Kentucky Showdown

by J. R. Roberts

  “Doesn’t matter,” Canby said. “My horse is gonna win.”

  “Is that a tip?”

  “No,” Canby said, “it’s a fact. Eddie, will you finish with his legs?”

  “Sure, boss.”

  “Come on, Clint,” Canby said. “Let’s go up to the house and have a drink.”

  “My horse.”

  “Of course,” Canby said, “that beautiful Darley. Too bad he’s not three. Eddie?”

  “I’ll see to him, boss.”

  “Come on, Clint,” Canby said. “I’ll also show you your room.”

  FOUR

  Ben Canby was a widower whose wife had died ten years before. He lived alone in the big house, but since the place was spotless, Clint had the feeling there was a woman somewhere.

  Clint picked up his saddlebags and rifle on the way into the house. Canby led him to his office, where he poured two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to Clint and then sat behind his desk.

  “I’m glad you made it,” he said.

  “I sent you a telegram telling you I would.”

  “Sure,” Canby said, “but I never know when you’re gonna go off on a quest.”

  “A quest?” Clint asked. “I never go off on quests.”

  “Well, whatever you call them, then,” Canby said, “when people ask you for help and you go running.”

  “You asked me to come here and I came,” Clint reminded him.

  “Yes, but I don’t need help. I just wanted you to share in my triumph.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “you’re lucky I like a good horse race.”

  “This will be a great horse race. Not just a good one.”

  “Do you see any competition for your horse?” Clint asked. “How about these?” He reeled off the name of the horses he’d received tips on.

  “No, no, none of those,” Canby said. “Those are all locals, and they’re not in the same class as Whirlwind. No, the competition is coming from out of town.”

  “Like who?”

  “There’s a horse coming from the East called Easy Going,” Canby said. “Supposed to be undefeated.”

  “Have you seen the animal?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Anybody else?”

  “Only one other that I know about,” Canby said. “Coming in from California, named Sunday Song. Also undefeated.”

  “And your horse?”

  “Undefeated in five races,” Canby said.

  “So three undefeated horses,” Clint said. “That does sound like an interesting race. How many horses altogether?”

  “About fifteen, I think.”

  “Big field. Could be some bumping.”

  “It’ll be up to my jockey to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “Who’s the jockey?”

  “The same boy who rode him in his first five races,” Canby said. “You’ll be meeting him.” He put his empty glass on the desk. “Let me show you to your room. You can clean up before we eat lunch.”

  “Who’s making lunch?” Clint asked, following Canby into the hall.

  “I have a cook, Clint,” he said. “She makes breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and she’s good. And I’ve already told her about your coffee.”

  “Warned her, you mean.”

  “That’s right.”

  He led Clint through the house and up to the second floor.

  “Does she clean, too?” he asked. “This place is pretty clean.”

  “I’ve got a girl who comes from town to do that,” Canby said.

  They walked past several doors until Canby stopped and said, “This is your room.”

  Clint went into the room. It was larger and more expensively furnished than most hotel rooms he’d ever been in.

  “This’ll do,” he said to Canby.

  The man laughed and said, “Water on the dresser. Come on down when you’ve cleaned up.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Clint . . . I’m glad you’re here. You’re gonna see something amazing.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Canby left Clint to freshen up, closing the door as he went.

  * * *

  Ed Donnelly had just finished unsaddling Eclipse when a man in black entered the barn.

  “Was that him?” the man asked.

  “It was him,” Donnelly said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “He introduced himself.”

  “He gonna stay awhile?”

  “Looks like.”

  The man nodded, handed Donnelly some money, and then left the barn.

  FIVE

  Clint washed his face and hands, but wore the same clothes as he went down for lunch. He found Canby seated at the head of a long table in the dining room, alone.

  “Ah, just in time,” Canby said. “Elena is about to come out with lunch.”

  Instead of sitting at the other end, Clint pulled up a chair to Canby’s right and sat down.

  As he did, the door to the kitchen opened and a woman in her fifties came out, carrying plates of food. She set them down in front of the men without a word, and went back to the kitchen, only to reappear with a bottle of whiskey, and a pitcher of water. Clint noticed there was already a glass for each on the table in front of them.

  “Thank you, Elena.”

  The woman nodded and left.

  Clint looked at his plate. On it was a perfectly prepared half a chicken, with vegetables.

  “Don’t worry,” Canby said. “Steak for supper.”

  “This is fine,” Clint said. “He picked up a piece and bit into it. “In fact, it’s great.”

  “Yeah,” Canby said, picking up his own, “everything Elena cooks is.”

  As they ate, Clint asked, “When do I get a chance to see your horse run?”

  “I’m gonna work him tomorrow morning,” Canby said. “Just to keep him loose. You’ll see him then.”

  “Do you know the trainers of the other undefeated horses?”

  “I didn’t know them until they got here. There was a dinner for all the owners and trainers. We met then.”

  “What about Whirlwind?” Clint asked. “Does he have an owner?”

  “That’d be me,” Canby said. “Owner and trainer.”

  “And the others?”

  “They all have separate owners and trainers.”

  “Where are they all staying?”

  “Various hotels and horse farms in the area,” Canby said.

  “Are there enough farms to accommodate them all?”

  “In Kentucky?” Canby asked with a laugh. “Dozens.”

  “Have you watched any of the other horses train?” Clint asked.

  “No need.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have the best horse.”

  “How can you be so sure, Ben?”

  “Clint,” Canby said, “I’ve been around horses all my life. I know when I’ve got a good one. And I’ve got a great one.”

  “How great?” Clint asked.

  “I’d put him up against your Eclipse.”

  “Whoa.”

  “I would,” Canby said, “and I know what your horse can do. I wouldn’t put Whirlwind up against him on the trail, but on the racetrack I’d put my horse up against any other.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “that’s impressive.”

  “You’ll be even more impressed once you’ve seen him run,” Canby said.

  “What are the odds?”

  “So far we’re six-to-one.”

  “Who’s favored?”

  “The other two horses I told you about,” Canby said, “Easy Going and Sunday Song.”

  “Why aren’t you favored? You’re local.”

  “That might be working against me,
” Canby said. “The other two horses have beaten animals from all over the country—the world, even. Whirlwind has only beaten local competition.”

  “Why haven’t you traveled with him?”

  “I could have taken him east, run against Easy Going, or west and run against Sunday Song, but if he’d beaten them, then what?”

  “Then you wouldn’t be six-to-one,” Clint said. “You’d be favored.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re going to make a bet.”

  Canby smiled.

  “A very big bet,” he said, “and I’d advise you to do the same.”

  “I might,” Clint said. “After I’ve seen him run.”

  * * *

  After lunch, Canby walked Clint around the grounds, introduced him to a few more employees—a groundskeeper, a groom, a vet.

  “You keep your own vet around?” Clint asked.

  “Oh yeah,” Canby said, “and I pay him enough that he doesn’t have to have any other patients, just Whirlwind.”

  “You must be paying him a lot.”

  “It’s worth it, believe me,” Canby said.

  “You’ve got other horses.”

  “Some,” Canby said. “He looks after them, too, but none of them can hold a candle to Whirlwind. You’ll see, Clint. In the morning, you’ll see.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Clint said.

  “What?”

  “Let Eclipse run with your horse tomorrow.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I just want to see him with another horse at his throatlatch.”

  “Your monster will give him a run for his money, that’s for sure. But I don’t want to tire him out.”

  “No, no,” Clint said, “I’ll just run with him.”

  “You’re gonna ride?”

  “Why not?” Clint said. “It’s my horse.”

  Canby thought it over, then said, “Okay, but early. Six a.m.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Clint said. “I’ll go out to your stable now and check on my horse.”

  “Supper will be at seven,” Canby said. “I’ve got some things to do ’til then, so I’ll see you at the table.”

  “Okay,” Clint said. “Steak, right?”

  “Like I promised,” Canby said, “steak.”

  SIX

  Clint went to the stables to check on Eclipse. The big Darley was standing easy. He’d been properly brushed and fed. Clint inspected his legs, just to be sure.

  While he was looking over the horse, somebody walked into the stable carrying a couple of buckets. When the person put the buckets down and then straightened up, Clint saw that it was a woman.

  “Oh,” she said, surprised, “I didn’t see you there.”

  “You surprised me, too.”

  “That big boy yours?” she asked, indicating Eclipse.

  “He is.”

  “He’s magnificent.”

  “He is that,” Clint said. “I’ve met a bunch of people today, but not you.”

  “I’m Alicia,” she said. “I’m a groom.”

  “I thought I met the groom.”

  “No,” she said, “I’m the groom. Whirlwind’s groom.”

  “Then who was the man I met?”

  “Must have been Frank.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “He thinks he’s Whirlwind’s groom.”

  “Well, so does Ben, then, because that was how he introduced Frank to me.”

  “I take care of him,” she insisted. “Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend of Ben’s,” he said. “My name’s Clint Adams.”

  “Oh, yeah ,” she said, “the Gunsmith. He talks about you.”

  She took her hat off, and suddenly a tangle of black hair fell to her shoulders. Clint saw that she was probably just this side of thirty, fairly tall, and sturdily built. She used one hand to shake out her hair, then tossed her hat aside.

  “Well, I can look after your horse, too, while you’re here,” she said. “He deserves the best.”

  “Did you rub him down?” Clint asked.

  “I did,” she said. “Eddie started, but then I came in and took over. Eddie’s the manager around here—he’s no groom.”

  “He let you touch him?” Clint asked. “He doesn’t take to a lot of people.”

  “Watch,” she said. She walked to the stall, went inside, and spoke softly to Eclipse. When she touched his nose, he didn’t pull away, and then she stroked his neck.

  “See?” she asked. “We get along.”

  “That’s good,” Clint said. “I appreciate it.”

  “I’m gonna see to Whirlwind now,” she said, coming out of Eclipse’s stall.

  “Ben told me he’s going to work him tomorrow.”

  “I know,” she said, “in the morning.”

  “Eclipse is going go run with him.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right,” Clint said. “Ben wants to show off his three-year-old to me, so I thought I’d be able to see better if I was riding alongside him.”

  “But . . . your horse will run him into the ground,” she complained.

  “I’m not going to do that,” Clint said. “We’re just going to run alongside him. I want to get a close-up look.”

  “Well, if that’s all you’re gonna do . . .”

  “I promise,” Clint said. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt Whirlwind’s chances in the Derby.”

  “Well,” she said, “I’ll take good care of both of them.”

  “I believe you will,” Clint said. “I didn’t see you at lunch. Will I be seeing you at supper?”

  “You probably will,” she said.

  “Good,” he said. “We can talk more then.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Clint left the barn, feeling fairly sure Eclipse was in good hands.

  SEVEN

  Daniel Farnsworth watched carefully as his groom walked his three-year-old, Easy Going, around the corral.

  “What do you think, Mr. Farnsworth?” his trainer, Seamus Callaghan, asked. “How’s he look?”

  “He looks damn good, Seamus,” Farnsworth said. “Take him back in.”

  Callaghan waved to the groom, who immediately walked the horse back into the stables.

  “You still intend to work him before the Derby?” Farnsworth asked.

  “Just a light workout, boss,” Callaghan said. “I want to keep him loose.”

  “Have you seen Sunday Song since he arrived?”

  “No, I ain’t,” Callaghan admitted.

  “Well, I have,” Farnsworth said. “He’s looking damn good. Too good.”

  “Don’t worry, boss,” Callaghan said. “Easy Going is in the best shape of his life.”

  Farnsworth, a businessman who had entered the horse-racing world only five years before, looked his trainer over. While he himself was sixty, and wore three-piece suits every day, the trainer—in his fifties—always looked as if he’d slept in his clothes—in the barn. Maybe that was good, that he looked like he spent all his time in the barn with his horses. So far, Callaghan had been very good at his job, training three champions for Farnsworth. But this horse, Easy Going, was easily the best horse they’d ever had. Farnsworth affectionately called the animal “Big Red,” for the color of his coat.

  Farnsworth had actually found the trainer in Ireland and brought him over to condition his horses.

  “I pay you a lot of money to make sure Big Red is in top condition, Seamus.”

  “I know you do, sir,” Callaghan said. “Don’t you worry. Yer money’s not goin’ to waste. I’m doin’ my best work with this horse.”

  Farnsworth turned and looked at the house he’d rented, along with the stables and the corral. Behind the
house was a half-mile racetrack that had not been used in a while. Farnsworth had paid to have the track redone, so it would be in condition for his horse to run on safely.

  “All right,” Farnsworth said, “I’ll be in the house if you need me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Just remember,” the businessman said, “it’s not only the race and the purse that’s at stake. I’m going to be making a sizable bet on Big Red.”

  “I understand that, boss,” Callaghan said. “Don’t worry, he’ll be ready.”

  “He better be.”

  Callaghan watched his boss walk up to the house, then turned and went into the barn to examine Easy Going again, just to make sure.

  * * *

  A few miles away, at the Two Chimneys Farm, two men were also standing, watching a horse, but these men were of comparable age, mid-forties. One was William Kingston, the owner of Sunday Song, and the other was Ollie Shoemaker, one of the finest trainers in the Thoroughbred racing world. He’d been training horses in the United States for twenty years, had trained half a dozen champions. He had already won two Kentucky Derbies.

  Sunday Song was standing still, the groom holding his reins. The animal knew he was being inspected.

  “Look at him, Ollie,” Kingston said.

  “I am, boss,” Shoemaker said. “He looks great.”

  “He is great,” Kingston said.

  “He’s gonna be my third Derby champ.”

  “And mine,” Kingston said. “We’re going to be the greatest owner-trainer combination in racing history.”

  “Not to mention rider.”

  The jockey was to be Lorenzo Capp, who had ridden all of their champions already. The little black man was considered to be one of the best, if not the best jockey in the sport.

  “He’s gonna be here tomorrow, right?” Kingston asked.

  “Yeah, boss,” Shoemaker said, “he’ll work the horse in the morning.”

  “You think the others are working their animals before the race?”

  “If I know Callaghan—and I think I do—he will be.”

  “We’re lucky Two Chimneys was available for training,” Kingston said. “Best training track I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s right,” Callaghan said. “And only the best for Sunday Song.”