The Black Stallion's Courage

by Walter Farley

  Most of the other horses were already in their stalls, and now one of the starter’s crew was running toward the Black. Everything was being done in a hurry even though the official starter, high on his platform just off the track, had called, “Take it easy now, all of you. No hurry now. No hurry at all.”

  Who was he trying to kid? Alec wondered.

  Alec waved the crewman back when the Black struck out in his mounting excitement. “I’ll take him in,” he called. “Go ahead.” His voice sounded as shrill as everybody else’s.

  “Okay,” the crewman yelled back, reaching for the next horse’s bridle instead of the Black’s.

  The assistant starters had the front and back cage doors of all the stalls shut with the exception of the last four. Then stalls 14, 15 and 16 were closed, leaving only the Black outside the gate.

  “Ramsay,” the official starter called through his amplifier, “get your horse in but don’t rush him. We don’t want any trouble. We got plenty of time. Just watch him. Be careful. I know him.”

  Alec was well aware that at the slightest touch of a button the starter could cut the electric current from the magnets holding the doors shut. It would happen the very second he got the Black inside his stall. The starter wouldn’t wait.

  “Easy, fellow, easy,” Alec said softly, taking his horse forward. He wondered if it was his heart or the Black’s that was making all the noise. He had his horse’s forequarters inside the stall.

  Alec caught a glimpse of Billy Watts’s face in the number 7 stall as Gunfire rose high and then came down hard against the padded sides.

  “No chance! No chance, sir!” Billy shouted at the top of his lungs.

  Suddenly almost all the jockeys were yelling. Only Michael Costello was quiet, sitting on his tall, slick-muscled Casey. Far across the infield the crowd impatiently awaited the start of the Carter Handicap. Alec moved the Black all the way into his stall.

  Then the big bell rang and the doors flew open! Sixteen horses burst from their boxes and overflowed the track, their glistening bodies jamming against one another while their riders screamed for racing room!

  The Black broke from the wrong lead and took his first stride in the air as Alec brought him down. When he was straightened out again and running, Alec saw that the inside horses were in the shape of a flying wedge with the light-weighted number 6 horse in the lead and trying to “steal” the race from the very beginning. The horse had a good two lengths’ start on those nearest to him and was increasing it with the sure, swift strides of a top sprinter. Only ninety-five pounds were on his back, and Alec wondered if the Black, carrying forty-five pounds more, could possibly catch him after so poor a start.

  On the far outside of the track was another horse who had broken fast and now was being eased across the Black’s path toward the flying wedge with its fast-sprinting leader. Alec noted that it was the number 16 horse, ridden by Smith and carrying just one hundred pounds.

  Alec made no attempt to move any closer to the rail. He didn’t want to save ground. All he wanted for the Black was plenty of racing room, and he had it there in the middle of the track with most of the backstretch still before them. It was a long run to the far turn, longer than at Belmont or any other track in the New York area, for Aqueduct’s turns were short and sharp.

  He waited patiently for the Black to settle into full racing stride but his eyes were anxious while he watched the jamming, yelling pack to his left. All fury had broken loose there and only the Black and the two light-weighted pace setters were clear of it. Where was Casey anyway?

  Glancing back, Alec saw that Casey was caught in the back of the wedge with Mike Costello trying desperately to take him out of it. Alec clucked to his horse. By the time Casey got clear of that traffic jam he’d have the Black well up with the front runners and neither Casey nor any other horse was going to catch him from behind.

  The Black’s strides were coming longer and faster, and the sprinting light-weights ahead stopped pulling away. Soon they’d be dropping back to him, very soon now. Alec knew he’d have them by the time they swept into the sharp, high-banked turn. The Black must have known it too, for his ears suddenly pitched forward and stayed there while the ground gave way between him and the leaders. He was moving into full flight and going up!

  “Here we come!” shouted Alec. He brought his left hand down upon the Black’s extended neck, easing him across the track. They were about to fly into the sharp turn and he didn’t want their speed to carry them to the outer rim. As he reached the crown of the track he noticed that the two front-running leaders were going a bit wide as they swung into the sharp turn. The opening they’d left on the rail was very small but for a fleeting second Alec considered taking the Black through it.

  There was a horse racing just to his left and Alec decided against making for the hole. It was too risky and he was in a good enough position now to pass the leaders when they came off the turn into the homestretch. The Black should win this race with ease, he thought, for unlike Casey they’d run into no trouble, thanks to their outside post position.

  He sat still on his horse, taking up rein while rounding the turn. Behind him he could hear the pounding of the jammed field and the wordless yelling of the jockeys. He was very happy to be in front and well out of such a melee.

  To his left raced the horse which had managed to escape the wedge as they’d gone into the turn. Alec glanced at him for the first time and saw that it was Gunfire! He couldn’t see Billy Watts’s face, for the boy was riding low on the opposite side and whipping his mount!

  Alec wondered why Billy hadn’t waited for the long stretch run before making his bid for the lead. Then he saw Gunfire’s head pointed for the slight opening on the rail and knew that Billy had decided to try to slip through!

  Out of the corner of his eye Alec watched Gunfire charge for the hole. If Billy was successful in squeezing him through, he’d be the one to beat. If not, he’d be in a bucketful of trouble with no place to go.

  Billy Watts had no time to stop Gunfire’s move when the leaders, coming off the sharp turn, suddenly swept back to the rail. No longer was there an opening! Billy snatched at the reins and stood in his stirrups, his face deathly white. For a second there was danger that Gunfire would go down but he managed to stay erect and keep going.

  Racing alongside, Alec saw Billy’s saddle suddenly slip from beneath him! He realized that the leathers had broken under the strain of slowing the gelding. Now Gunfire was in full racing stride again and Billy was half off, his feet tangled in the loose stirrup irons! To their rear pounded the tons of steel-shod hoofs that Billy Watts had been going to leave behind forever after today.

  Alec pulled the Black over to the free-running gelding and grabbed Billy’s shoulders, holding him until the jockey had righted himself. Even then he couldn’t take away his support, for the saddle had slipped underneath Gunfire and the stirrups were dangling dangerously close to his legs. If they tripped him, he’d go down and Billy’s only chance of escape would be to hang on to Alec—if the Black didn’t go down too.

  Stride for stride raced the two horses, the Black snorting in frustration at the tight grip on his mouth and the long stretch run still before him. Alec managed to hold Billy on Gunfire and still keep his own seat. Suddenly they were surrounded on all sides by the jam-packed field! For a flashing second Alec thought he saw Mike Costello riding alongside, keeping the others away from them. If there was any bumping now, the Black would go down too. Alec wasn’t sure it was Mike who was running interference for them. He was too busy trying to keep his balance and Billy’s.

  Nor did Alec hear the tremendous roar from the stands when the danger of being bumped was over. The applause was for Casey as he unleashed his explosive “kick” during the last quarter of a mile and worked his way through the pack like a broken field runner in full touchdown flight.

  Later, newsmen likened Casey’s victory charge to the boom of a Fourth of July cannon whose firing would be h
eard around the racing world. Their unbelieving eyes and the click of their stopwatches told them so.

  Alec heard only the click of eternity, which wasn’t difficult to do when a rider leans from one horse to another at racing speed. At the moment he didn’t care who won the race. He was lucky to be getting back in one piece, and so was Billy Watts.

  BUST

  17

  That evening the jockeys had a party and Alec Ramsay was the guest of honor. They gave him a handsome gold wrist watch for preventing an accident which easily could have been fatal.

  Later Alec joined Henry back at Belmont Park. He found the trainer sitting alone on the porch steps. It was late and the only noise to be heard was the occasional nicker of a stabled horse.

  “How’d it go?” the trainer asked.

  Alec raised his hand so Henry could see the luminous dial. “It was nice of them,” he said.

  Henry grunted. “The watch is nothing,” he said. “They meant a lot more than that.”

  “Any one of them would have done the same thing,” Alec said.

  “I hope so. I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten what all of you got in common out there. You’ve got to stick together while you’re tryin’ to beat each other.”

  Alec sat down beside Henry. “One thing certain,” he said, “is that you can’t walk out on somebody in trouble. Not for any kind of money.”

  “Forget the purse,” Henry said. “I told you we’d make it up.”

  “We have a long way to go to a hundred thousand.”

  “Not so long if he stays sound.”

  “He cooled off all right,” Alec said. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”

  “The left foreleg,” Henry said with concern. “I’m worried. He skipped again goin’ into his stall.”

  “He plays,” Alec answered. “Sometimes during a race he’ll strike out and scarcely break stride.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m right, all right.”

  “Anyway, if the handicapper just leaves him alone now,” Henry said. “If he just don’t put any more weight on him.”

  “After today’s race Casey will be the one who gets top weight,” Alec said.

  “Sure,” Henry agreed. “At the end he was just playin’ with the others. I never saw such a finish as he put on.”

  Alec glanced at his watch. “They should have given this to Mike for keeping the pack clear of us.”

  Henry nodded. “He sure acted as a blocking back for you. But don’t go givin’ him your watch. That’s all you got out of the race. He got forty-five thousand dollars.”

  “His stable did, you mean.”

  “Well, four thousand five hundred for Mike, then. That still beats a gold watch.”

  “You said yourself it was more than a watch.” Alec smiled.

  “Sure. And I meant it. So did they, even old Mike.”

  “What’s next?” Alec asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “The Brooklyn Handicap on Saturday,” Henry said. “We can’t let any fifty-thousand-dollar races go beggin’.”

  “Casey again?”

  “Of course,” Henry answered. “It’s the big one for him. He’s won the Metropolitan and the Suburban so only the Brooklyn is missing to complete the ‘Triple.’ Only two horses in well over fifty years have won all three races, and I suspect Casey’ll be sent out to make it three for three and go down in racing history. That’s the way I figure it, anyway.”

  “The handicap horse’s Triple Crown,” Alec mused.

  “That’s what it is, all right. Most horses who have won the Metropolitan Mile get beaten when the distance goes up to a mile and a quarter in the Suburban and the Brooklyn.”

  “It seems Casey can go up or down,” Alec said. “He can sprint with the sprinters and stay with the stayers.”

  “So can we,” Henry said emphatically. “The Black was sprinting before Billy Watts fouled us up.”

  Alec lapsed into silence a moment and then said thoughtfully, “Billy was trying to prove something.”

  “To whom, the stands?” Henry asked. “He knew darn well that opening on the rail was too small to use.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Alec corrected. “He could have squeezed through if it hadn’t closed on him. But I imagine it looked pretty small to him at that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Feeling the way Billy did, a ‘hole’ can look even smaller than it is.”

  “Oh,” Henry said. “You mean he was tryin’ to prove something to himself?”

  Alec nodded. “And he did, I believe. He didn’t go around the horses as he might have done.”

  Henry said thoughtfully, “I guess so, Alec. I guess you’re right at that. Now Billy can quit, knowin’ he’s licked what bothered him. When’s he going to the farm?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Alec answered.

  “Good,” Henry said. “We can use him up there.”

  “Guess we’d better quit ourselves,” Alec said, getting to his feet.

  Henry rose too. “I hope you mean just for the night.” He put an arm around the boy’s shoulders as they went up the steps.

  “Sure.” Alec smiled. “Just for the night. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

  “And not an easy one,” Henry agreed soberly, his arm still around the boy. “But you made it all the way around and considering everything—” His voice lingered in the still night air while he and Alec Ramsay went inside.

  We’ll get them in the Brooklyn, Alec. That race will separate the men from the boys, all right. Mark my words, Casey will know he’s been in a ding-dong of a fight.

  But the next morning Henry decided there’d be no Brooklyn Handicap for the Black. It took him one second to change his mind, just long enough to read the published weights for the horses entered in the big race. He looked at the 146 pounds opposite the Black’s name, mumbled something violently to himself, and then said clearly to Alec, “He’s out!”

  Alec didn’t ask any questions. He just looked at Henry’s face, which had flushed deep red in anger. He waited a long while before Henry’s face was its normal color again. Even then he waited for the trainer to break the fierce silence.

  Finally Henry shook his head vigorously. “I can’t believe it, Alec. I just can’t believe it, much less try to understand it. No track handicapper in the world—” His words came faster, tumbling over each other in still another incoherent burst of anger.

  Alec managed to get the list from Henry’s hand. He noted the 146 pounds assigned to the Black and just below it the 136 pounds for Casey. Only then did he understand completely the fury that possessed Henry, for it filled him too.

  “I’ve always supported and been proud of New York racing but I’m through now, Alec,” Henry shouted. “I tell you I’m through!”

  “It’s a lot of weight, all right,” Alec agreed with feeling.

  “A lot of weight?” Henry repeated as if aghast at the mildness of Alec’s words. “Why, I’ve never heard of any horse carryin’ that much weight in the Brooklyn or any other race of this kind!”

  “He’s got Casey down at one hundred and thirty-six,” Alec said, nodding his head soberly.

  “Are we supposed to feel flattered because the Black gets ten pounds more than the horse that walloped him yesterday?” Henry asked incredulously. “Is that it?”

  Alec attempted to calm Henry down. “We sure must have impressed somebody in those first few furlongs,” he said with feigned lightness. “I’m afraid it was the track handicapper.”

  “That’s all he’s goin’ to see of us!” Henry bellowed, tearing up the weight sheets. “We’re movin’ out of here, Alec. We’re goin’ where we won’t be humiliated any longer. I’d be crazy to start him again in New York.”

  Alec waited a few minutes and then said, “It’s going to cost money to move, Henry, and we don’t have much left. Maybe he can carry the weight. It’s only six pounds more than he had yesterday.”

  “Alec!” Hen
ry shouted. “Only six pounds more but over a mile and a quarter route. He couldn’t handle it and still spot Casey ten pounds! It would be disgraceful and humiliating to ask him to try.”

  Alec studied Henry’s set face. This was no tirade put on to impress anyone. Henry was deadly serious. Alec had no doubt that he wouldn’t start the Black in the Brooklyn Handicap under such a weight assignment.

  Henry said more quietly, “Look at it this way, Alec. Using most handicappers’ rule-of-thumb methods in translatin’ pounds to lengths at a mile and a quarter, we’d be spottin’ Casey five lengths by giving ’im ten pounds.”

  “You mean it figures that two pounds represents a length of a horse at the finish wire over that distance?” Alec asked.

  Henry nodded. “And we’re not givin’ the great Casey that kind of a handicap here or any place else. When we find a handicapper that treats us fair and square we’ll race the Black again but not before!”

  The press were waiting at the barn for Henry. He told them just what he’d told Alec. And like Alec they believed him this time. They knew Henry’s moods and this was one with which they could not fool or change.

  A noted sports columnist said finally, “That knocks the wind right out of our buildup for Saturday’s ‘Race of the Century.’ ”

  “You’ve still got Casey,” Henry replied brusquely. “He wants the Brooklyn so bad he’ll probably go to the post even at the top weight he’s been assigned. Only two others have carried a hundred and thirty-six in the whole history of the race. You might tell your readers that,” he added sarcastically.

  “Oh, we’ve got Eclipse too,” the columnist said. “We just came from his barn.”

  “You got what …?” Henry asked incredulously.

  “Eclipse,” the columnist repeated. “He’s going in the Brooklyn at a hundred and sixteen pounds. Haven’t you read the complete list yet?”

  Henry took the paper handed to him. Far down the list of fifty-five horses who’d been nominated May 15 for the Brooklyn Handicap was Eclipse. And he was assigned only 116 pounds!