Maryland, my Maryland,” many sang softly, their throats a little tight while they watched the horses coming out of the paddock gate.

  Would Black Minx repeat her Derby triumph? Or would it be Eclipse today? How about Golden Vanity? And Wintertime—don’t forget him! Maybe it would be Silver Jet. Or Olympus? Or the mudders, Lone Hope and Rampart?

  Within the track’s center field where thousands more watched the parading horses, an old gentleman removed his worn hat despite the light but steady drizzle. His lips moved as he drew himself up a little straighter, and his eyes were full.

  To the tune of the Preakness Hymn he sang to himself in German, “O Tannenbaum … Du grünst nicht nur zu Sommerszeit, Nein, auch im Winter, wenn es schneit.…”

  When the horses turned before the old clubhouse and came back in front of the grandstand, the band ended the hymn and broke into the rollicking strains of “Dixie!”

  Now there were no more clogged throats or tear-filled eyes, nor was there reverent silence. Spectators called to horses and jockeys, while others sang at the top of their voices, “Oh, I wish I was in Dixie, away! Away! Away down south in Dixie.…”

  The old gentleman in the infield had replaced his hat and was singing with those around him. And his eyes were bright with expectation as he said confidently to the stranger next to him, “It will be Wintertime today. He’s a little horse but a very great one.”

  “Oh, no!” the stranger protested. “There’s only one great horse in this race and that’s Eclipse!”

  The band stopped playing when the parading field reached the head of the homestretch and the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the horses are now in the hands of the official starter.”

  Alec took Black Minx far behind the starting gate. He expected Henry to leave but the trainer stayed alongside on Napoleon.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Henry said. “We’ve got nothing to worry about. Her strides are suited for this kind of going. It’ll be Eclipse who’ll have trouble in the mud. Don’t worry none. I don’t need to tell you how to ride her. Use your own good judgment.”

  Napoleon lashed out with his hind legs at another stable pony who had come a little too close to Black Minx. The other pony kicked back and Alec let out the filly another notch, taking her still farther around the turn.

  Henry continued talking, giving Alec many instructions despite his earlier orders to use his “own good judgment” in riding Black Minx.

  Henry was the one, Alec knew, who was nervous and worried. The trainer was contradicting himself repeatedly and that wasn’t like him at all.

  “It’s going to be all right, Alec. She’s ready today,” Henry said, keeping Napoleon close to the filly.

  Alec didn’t listen to Henry any longer. There was nothing anyone could do for him now. Like Black Minx, he was ready and eager to race. He just wanted to take his time going back to the starting gate. He didn’t want to rush her. She was upset enough as it was. Let the others go to their starting stalls first and then he’d take her back.

  He saw that he had almost reached the corner of Rogers Avenue and Old Pimlico Road. The wire-mesh fence was only a short distance away. He could see people standing on second-story porches of the houses across the street, watching him. Taxis and cars passed, their wheels sloshing the wet pavement. Black Minx watched everything that went on beyond the fence and Alec kept her attention there. There’d be time enough later for her to take in other things.

  The light drizzle had stopped and the sun was beginning to break through the gray overcast. It wouldn’t make any difference in the condition of the track, Alec knew. After last night’s heavy rain, the strip was he
avy and holding.

  Alec heard the starter’s metallic voice through the amplifier calling him. “Bring your horse back, Ramsay.”

  Turning the filly around, he saw that the other horses were making their way toward the gate. None of them seemed to be in any hurry, though. Henry, still alongside, was silent. Alec turned the filly’s head toward the infield so that she could watch the crowd there.

  The sun’s reappearance would make the afternoon a lot more pleasant for all those people, he thought. They were very quiet compared to the Kentucky Derby fans and their eyes were only for the horses. There were no loud catcalls to jockeys, no frantic rushing and shoving for a better view of the start. Instead they talked softly while craning their heads a little higher to watch the field go to the post. It was a good crowd, a polite crowd who knew horses and had come to watch a horse race … not one another or a sideshow. It made sense to Alec, horse sense.

  As the field neared the starting gate, Henry left him.

  “She’s all yours, Alec,” the trainer said with final simplicity. “Good luck.”

  Alec let Black Minx move a little faster and her strides were secure in the mud. She was a fastidious little filly who preferred not to get her feet wet or dirty, but she had no fear of slipping … and that was all-important today.

  Her eyes were on the other horses now and, of course, she knew what it was all about. She had worked well and as Henry had said, “It’s going to be all right. She’s ready today.”

  Alec smiled. She had her crowd. Not as big as the Derby one, perhaps, but her second biggest; all that was necessary to make her go the race of her young life. She’d better!

  Alec knew that it wasn’t going to be a two-horse race as a lot of people figured. It would not be simply a duel between Eclipse and Black Minx. Every horse in the race bore watching just as in the Kentucky Derby.

  He watched Golden Vanity go into his number 1 stall. The California champion had quit during the last furlong of the Derby. But might not this shorter distance of a mile and three-sixteenths be just right for him?