The Black Stallion Legend

by Walter Farley

  THE MERRY CHRISTMAS HANDICAP

  3

  Pam’s Song banged against the sides of her starting stall and Alec spoke to her softly, telling her to be patient. They were in the far outside stall; it was better, Alec knew, than being close to the rail where he might be pinned against it. With this kind of track he needed all the room he could get.

  The race was being started from the six-furlong pole on the far side of the track. Across the snow-piled infield Alec could see the stands, now jammed with thousands of fans despite a day that was close to being a snow disaster. While few cars were getting through on the Long Island expressways, trains had brought the crowd to Aqueduct. It was these fans who made New York the most important center of racing in America. How New York fared not only affected racing as a whole but also influenced breeding and the sale prices of yearlings, of broodmares, of stallion shares and breeding. That’s why Henry was interested in staying there and racing. It was the place to be, bad weather or not.

  Alec steadied Pam’s Song. Within a few seconds he’d have a lot of decisions to make, and he’d have to make them quickly in a race as short as six furlongs. If he hesitated, he’d lose the race. He had to avoid jams. He had to sense what was going to happen before it happened.

  “Easy, girl, easy,” he said softly as Pam’s Song twisted in her stall, upsetting his balance as well as her own. “Easy.”

  Henry thought Pam’s Song was easy to race but Alec knew different. No one knows a horse better than the person sitting on his back. No horse stayed the same from day to day any more than people did. You had to ride them as you found them that day. A horse might stop running for you one day and go the distance the next. Pam’s Song had class and ability, but she needed good hands and patience, and if everything didn’t go just right for her, she might not do her best.

  “Run for me today, baby,” he whispered in the filly’s ear. “Run for me.”

  Suddenly Delta Belle in the next stall broke through the grilled door, delaying the start. She ran only a short distance before a red-coated outrider caught her bridle and brought her back. Alec studied her every movement; judging other horses was as important as knowing his own.

  Delta Belle was a walloper in size—a rich, dark bay, almost black in color. She looked more like a colt than a filly, a truly big horse with wonderful leverage of the hind legs, even at the slow trot with which she came back to the starting gate. To Alec this meant enormous propulsion when she did run. The rest of her body, too, gave the impression of power. She was not a showy horse but very plain with a large Roman nose, curved and protruding. Her shoulders were well laid back and her limbs, unlike those of his own mount who was still developing, were in proper proportion to her great size. This horse, the favorite in the race, would give trouble to any three-year-old in the country, including the colts.

  Alec stroked his filly’s neck. She had lost her skittishness and was quiet, maybe too quiet. “Wake up, girl,” he said. “Don’t go to sleep on me now.”

  Delta Belle was being led into her stall and Alec studied her rider, Eduardo Gomez, whom he knew only by reputation. Gomez was no different from most of the other young riders who had come up from racing in countries south of the United States. Gomez was Panamanian, just eighteen and very hungry to win races. He rode Delta Belle into her starting stall, his long black hair hanging from beneath his protective helmet.

  Gomez caught Alec watching him and grinned. “She not happy with this weather,” he said. “Me too. We win. We go.”

  Alec smiled back but said nothing. He studied Gomez’s face for some indication of what the other jockey planned to do. But there was nothing to see in the Panamanian’s face, just dark skin, high cheekbones, sunken eyes, making him look ravaged and hungry despite his incredible success this year riding. No doubt that the lean, poverty-stricken years behind him had left their mark and would always remain a part of him.

  There was a loud thump, then lots of yelling, as another horse broke through the gate. But once again an alert outrider was there to head the horse off and bring her back.

  Pam’s Song banged impatiently against the sides of her stall, and Alec said, “Too bad, but we have to wait a little longer. Easy, girl.” He hoped she was listening to him.

  It was the number 4 horse coming back, Iron Flight, an iron-gray filly, her coat gleaming with obvious good health. She’d come up from the Maryland tracks, where she’d won her last five starts and was the second favorite in the race. She was small but solidly built, and had gotten into the race with 114 pounds, four less than Delta Belle. Alec knew she’d be a hard one to beat.

  It made no difference to Alec, as it did to Henry, that a girl rode Iron Flight. Henry had little use for women at the racetrack, even as grooms. That was why he’d been glad to see Pam go.

  Don’t think of Pam now, Alec cautioned himself again.

  But his eyes followed the girl in Iron Flight’s saddle, knowing Liz Smith could ride with the best of the men. He had seen her race a few times in New York but she rode mostly at the Maryland and Delaware tracks, where she got more mounts. She’d waited a long time for this particular horse, for as she’d told Alec earlier, “I’ve hoped all along to get a two-year-old with class and ride him all the way through his career.” She was doing it with this filly, having lost only one race on Iron Flight last year at two, and going undefeated this year at three. But this was the first time she was meeting a horse of Delta Belle’s quality.

  Or my filly, Alec reminded himself. He stroked Pam’s Song’s neck. His mount was being good, very good; only another minute or so now and they’d be off.

  Alec watched Liz Smith as she rode past him to go back into the gate. He saw the wisp of blonde hair hanging from beneath her red-checkered helmet with the green pompon, then the flashing blue eyes as she removed her goggles to readjust them. She was small-boned, fragile-looking, but Alec was aware of her strength, as he had been of Pam’s. Everything about this girl’s appearance reminded him of Pam and he felt his great loneliness and the emptiness that went with it. But he’d be with Pam soon, he reminded himself, very soon.

  Pam had surmounted the same obstacles as had Liz—sexism on the racetrack. Men such as Henry, who wouldn’t put a girl on a horse’s back, not in the afternoon anyway. Male jockeys who didn’t regard women as a threat, even when they did get a mount to race.

  But Alec was not one of them. Pam had taught him many things, and some had to do with racing. It took balance and instinct and intelligence, as well as strength, to ride 1,200 pounds of horse going at top speed. And women riders were as well equipped as men to guide them. It also took great ability to make a horse relax, to have him want to do his best for you. And in this respect, women were often better equipped than men. At least, it had been so with Pam, Alec knew. Horses ran for her.

  But stop thinking of Pam. It’s no time—

  The gate door flew open, the bell clanged. The Merry Christmas Handicap was on and Alec knew he’d been caught unprepared for the start! From behind the chestnut filly’s braided mane, he saw the other horses break in front of him, the slop and shouts of their riders flying through the air.

  Delta Belle had broken well from her number 7 stall and Gomez was outracing Iron Flight into the lead. But Liz Smith wasn’t letting her small, iron-gray filly fall behind and was moving Iron Flight as fast as she could go. Apparently she was going to make a speed duel of it early.

  Alec knew it had been his fault that Pam’s Song hadn’t broken as sharply from the gate as she should. Henry would be aware of it and would probably know the reason for it. But all that would come later.

  Alec moved Pam’s Song to the middle of the track, now that she’d found her stride. But she wasn’t grabbing the track as she should, and Alec knew it wasn’t to her liking.

  “Easy, baby, easy,” he called, trying to relax her. “Plenty of time yet.” The distance down the backstretch to the far turn was one quarter of a mile, around the turn itself was another quarter
mile, and then a final quarter down the homestretch to the finish line.

  Through his filly’s pitched ears Alec saw Delta Belle begin to draw clear of Iron Flight and the rest of the field. Delta Belle was running easily, smoothly, confidently, as if Gomez knew the race was already his, having fought off Iron Flight’s challenge successfully. Liz Smith had dropped her iron-gray filly back to fourth place and it looked like she was finished. Alec moved Pam’s Song up alongside her, knowing he was in a good position and planning to stay in the clear until later when he would move on again. He wanted to save his filly’s final effort for the homestretch. She was running easily and responding to his hands. She’d have plenty left for the finish.

  The field of seven horses running behind Delta Belle bunched closer approaching the turn, with snow and water splashing on every side of them. A hard-running roan filly pulled up on Alec’s right side, challenging the leaders, her rider whooping and hollering. His shouts stirred up Pam’s Song and Alec felt his filly grab for the bit.

  “Shut up!” he yelled at the other jockey, knowing it would do no good but saying it anyway. He took hold of Pam’s Song, pulling her up, not wanting to go any faster. It was then that he felt the saddle slip beneath him, going forward until it was halfway off the saddlecloth! Alec reached back, clawing at the saddlecloth, but it was to no avail. With the saddle riding high on the filly’s withers, he had no control over his mount!

  Pam’s Song moved forward with an unleashed burst of speed, moving ahead of Iron Flight and the others in blinding pursuit of Delta Belle only three lengths ahead.

  She caught the favorite before they’d reached the turn, and with still a half-mile to go! Alec knew it was too far to go all out, as she was doing, and win. He had no choice but to stay on her, if he could, let alone pull her up. Never before had a saddle slipped on him during a race. Henry had not secured it properly or the water splashing against her belly had stretched the elastic. Either way, nothing could be done now except to hang on!

  Delta Belle increased her speed as Pam’s Song pulled alongside, her jockey glancing at the chestnut filly’s bobbing head beside him, then urging his favorite on.

  They swept around the turn, going stride for stride as a two-horse team. Alec couldn’t understand the reason for Gomez wanting this speed vendetta with him, unless the other jockey hadn’t noticed that he had no control over Pam’s Song. Whatever the reason, it was obvious that Delta Belle had not met this kind of challenge deep in the stretch in a major race and was digging in, fighting back, refusing to give up the lead. Pam’s Song was inching ahead of the favorite but Alec knew she couldn’t maintain this torrid pace much longer—and neither could Delta Belle.

  Passing the stands with less than a furlong to go, only two hundred yards more, Alec knew what was going to happen. He heard the rush of hoofs from behind and wondered which horse it was going to be.

  A low-leveled, iron-gray head drew alongside. Red-checkered silks, topped with a green pompon on a protective helmet, came in sight. Alec knew it was Iron Flight and Liz Smith who would win this race.

  Pam’s Song missed a stride and Alec steadied her, knowing he wasn’t going to be in on the final drive to the finish wire. But neither was Delta Belle, for the blistering pace had beaten her too. The favorite was faltering, giving way, despite the whipping she was getting from Gomez.

  “Go get it, Liz!” Alec yelled as Iron Flight pulled away from both of them.

  Alec didn’t urge Pam’s Song on, while Delta Belle responded to Gomez’s whip by coming on again to finish second to the iron-gray filly. It was enough, Alec decided, that they were third, and that they had been able to finish the race at all.

  Ahead of him was a vacation, and time to be with Pam. He desperately needed both.

  THE LOSS

  4

  Deep snow covered the paddocks and pastures of Hopeful Farm but horses were turned out and playing beneath a bright noonday sun. Alec stood at the window of his office in the Stallion Barn and watched them. It was quiet, very quiet, and the contrast to the daily noise at the racetrack acted as a tranquilizer. The peace of it was made all the more beautiful because he had left Henry behind at Aqueduct.

  His old friend had been furious with him for being caught napping at the start of the race, telling him the saddle wouldn’t have slipped had he been clear from the start and not bunched with the others where the going had been sloppiest of all. Henry never took into account that he might not have secured the saddle as well as he should have done.

  “Finish up what you have to do at the farm,” he had bellowed. “Then go see that girl and get her out of your system. That’s if you want to ride for me!” It was just like the old man to blame anyone but himself for what went wrong these days. Henry had been under a lot of pressure lately, financial pressure most of all.

  Hopeful Farm was an incorporated business with Alec’s parents and Henry as principal stockholders. Officially, Alec’s position was that of stable rider, since one could not own and ride a racehorse. Unofficially, Alec was as much under pressure as anyone else, for races had to be won if the farm was going to remain in business.

  Alec pictured Henry after the race, all stooped over with his arms hanging down like an ape’s, saying, “You could have pushed her on and taken second money from Delta Belle; that would have meant eleven thousand dollars instead of only six thousand.” Henry had been more hard-eyed than ever, and there had been a sickly pallor to his face. The pressure was telling on both of them, Alec knew. It wasn’t what Hopeful Farm was meant to be for them, not at all.

  He watched the mares in the adjacent field, all heavy in foal to the Black or Satan. The future of Hopeful Farm rested on the colts and fillies they were carrying. Would he and Henry be able to hold out, to wait for these foals to win races or bring sales prices that would keep them going? Only time would tell.

  Meanwhile, Alec regretted that their great need for dollars had turned his love for horses into a business. It had changed him, just as it had Henry.

  Who could say what he truly wanted anymore? Except something he didn’t have yet. Something just over the hill. Something just beyond the reach of his fingertips. He didn’t know what he was after. He was worse than Henry, who did know. A few years ago all Alec truly wanted was to race. Then he’d got the chance, just as Henry had, thanks to the Black. But there should be more between them than what there was. They were still friends but not the way they used to be, and their need for money was the reason for it.

  Henry didn’t mean it when he’d said he’d get other riders. Not that he couldn’t, Alec knew. Every jock on the grounds was panting for a chance to ride for Henry, who could do as much for a jockey as he could a horse. He’d told Alec, “You’re gaining experience and maturing as a rider, but you still have a way to go. The great thing is that you’re as good as you are so soon.” And then, when he’d seen Alec’s face fall, he’d fretted and massaged his cheeks with one hand before adding, “Not that I can find fault with you when you ride the Black. That’s different. You’re tattooed on him; you’re one with him. It’s the other horses I’m talking about.”

  Alec turned away from the window and went back to his desk. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He was tired, exhausted, as whipped mentally and emotionally as Henry. It was good to be alone, to be able to just put his head down on the desk and close his eyes, to do nothing but think of the girl he loved and what might have been … or what still might be.

  There was no sound in the room except Alec’s deep breathing as he tried to relax every race-torn muscle. He had no trouble controlling his body. It was his head that was giving him problems. He needed Pam.

  Alec saw her again. Every feature, every detail, was there in his mind. But it was not her golden hair, her long-lashed blue eyes, her high, sharp cheekbones or her ears as small and delicately sculptured as her nose that meant most to him. No, it was none of these that he remembered so well, that made him want to walk beside her forever. It wa
s her will to live and the joy she brought to him and all those she touched. It was her honesty, every emotion showing clearly in her face, with nothing to hide or to prove to anyone, seeing only one person, one thought at a time, talking, describing her life, speaking with all the spontaneity and excitement of a child, “I live! I live!”

  A face so different from his own, Alec thought, and from all those he knew. In his everyday, workaday world he wore a mask, and even when startled, surprised, frightened, nothing showed. The mask hid his inner self and he worked efficiently, emotionlessly, from day to day.

  Alec raised his head from the desk. He needed to be touched by Pam’s magic again, to feel her sense of sureness, of rightness, her softness yet resilience, her gaiety yet earnestness. All this he needed to survive the pressures he felt engulfing him.

  Alec opened a desk drawer and removed a stack of letters he had received from Pam. Taking the last one, he opened the envelope and read:

  18, Quai de Béthune

  Paris, France

  Dec. 12th

  Dear Alec,

  I can’t wait to see you! It’s been so long! I love you and want to be with you always …

  Alec stopped reading and wondered, did that mean she was ready to come back? She’d been working at stables in England and France for almost two months. Maybe she’d had enough. Maybe she’d return with him to Hopeful Farm!

  … I’ve been so happy lately I can hardly stay in my skin. I’ve been grooming horses in the neatest riding school just outside Paris, where they teach dressage. Part of my salary has gone into riding lessons naturally. Oh, Alec, I know what joy it is for you to ride a fast racehorse, but did you know you can achieve the same joy from riding at a slow, cadenced trot? It’s called “passage,” and you’re truly one with your horse. It’s the same feeling as when you ride the Black, only you achieve it by high, measured strides. I can’t wait to have you try it! We have Hanoverians, Trakehners, even Lipizzaners to ride when you get here!…