The Black Stallion's Courage

by Walter Farley

  Remember how the little old man smiled? More with his eyes than his mouth. He truly smiled, not like the man up there on the platform. When he raised his hand the shouting and the drums stopped. Everybody just watched his hand, including me. When it dropped we went.

  The Black slid away from Napoleon and Henry said, “There’s nothin’ I can tell you, Alec. Keep out of trouble and keep goin’. That’s about it. He’ll run for you until he’s out of gas. With the weight he’s carryin’ I don’t know when that’ll be. I’m hopin’ it won’t be before a mile and a quarter.”

  His hand slipped from the boy’s shoulder to the old saddle and stayed there until a crewman beckoned Alec to bring the Black forward into his starting box. “You got everything, Alec,” the trainer said, “—the best there is.”

  Alec remained quiet and his face was as set as a piece of carved mahogany. Henry understood the boy’s long silence. It had been no different for him many years ago.

  “Easy, Mister,” Alec said aloud while taking the Black into his stall. “Easy now. It’s just another race, that’s all it is. A race is a race wherever it might be.”

  Like the official starter he talked just to hear himself talk. He wasn’t fooling anyone, not even himself. No two races were ever alike, and this was the Black beneath him.

  THE BROOKLYN HANDICAP

  19

  Now there was no past, no other race. Nothing but the one to come, with the three of them in a row waiting for the door flaps to spring open and set them free.

  Don’t break him too fast from the gate, Alec cautioned himself. Let him come out slow, if he likes, until he finds his stride. Then let him run. You know better than anyone else what you have under you. No lead weights can beat a horse like him.

  The Black stood perfectly still as if well aware of what it was all about. Even his ears were pitched forward, all ready to go.

  Alec felt the heavy strips of lead beneath his knees. Most of the weight was where Henry had wanted it, forward on the withers. The pad was buckled down tight. It would not slip forward or backward or from side to side. It would stay put while the Black was in full run. Alec believed that a weighted pad was less harmful to a running horse than a heavy rider who was apt to become unbalanced. Moving forward, he placed his weight too over the Black’s withers. Now, very still and crouched low in the saddle, he waited with his horse.

  To the Black’s left was Casey, hot and nervous and anxious to be turned loose from the confinement of his narrow stall. Casey, the favorite son of New York fans because he seldom raced anywhere else and therefore belonged to them alone. They’d sympathized with him in his physical ailments as a two- and three-year-old when, despite his early speed, he had not been a very impressive looking animal. However, they were sure that if it had not been for his aching hoofs, which could be likened to their own feet with their troublesome corns and bunions, he would have been a great colt.

  Their prophecy proved correct the following year when Casey reached full maturity and became a striking and statuesque horse with a gleaming, golden coat. His feet remained sound and he put on show after show, rocketing from behind a packed field with an explosive flourish that took him to victory after victory and endeared him forever to New York racing fans. They truly loved him, and today they looked with concerned eyes upon the two big stars on either side of him … not that they thought for a moment that Casey had anything to fear.

  They watched Eclipse fuss a bit in the first stall and then become quiet. No three-year-old in the history of racing had so completely dominated his age division as this big colt. And certainly none had left his age group to blow down older horses so gustily as he had done a few weeks ago. Yet he was very lightly weighted. It was enough to make anyone worry just a bit.

  Eclipse they knew well and what to expect from him. But the Black? His comeback had been very slow and careful, just one sprint race, really, if one discounted the race in which Billy Watts’s accident had occurred. They’d seen many such horses beaten by race-hardened competitors. Training schedules lacked the intangible benefits that only races could provide.

  Still, hadn’t they doffed their hats to him when he’d “bulled” his way through a hole which wasn’t big enough in the Speed Handicap? If that was truly the kind of heart he had and he showed it again today, he might possibly make a race of it with Casey.

  Unlike Casey’s avid fans the impartial horsemen who waited for the gate to open looked upon the three stars in a far different light. They had no favorites. All three horses possessed the versatility that greatness demands of champions. Each had proven he could sprint or stay. Each could set a blistering pace and hold it or race from far back, waiting until the very white of the finish line shone in his eyes before throwing on full power.

  What then would be the strategy of the men who rode these horses? Who would send his mount to the front and set the pace? Would it be Ted Robinson on Eclipse in a blazing attempt to wear down Casey and the Black under their heavy weights? If so, would Mike Costello and Alec Ramsay let the big colt go off without attempting to catch him? Many horses had come to grief trying to chase the speedy Eclipse in the early stages of a race. Would they hold back their mounts waiting for Eclipse to expend much of his energy before setting out to catch him? A race was won by one or several short bursts of speed, which might come at the beginning, middle or end. Never was top speed sustained too long, for no horse is capable of going all out for more than a quarter of a mile. The horses would do the running but what about the hands that guided them? Who held the victory?

  Alec rubbed the Black’s shoulders but there was no need to quiet his horse. Never had he stood so still! For a second Alec was afraid that something might be wrong. But the Black had cleaned his feedbox that morning. He’d walked soundly. He’d taken the short van ride from Belmont Park to Aqueduct without undue fussing and he hadn’t had to stay very long in the receiving barn before going to the paddock.

  Suddenly Casey rose in the air and everybody had to wait for him to come down and get straightened out again.

  “ ’Tis no chance, sir!” Michael Costello shouted to the starter. “No chance at all!”

  The Black snorted at all the commotion on his left and then he, too, went up in the air. Alec brought him down, relieved that the Black was acting more like himself.

  “I’m going to hold you back as much as you’ll take without getting mad at me,” he told him. “Then I’ll let you run.”

  The Black had quieted down again. He was too still for the break about to come and Alec slapped him lightly on the neck. “Don’t go falling asleep on me now. The guy upstairs is ready to push the button. We’re on our way. I know it.”

  Alec looked straight down the long, empty homestretch. It would look a lot longer the next time around when the Black would feel most of his heavy burden of 146 pounds. Out of the corner of his eyes, Alec saw Casey start to go up again. Mike pulled the chestnut horse down and as he did Casey’s left foreleg struck the door. It opened as it was designed to do when struck as a safety precaution. Almost at that precise second the other doors sprang open too! The starter had pushed the button and the “Race of the Century” was on!

  Casey had a jump on them, Alec saw as he turned the Black loose. Another jump and Casey was clear of trouble with nothing to fear from either Eclipse or the Black. Alec made no attempt to go after him. Without hurrying the Black he waited for him to settle in stride.

  Eclipse was being sent after Casey, Robinson’s face showing his surprise at Mike Costello’s determination to stay in front. Alec too was surprised when Mike went for his whip, sending Casey along at a faster clip until he was far enough ahead of Eclipse to move over to the rail.

  The crowd roared its approval of Casey’s unpredicted early sprint as the horses swept down the quarter-mile stretch to the finish line and then began their trip around the mile track.

  Alec let the Black settle into third place, content to remain there until the time came to make his
move. Unlike either of the other riders he had not planned a front run with his horse. To win, the Black must wear the others down at the proper time, probably in the final eighth of a mile. It was still a long way off.

  The Black began to eat away at the margin between him and Eclipse. Alec inched up the reins a bit more, restraining his horse. He was pleased with the way the race was going. He’d never expected Casey to be the pacesetter. Now he could let Casey soften up Eclipse in a sprinting duel up front. They’d be shining marks for a comparatively fresh Black in the long homestretch.

  The wet leather slipped a little in Alec’s hands when they swept into the first turn. It was getting more difficult to restrain the Black without making him mad, but Alec felt confident he could do it as long as he didn’t have to slow him up much more. They were five lengths behind the others with Casey still setting a blistering pace and Eclipse following directly in his wake. It seemed that Ted Robinson was now content to let Mike Costello set the pace, for he was making no effort to pass him. The race was still going as Alec wanted it.

  A few seconds later the Black began closing up on the leaders by half the distance! By the middle of the sharp turn he was nearing Eclipse’s hindquarters! Alec wound the reins around his hands and the Black shook his head, seeking relief from the abruptly tightened lines.

  Alec guided him to the right of Eclipse but managed to stay behind. He didn’t want to pass for he knew now that Mike Costello’s strategy had not been to take the lead to kill off his opposition but to set as slow a pace as possible. Mike intended to do all he could to have a fresh mount for the stretch run despite Casey’s high impost of 136 pounds.

  Ted Robinson did not yet realize how greatly the pace had been slowed, Alec knew. There was no concern on his face. Following so close on Casey’s heels Robinson had no idea that the old jockey up front had skillfully and gradually shortened Eclipse’s strides as well as those of his own mount. If Alec had not been far enough back to use the gap between them as a yardstick he might not have known it either.

  It was an old trick but always good when executed with finesse. Mike Costello had done it to perfection. There had been no sudden and noticeable slackening of speed going around the turn. Now he was still setting a slow pace while Eclipse and the Black trailed him.

  Except for the Black’s mounting fury at being held back, Alec was not unhappy with Mike’s strategy. What worked for Casey would work for the Black too. Only Eclipse would suffer from the slow, easy pace. The light-weighted colt might have worn them down by going to the front and maintaining a sustained drive to the very end, giving them no chance to rest their horses. They would have had to catch Eclipse to beat him.

  The Black pushed his head harder against the bit and snorted repeatedly. Ted Robinson glanced back but made no attempt to pull Eclipse out from the rail and pass Casey. He seemed completely unaware of what had happened to the pace.

  Up front Mike Costello never turned his head but Alec imagined the wiry Irishman had his ears tuned to the hoof-beats behind him. If they moved up on him he’d send Casey along a little faster to stay on top. But he wouldn’t budge until then. Alec snugged up the reins still more to keep the Black from passing Eclipse. He was in an excellent position to make his bid and there was no hurry—no hurry at all.

  Coming off the turn and entering the long backstretch, they completed the first half-mile of the race with three-quarters to go. When they passed the pole, Alec saw Ted Robinson glance at his hands. He knew then that Eclipse’s jockey was riding with a stopwatch.

  Mike’s trick was over!

  Alec got ready to go with the Black. Never had he held him back so long and so hard. The leather seemed to be imbedded in his hands. This kind of restraint had been no part of his plans, for he’d intended to hold back only as much as the Black would take kindly!

  Robinson reacted quickly to the slow time. He slapped Eclipse sharply and the big, burly colt jumped from behind Casey and came around. Alec pulled the Black over to the right to avoid Eclipse’s charge and in doing so had to take him up still more. In front Mike Costello knew that his ruse had failed; he sent Casey along faster, trying to keep the lead from Eclipse. Now the race to the very finish was on!

  As the other two horses lengthened their strides the Black shook his head furiously. Alec realized that his last tug on the reins had shattered whatever patience the stallion had left. Angered and frustrated by the prolonged restraint the Black suddenly bolted out of control! Instead of going after the others he swerved sharply, twisting his head and body to free himself of rein and bit and hands!

  Alec swung with his horse, trying to stay in the saddle. The Black came down hard and the force of it sent his rider onto the stallion’s neck, his hands seeking a hold in the black mane. For the first time the reins were loose.

  The Black bolted again and Alec lurched with him, going forward then backward into the saddle. There he stayed while the Black set out after the others, running free as he’d wanted to do all along.

  Many lengths beyond, Robinson was rocking wildly on Eclipse. The thick-bodied colt surged past Casey, taking the rail and the lead. Mike Costello had no alternative but to follow the vigorous pace being forced upon him. He let Casey out several notches for he couldn’t allow the colt to draw too far away, not with only 116 pounds on his back.

  Now the Black, too, was in full flight, his head stretched out and nostrils snorting as if he were overjoyed by his newly won freedom. Alec took up the reins but made no attempt to shorten them. The distance between them and the hard-running leaders began to close. Alec knew that Eclipse would be kept in a sustained drive until the very end. There’d be no short bursts of speed, no chance to rest in between and make the Black’s heavy burden easier to bear in that final eighth of a mile. But what was happening to them was happening to Casey and Mike as well. They had no alternative now but to go after Eclipse. They had to catch the flying colt to beat him.

  Alec urged the Black on with his voice but the rest of him was deathly still—still and forward, where 146 pounds would be the easiest to take.

  In a way he, too, was glad the waiting was over, regardless of what it might cost in the end. He watched the gap close, narrowing more and more with each of the Black’s strides. This race was not like any other race. This was not simply a case of one horse finishing in front of other horses. This was one to remember as long as there were horses and racing. The two leaders were going faster and faster, and now the Black gained upon them by inches rather than feet.

  Three in a row, one behind the other, they swept into the sharp far turn. Their riders knew that the backstretch run at top speed had done damage to them all. And there was still a half-mile to go.

  Eclipse’s strides were steady but they did not come quite so effortlessly as before. Casey followed doggedly with much of his speed and stamina wrung out of him. The Black drew a little closer to them but it was like a man pulling himself up a rope with only his hands. The pace and weight were beginning to tell on him too.

  Alec moved the Black nearer to the rail, the shortest path available to the wire. He took up on the reins a little, trying to check their speed to give his horse a short rest before entering that long, heartrending stretch.

  The black stallion shook his head vigorously at the slight pull on the reins. There would be no resting the Black, Alec realized. His horse was going all-out to the finish because that was the kind of heart he had.

  But Eclipse and Casey were not lacking in heart either. Like the champions they were there was no slackening of stride as they came off the turn with still more than a quarter of a mile to go. They were displaying speed and stamina and now came the final test of courage!

  Alec stopped talking to the Black, knowing nothing he could say would help his horse catch the others. He remained very still and sat forward and low in the saddle, trying only to ease the Black’s heavy burden. Now with every stride the weight became greater. Alec felt the extra leaden pounds in his horse’s eve
ry movement. No longer was the Black running without pain.

  The great stands loomed to the right of the track and there was less than a quarter of a mile to go. Eclipse was not yet a spent horse and his sustained drive continued through the stretch while the spectators roared. But their calls were not for him—they were for Casey, who drew laboriously up to Eclipse’s flanks. Behind them the Black was skimming the rail and slowly eating away at the margin they held over him.

  At the last furlong pole with two hundred and twenty yards to go Eclipse looked the winner to the frenzied crowd. Casey and the Black were cutting his lead down inch by inch but the ground was running out on them! There wasn’t time to inch up on the flying leader. The crowd knew Eclipse would have been a beaten horse at level weights but this was a handicap and the horses were coming down to the wire three in a row!

  Alec swung the Black from the rail without loss of stride. The shortest path to the wire was no longer the fastest with Eclipse and Casey running there. He took his horse to the outside, knowing it cost him several of the bitterly fought inches the Black had earned. But the path to the wire was clear before them and the Black surged forward again, his breath and strides coming hard. Air as well as ground was running out on him. He inched forward as did Casey until the finish wire shone bright in the eyes of all three horses and their riders.

  They were so closely bunched that they could have been covered by a large rug. Among all the tumultuous thousands who watched, only one person remained quiet. He was an old man with sparse white hair who held his hat in his hands to keep them from shaking. He watched Casey and Eclipse racing head to head, nose to nose. He was aware of the oncoming black stallion, whose rider sat so still, asking nothing because his horse was giving everything. He knew further that the Black’s final drive was not to be denied, that his determination to get up with the others was as unyielding as the result of this race was unalterable. Suddenly he, too, screamed at the top of his voice!