The Black Stallion's Sulky Colt

by Walter Farley

  The paddock judge moved down their row. “Hook ’em up, boys,” he called. “You’re next. Be ready to go in three minutes.”

  George led Bonfire from the stall and backed him between the shafts of the waiting sulky. He glanced at Alec in surprise as though he’d forgotten that he was there. Then he said, “You’d better look busy if you’re stickin’ around.”

  Working in silence, they drew the harness leather tight around the shafts. Tom took up the long lines. Finally George led Bonfire down the row while Tom and Alec walked beside the sulky.

  Alec noticed that the strange brightness in Tom’s eyes was greater than before. And his big hands were trembling, telegraphing his nervousness down the lines to his colt. This was the reason for Bonfire’s tossing head and the wetness that was showing on his red body.

  Alec understood Tom’s nervousness, for often he had felt the same way before a race. Tom would be all right once he got into the sulky and the colt stepped onto the track. He’d calm down then and so would Bonfire.

  The bugle call to the post came over the public-address system and the paddock gate was opened. The first horse stepped onto the track.

  Tom slid into his seat behind the blood bay colt. “Okay, George,” he said. “Let him go.”

  The old man stepped away from Bonfire’s head. “Luck, Tom,” he said.

  “Thanks, George.” Tom nodded as Alec too wished him good luck. He tried to grin but it didn’t come off.

  Alec followed George to the wooden bench just inside the track rail where other caretakers were sitting. From here he would be very close to Bonfire.

  Alec said, “Don’t worry about Tom. I’m sure he’s okay now.”

  “I’m not so sure at all,” the old man answered. “He’s overanxious. He’s been that way all week. It’s taken a lot out of him. He’s apt to do ’most anything in this race.”

  Alec said nothing more for over the public-address system came the introductions.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said, “parading up the track now are the horses in the second race on your program. This is a stake race for three-year-olds who are eligible for the world-famed Hambletonian to be raced at Goshen, New York, on August seventh. This is an important preparatory race for that great classic, ladies and gentlemen, and from this field of fine colts may come the one who is destined to go down in harness-racing history as this year’s winner of the Hambletonian. So watch them well.

  “Number one is Lively Man, a roan colt by Titan Hanover out of Blue Maid. He is owned by Mr. Richard Frecon of New York City and is being driven by Fred Ringo. Number two is Silver Knight, a gray colt by Volomite out of Gray Dream. He is owned by Mr. Peter Conover of Venice, Florida, and is being driven by Ray O’Neil. Number three is Victory Boy, a brown colt …”

  Alec watched the line of horses in parade, their glossy coats shining under the bright lights. All this was a far cry from the harness races he had seen at fairs. Here were no crowded midways with spinning Ferris wheels, no prize poultry and livestock to compete with the racehorse for the attention of the crowd. Here the racehorse alone was the attraction. A yellow crescent moon hung low in the night sky, while beneath it was the red glow of city lights. It was a beautiful setting for a race.

  Alec turned around and looked back at the stands. Most of the people there had come from New York and adjacent suburban towns and cities. Probably few of them ever had the opportunity to see harness racing at the fairs. So it was at this raceway that they had become familiar with the sport and had learned to love it, making it what it was tonight.

  The announcer had come to the last horse in the post parade. “Number eight is Bonfire, a blood bay colt by the Black out of Volo Queen. He is owned by Mr. Jimmy Creech of Coronet, Pennsylvania, and is being driven by Tom Messenger. Bonfire is making his first start at Roosevelt Raceway since winning the Two-Year-Old Championship at this track last September.”

  Alec turned to George. “It’s a short stretch to the turn. Does Bonfire get away fast?”

  The old man kept his eyes on Bonfire and Tom. He didn’t answer Alec.

  The horses came down the track, taking their two warm-up scores before the start of the race. Bonfire’s strides were low, even and effortless, his muscles standing out prominently beneath his wet, glossy coat. He paid no attention to the other colts. He was eager to be turned loose, his every movement disclosed it. Alec knew that Bonfire was a son worthy of the Black, and he watched him with great pride.

  “What does he have to beat in this race?” he asked.

  “All of ’em,” George muttered.

  Alec smiled. “I know, but any one in particular?”

  “All of ’em,” George repeated, his eyes never leaving the colts who were now going behind the long, open limousine at the far turn.

  The announcer said, “The horses have reached the mobile gate and are now in the hands of the starter.”

  The barrier wings of the limousine stretched across the track. Alec could see the starter standing in the back of the car, talking through a microphone to the drivers and getting them into their post positions. Bonfire was on the far outside and had his head close to the barrier. The car increased its speed coming down the stretch and the horses came along behind it. They neared the start. Suddenly the lights in the great stands dimmed. The car pulled away quickly to the outside of the track, its barrier wings folded. The brilliantly lighted track was the stage. The race was on!

  Alec jumped to his feet as the horses came toward the first turn. George pulled him roughly down again so he could see. Bonfire was moving fast in an all-out drive. Alec heard Tom Messenger’s voice raised above those of the other drivers, and he knew that Tom intended to get Bonfire out in front by the turn.

  The moving line of surging horses and sulkies held; then there was a sudden merging of colored silks as the drivers bunched going into the turn. Tom had Bonfire out in front but not far enough to cut in safely in front of the others. Gleaming, silvery-spoked wheels spun crazily taking the heavy strain of the turn. Tom kept Bonfire on the outside as though determined to get far enough ahead to move safely over to the rail.

  George’s head was shaking miserably and he mumbled, “I knew it. I knew it. He’s trying too hard. He’ll knock the colt out.”

  Alec heard him but said nothing. All around the turn Tom kept Bonfire on the far outside, fighting for the lead. But for every two strides Bonfire took, the colts near the rail took only one without losing ground to him. Alec knew what racing on the outside meant to any horse, especially a young colt. Tom was sacrificing Bonfire’s stamina in his determination to get out in front so early. The horses in this race were much too fast to be given such an advantage. They were holding their positions, and making Bonfire go the race of his life to get ahead of them from the outside.

  Down the backstretch they went, with four colts dropping behind and moving over to the rail. But Alec saw that Tom’s red-and-white silks weren’t among them. Tom still wasn’t ready to save ground or his colt. Bonfire continued his drive beside the three leaders. And nearing the end of the backstretch he began to push his head to the front again.

  The announcer’s call came, “At the far turn, it’s Bonfire out in front. Lively Man on the rail is second. Third is …”

  But Alec wasn’t listening to the call. Nor did he receive any joy from seeing Bonfire in the lead. It would have been far better if Tom had dropped Bonfire back with the other colts, saving him for the long distance still to be run.

  Quickly he glanced at George. The old man had his hands on his face, rubbing it, and perhaps not even seeing the race. Alec understood, for he felt the same way. His heart sickened when he saw Bonfire racing wide again going around the far turn, ahead by half a length. Yes, ahead, but at a price far greater than those closer to the rail were paying! The colt answered Tom’s demand for more speed. His lightning strides came ever faster and he held his lead all around the turn.

  Coming into the homestretch for the
first time, it was only Lively Man who stayed with Bonfire. The roan colt had raced along the rail all the way. He was fresh compared to Bonfire, and had more speed yet to give. He came down the stretch stride for stride with the blood bay colt and they drew away from the others. Only when they passed the stands at the end of the first half-mile did Tom Messenger decide to give his colt a rest.

  Alec watched him take Bonfire over to the rail behind Lively Man. His heart went out to this fighting son of the Black, who had responded so willingly to every request Tom had made of him. He wondered how much speed and stamina Bonfire had left, with another lap still to go.

  George was watching the horses coming toward them. There were tears in the old man’s eyes, and his yellowed teeth pulled at his lips.

  “He’ll have something left for the finish,” Alec told him. “I know he will.”

  George said nothing. He just watched.

  Suddenly the crowd roared, and Alec saw Silver Knight coming down the track with a great burst of speed. The gray colt had been one of the four trailers who had tucked in close to the rail after the first turn. Now he was making his bid, moving past the two horses behind Bonfire and quickly overtaking the leaders.

  The announcer called, “At the half-mile. Lively Man out in front. Bonfire is second. Silver Knight in a drive and now third, closing fast on Bonfire.”

  It seemed to Alec that the gray colt was almost alongside Tom before the young driver knew it. They were approaching the first turn again when Alec saw Tom glance at Silver Knight’s head coming up on his right; then he asked Bonfire for more speed. It was obvious that Tom didn’t want to be boxed in on the rail by the gray colt. He began to take Bonfire out from behind Lively Man. But Silver Knight’s driver was determined that his bid to pass Bonfire and Lively Man was not going to be denied him. He asked his gray colt for more speed and got it.

  Alec leaped to his feet when he saw Tom trying to take his colt through the small opening between Silver Knight and Lively Man. Sulky wheels were screaming hub to hub, with racing quarters dangerously close. Bonfire recoiled at the gray colt’s nearness but there was no break in his long strides.

  The racing horses swept into the turn. Alec’s fingers found George’s shoulder and tightened. Silver Knight moved closer to Bonfire and then his sulky shaft must have struck the blood bay colt. For suddenly Bonfire jumped and there was a sickening clash as he and Silver Knight went down in a terrible huddled heap of thrashing legs and tangled sulkies.

  TAIL-SITTERS

  2

  Alec’s loud cry rose with those from the packed stands behind him. He knew Tom and the other driver, Ray O’Neil, were safe, for he’d seen them leap clear of their sulkies upon impact. But the colts were down.

  He could do nothing until the trailing horses in the race had passed. They went wide around the turn, avoiding the fallen colts and their drivers. Alec’s heart trip-hammered in his chest, pounding out the seconds until finally the track was clear; then he ran forward with the grooms.

  Tom and Ray O’Neil were unhurt. Both were kneeling beside their colts when Alec reached them. There was a wild, horrible fright in Bonfire’s eyes as the colt attempted to lift his sweaty head.

  Tom kept repeating, “Down, boy. Down.” His voice broke in his terrifying concern for Bonfire. He kept his hands on the colt’s head, stroking it, holding it down against the clay and sand of the track.

  Alec saw at once the reason for keeping Bonfire down, although Silver Knight had been unhitched and was now being helped shakily to his feet. Sometime after his fall Bonfire had pushed his left foreleg through the wire spokes of Silver Knight’s sulky wheel. The leg was held fast. If Bonfire fought to pull it free, he could easily rip a tendon and be maimed for life.

  Alec dropped down beside Tom, but found he could do nothing to help.

  “Easy now. Easy,” Tom told Bonfire. But he knew it was only a question of seconds before the badly frightened colt would start struggling.

  Someone in the crowd shouted, “He needs wire cutters. Get them from the paddock. Quick!”

  Alec looked around for George. The old man was standing on the other side of Tom, his body shaking, his eyes staring and glazed. Quickly Alec went to him. “You used wire cutters in the paddock. Did you put them back in your pocket?”

  But the old man’s expression never changed, nor did he seem to hear Alec. His teeth chattered as with cold.

  Alec slapped his hands against the pockets of George’s overalls. He felt a hard bulge in one. Eagerly he withdrew the wire cutters and went back to Bonfire and Tom. “Keep him quiet just a second more,” he said.

  Tom nodded, hope coming to his eyes upon seeing the cutters. “Steady, fellow,” he told Bonfire. “It’s almost over.”

  Alec got one spoke beneath the cutters. He pressed carefully so as not to excite the colt. There was a sharp twing as the taut wire parted. Bonfire tried to raise his leg, and the wheel and battered sulky moved. He began to struggle but quieted again as Tom’s hands and voice reassured him. Alec quickly cut two more spokes. Then he took hold of Bonfire’s long sinewy leg and withdrew it carefully from the wheel.

  They got Bonfire to his feet. No longer did his body glisten beneath the track’s bright lights. The clay and sand clung heavily to his wet coat. He trembled as Alec had never seen a horse tremble before.

  The track was now crowded with officials anxious to clear the way for the next race. Silver Knight had been led away some time before. The marshals closed in upon Bonfire and Tom Messenger. They got the colt moving, and Alec noticed with relief that there was no sign of lameness in Bonfire’s strides.

  Alec walked behind. He saw George breaking through the cordon of officials in an attempt to reach Bonfire. The old man appeared to have regained his faculties.

  Alec followed them through the paddock and out the back gate. Only then did the officials disperse, leaving Tom and George alone with their colt and battered sulky. Alec caught up with them quickly, and while Tom led Bonfire, he helped George pull the sulky.

  The old man was still somewhat shaken. “Thanks for what you did for him,” he said.

  Alec changed the subject quickly. “I think the colt’s more scared than hurt,” he said.

  George answered, “That’s what Tom thinks.” The old man paused. “Well, he has every right to be scared. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Do you mind if I go back with you?”

  George didn’t look at Alec. “Of course not,” he said kindly.

  They went across the large, open area between the paddock and the stable area and then through another gate. Beyond were hundreds of long sheds, yellow and green beneath the lights. It was quiet here compared to the paddock and track. There were few voices, only grooms calling to one another, and the nickering of stabled horses.

  They went past many sheds before stopping at one in the distant regions of the area. Alec’s eyes had never left Bonfire during the long walk. No, the colt didn’t show any sign of lameness. But did his fine body still tremble beneath the red-and-white cooler? A badly frightened colt could be more of a problem than a lame one.

  He helped George put the sulky beneath the shed’s overhang, and then he turned to Bonfire. Fear was still prominent in the colt’s eyes and, when Tom removed the cooler, his body was wet and trembling. The dirt of the track hadn’t had a chance to cake upon him.

  Tom turned to Alec, his gaze steady and showing concern not for himself but only for his colt. “Thanks for all your help,” he said.

  Alec liked what he’d seen in Tom’s eyes. He knew that tonight’s spill wouldn’t keep Tom from racing again. But Bonfire? Would the colt get over the accident as his driver had done? The answer would come when Bonfire set foot on the track again.

  Tom had taken off his racing silks and was removing Bonfire’s harness. George got a pail of warm water and sponges. Alec took one of the sponges and helped them wash the colt. No one said a word about the race.

  Later they took turns walking the
blood bay colt up and down the row, cooling him off. Alec was helping George clean the harness when the old man said, “Maybe you’d better not write Jimmy Creech about tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t be the one to do it in any case. Jimmy is Henry’s friend. I don’t even know him.”

  “Tell Henry then,” George said.

  “All right.” Alec finished cleaning the bridle and then said, “George—”

  “Yeah?” The chaw of tobacco was shifted as the old man cocked his head to listen.

  “Would it be all right with you if I stayed around?”

  “Y’mean for the rest of the evening?”

  “Longer than that. For a few days.”

  “You’d like a job?”

  “Well, I’ve got a job but I’m not needed right now. I could stick around awhile if you’d have me.”

  George resumed his chewing and then said quietly, “Sure, we’ll have you.”

  Alec turned away, watching Tom lead Bonfire toward them. Fright had left the colt’s eyes. Would it reappear when he went to the track? That’s what Alec wanted to know. That’s why he had to stay.

  “Tom,” said George, “Alec’s going to hang around with us for a few days.”

  Tom smiled, and in that smile was a sincere offer of friendship. He said, “I’m glad, Alec.”

  Then he turned Bonfire over to Alec, for it was his turn to walk the colt. “I don’t think he’s scared any more,” Tom said.

  “I don’t think so either,” Alec agreed. Beyond the row he could see the towering stands. Suddenly the lights dimmed, and a crescendo of voices could be heard above the thunderous beat of hoofs. Another race had begun. Would Bonfire ever appear on that brilliantly lighted stage again? Or get to the Hambletonian?

  Later that night, Alec lay on a cot in the tack room next to Bonfire’s stall. There were two other cots but only one was occupied.

  “I guess Tom will be out walkin’ a long while,” George said in the darkness. “He’s got a lot to settle with himself.”