As Henry had said, things could get worse, much worse.
FIGHTING STALLION!
12
The following week saw the arrival of all the horses entered in the International Cup race. Phar Fly, the Australian champion—a robust blood bay stallion with glossy black mane, tail and stockings—was the first to arrive; then came the European horses. Sea King, from England, was a gray, small in height but long-bodied. Cavaliere, from Italy, was a rich brown stallion with four white stockings, standing seventeen hands in height. His entire physique signified power. Avenger, from France, was a round, chunky little dark bay horse, dainty to the point of femininity, his action effortless and birdlike. The last to arrive at the track was Kashmir, from India, a sorrel with white face and feet; sixteen hands strong he stood, alert and confident, high-spirited and fractious.
And with their arrival came the owners, trainers, exercise boys, grooms and reporters. No longer was the row quiet, belonging only to Alec and Henry, for now from morning until night horses and people filed up and down the row.
The top of the Black’s stall door was left open for only a few hours each day. And during that time Alec and Henry would stand close by, watching him, ready for anything he might do.
“He’s got to get used to seeing them around,” Henry had said earlier in the week. “A few hours a day will be enough until we think he’s ready to be with the others.”
But the Black’s hatred of the other stallions did not lessen with each passing day. His shrill challenging whistles were screamed constantly, even from behind closed doors.
A week before the big race, Alec stood beside Henry at the track rail, watching Lenny Sansone work Satan. Working out with the burly colt were Cavaliere and Avenger.
Satan was moving fast, coming down the backstretch, and Henry had his watch on him. The black colt swept thunderously into the turn, moving close to the rail. Leveled out, with his ears flat against his head, Satan came off the turn and passed them.
The light of a trainer’s joy and pride in the part he had played in molding such a horse shone in Henry’s keen gaze as he watched Satan. He pressed the stem of his watch and glanced at it. “He’s ready. They’ll have to really go to beat him,” he said, making no attempt to keep his enthusiasm from Alec.
“What’d he do it in?”
“Forty-five.”
“The Black went that,” Alec reminded Henry.
“I know,” Henry said. “But what good is his speed? What good is it, when we’ve got to gallop him nights and keep him penned up during the day?”
Cavaliere passed and they watched the big brown stallion who had won the Italian Derby as his rider let him out going down the stretch.
“His action is a lot like Satan’s,” Alec remarked.
“Yeah,” Henry said, “but there’s the one you want to watch, Alec.” He was pointing to Avenger as the small champion from France moved down the backstretch. “Round and dainty,” Henry added, “but he sure can go. Look at that action, Alec.… That’s what won him his big races!”
Avenger moved with long strides that belied his smallness. He glided over the track, scarcely seeming to touch it with his flying feet.
“He has the coordination of a machine,” Henry said enthusiastically. “And he won’t make any wrong moves, Alec. I’ll have to tell Lenny to watch him; he’s the kind of a horse who could slip by you without your even knowin’ it.”
Alec turned to his friend. “Henry, what are we going to do about the Black? We just can’t go on like this. We’ve got to make up our minds. It’s not fair to him.”
“What do you think we should do, Alec?” Henry returned.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think he’s just making a lot of noise … that he wouldn’t fight at all if we took him out with the others. This is all so new to him that it’s only natural he should be excited.”
“I’ve been thinking along those lines, too, Alec. But we could both be wrong,” Henry added.
“Or we could be right,” Alec argued.
“Yes, I suppose we could.”
“He was coming along well until the others got here.”
“That’s just it, Alec … until the others got here, and they’re still here. He’s not making it easy for them, either.”
“I know,” Alec said. “But maybe if we gave him a chance he’d get it out of his system. He needs to work with the others.” The boy paused and added: “We’d know then, Henry. We could take him away if we were absolutely sure he wasn’t going to come around. I’d feel all right about withdrawing him from the race, knowing we’d done all we could.”
“You mean, if we did that, you’d feel that we’d done everything Abu Ishak could have done had he lived?”
“Yes, Henry, I would.”
Lenny Sansone was bringing in Satan, and they turned toward him.
“That enough for him, Henry?” Lenny called.
Nodding, Henry turned back to Alec. “Let’s get him, then,” he said quietly.
“The Black? You mean it, Henry?” Alec asked anxiously.
“Sure. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” the trainer replied, moving off toward the sheds.
They were walking down the row when Jim Neville, the sports columnist, joined them. “Just got in this morning,” he said. “What’s this talk I hear about the Black not racing in the International, Henry?”
“He’s been giving us trouble. We’re not sure yet,” Henry replied, continuing down the row.
“You mean there’s some truth to this talk of Alec’s not being able to handle him?” Jim asked.
The trainer was silent, so Jim turned to Alec. “What do you think, Alec?”
“I don’t know either. If I can’t control him, we’ll withdraw him, Jim. No good could come of it if we raced him.”
“When will you decide?” Jim asked.
“Within a few minutes,” Henry said. “Stick around.”
They were nearing the Black when they saw the crowd gathered in front of El Dorado’s stall. Joining the group, they saw the track veterinarian in the stall with the golden stallion.
Alec overheard a man tell Henry, “El Dorado ran a high fever again last night, and they thought it best to get the vet.”
Going to the stall door, Alec saw the veterinarian standing beside the stallion. El Dorado’s head hung low and he constantly shifted his weight from one leg to another.
After a few minutes the veterinarian left the stall and hurried away. The group remained there for a while, then broke up, with Henry and Alec walking to the Black’s stall.
“What do you think is wrong with El Dorado, Henry?” Alec asked.
The trainer’s face was thoughtful, and he neither turned to the boy nor answered his question. Instead, he said, “Open the top of his door while I get the tack, Alec.”
When Alec opened the door, the Black pushed his head toward him. Then the stallion caught sight of Avenger and Cavaliere coming in from the track, and he uttered his shrill scream. Moving inside the stall with him, Alec ran his hands down the long neck. “We’re going out,” he said. “And you’ve got to take it easy out there, Black. You’ve got to … or we go home.”
Henry handed Alec the saddle, which the boy put on the Black. The stallion moved uneasily when Alec tightened the girth; then the boy took the bridle from Henry and slipped it over the stallion’s head.
“He knows what’s up, all right,” Alec told Henry.
The Black pushed heavily against the door, his ears pricked and eyes gleaming. Kashmir went up the row toward the track, and the Black’s gaze followed him as he screamed his challenge at the sorrel stallion.
“All right, Henry,” Alec said. “Everything is okay.”
Henry turned to see all the other people in the area watching them; then, taking the Black by the bridle, he opened the door.
With Alec holding him, the stallion moved quickly from the stall. He snorted repeatedly but made no effort to rear or break away.
&nbs
p; “I think he’s going to do all right, Henry,” Alec said.
“We’ve only just started,” Henry returned.
The Black moved quickly up the row, as though eager to reach the track. Near the gate, Henry boosted Alec into the saddle. “What’d I tell you!” Alec said excitedly. “Not one bad move!”
Shaking his head, Henry said, “Sure seems you’re right, Alec. Hard to believe. Get going now, but just a slow gallop.”
It was only when the Black and Alec were on the track that Henry shouted. For the trainer’s gaze had turned to Kashmir rounding the first turn and, suddenly, he thought he knew why the Black’s head had turned neither to the left nor right coming up the row … why he had been so eager to reach the track. The Black knew Kashmir was ahead of him. He could be going after the sorrel stallion!
Henry shouted again to Alec, but the boy was out of hearing distance. Fearfully Henry watched the Black quickly shift his action to a full gallop. He saw Alec’s attempts to hold him back, but there was no shortening of the giant strides. Surely the Black intended to run Kashmir down! Turning abruptly, Henry hurried back to the stables.
Alec kept a tight hold on the Black, remembering that Henry had told him he wanted only a slow gallop. But the Black had hold of the bit and was pulling hard. He wanted to stretch out still more. And it was only natural that he wanted to go, Alec thought, with Kashmir ahead of him.
Moving lower against the black neck, he called to his horse, “Take it easy, fella. It’s too early. It’s not the way Henry wants us to do it.”
Still pulling, the Black moved into the first turn, and his strides lengthened even more.
When they came off the turn, Alec saw the sorrel stallion halfway down the backstretch. It was then that the Black screamed and took over. His body leveled out, yet his head was high with ears pricked forward.
There was nothing Alec could do now but stay with the Black. He had no control over him, for the stallion was running wild. Screaming, the Black bore down upon Kashmir and was directly behind him going into the turn.
The jockey riding Kashmir turned his head, then raised his whip to ward off the oncoming stallion. The Black lunged for Kashmir’s neck. Desperately Alec tried to take him away as the whip came down to strike his horse on the nose. The blow caused the Black to miss his mark, and the stallion swerved abruptly, almost unseating Alec.
A moment later both stallions had come to a stop and were turning upon each other. Kashmir’s jockey slid down from his horse. Alec fought the Black, trying to get him away. But the stallion rose to meet Kashmir. As Alec went up with him, he saw Henry and the other men, pitchforks and shovels in their hands, move in on the two fighting stallions.
The sorrel veered away at sight of the men and they caught him. When the Black came down, he bucked hard and Alec was thrown to the ground. For a moment he thought he was going to lose consciousness. When his vision cleared, there were many men holding on to the Black’s bridle and they had a rope about his neck.
Alec knew that it was all over now, for this was the Black’s answer. There would be no International Cup race for him.
An hour later, Alec stood quietly beside the Black in the closed stall. They were alone, for Henry had gone to the Race Secretary’s office to withdraw the Black’s name from the entries in the International Cup race.
Alec stood in the corner of the stall, waiting for the Black to come to him. He wanted desperately to make amends for bringing him here where he wasn’t meant to be. He accepted the blame for all that had happened. Henry had warned him, but he had gone his way, believing he could control the Black despite the stallion’s natural instinct to fight.
But all that was behind him now. He would start over again. He’d take the Black to the farm. Dad would meet him there, and they’d go ahead with their original plans while Henry raced Satan. Alec didn’t even want to see the running of the International Cup. He’d stay at the farm with the Black.
“I know I’ve got a lot to make up for,” he told the stallion. “None of it was your fault. You only did what your natural instinct drove you to do. You haven’t been trained like the others. And in many ways I’m glad. I want you the way you are, and that’s why we’re going away.”
He had stood there a long while before the Black moved in his direction. But the stallion stopped a few feet away and without moving closer stretched his head to him. Alec let him nuzzle his pocket, seeking the carrot that was there. He raised his hand to the Black’s nose, but the stallion pulled back at his touch. Alec held the carrot out to him. The stallion extended his head again, and as Alec fed it to him he succeeded in gently touching the soft nose.
For a long while he remained beside the Black before leaving the stall. Outside he saw the group gathered again in front of El Dorado’s stall. It seemed that everyone was there, including the press. He was walking over when Henry moved away from the group and came toward him.
“Is he any worse?” Alec asked when Henry reached him.
The trainer took him by the arm, turning him back toward the Black’s stall. But Alec had had a chance to see the worried and drawn looks on the faces of the men before El Dorado’s stall.
“I didn’t get to the Race Secretary’s office,” Henry said grimly. “I didn’t need to.”
“Why? What’s the matter?” Henry still hadn’t turned to him, and Alec could catch only a glimpse of his face as they walked along. And he didn’t like what he saw there.
“The Race Secretary is over there,” Henry said, “along with the track vet and the State vet, who was called in.”
“But why, Henry? Is El Dorado that sick?” Alec looked at the crowd, now gathered in small, tight groups.
“It’s serious, Alec,” Henry said solemnly, turning to the boy for the first time. “El Dorado has swamp fever, the most dreaded horse disease known. They’re putting him down tonight,” he added quietly. “There’s no cure.… It’s the only thing they can do.”
The blood had left Alec’s face, and it was only after a few minutes had passed that he asked hopefully, “But it’s not contagious, is it, Henry?”
The trainer nodded without meeting the boy’s eyes. “It is, Alec,” he said. “It can reach epidemic proportions if not controlled. We can’t leave. Every horse here has been placed in quarantine. A meeting has been called for tomorrow morning in the Secretary’s office. We’ll know more then.”
Alec said nothing. Across the row were Avenger and Cavaliere and Kashmir, all with their heads pushed over their stall doors. Down the line on Alec’s side were Phar Fly and Satan and Sea King … and just behind him was the Black. All of them had been exposed to swamp fever. There was no running away now. It was too late for that.
The Black whinnied, but Alec didn’t turn to him. Instead he clasped his face in his hands while Henry’s arm went around his shoulders to steady him.
THE SILENT KILLER
13
Their faces grave, the trainers filed into the office of the Race Secretary. Silently they took their seats around the long rectangular table at the head of which sat the Secretary. On his right was the State Veterinarian, and to the rear of the table were the sportswriters with their pads and pencils already in hand.
Alec sat beside Henry, waiting like everyone else.
The Secretary rose to his feet, and his eyes were on the sheet of paper lying on the table before him as he said, “The autopsy performed this morning on El Dorado proved without doubt that he had equine infectious anemia, commonly called swamp fever.” He paused, his eyes leaving the paper for the men seated at the table. “I know that all of you have some knowledge of this disease, but at an earlier meeting this morning of the directors of the track and veterinarians we decided that it would be best for the State Veterinarian, Doctor Murray, to acquaint you with all the facts concerning swamp fever. Doctor Murray,” he announced, turning to the man on his right.
The State Veterinarian rose from his chair, his bald head directly in a beam of sunlight that
found its way through the curtained window. “The cause of swamp fever,” he said solemnly, “is a virus carried in the bloodstream. It is most commonly found in horses and mules. A horse may die of the first attack or, as is usually the case, he recovers and seems perfectly well until he experiences another attack. When the attacks come frequently, death follows shortly thereafter. Horses having swamp fever should be destroyed at once, so as not to infect healthy horses with the disease.” Pausing, he added, “At present, there is no vaccine or immunity known to prevent a horse from contracting swamp fever.”
The veterinarian was a tall man and now he straightened to his full height as he looked around the table. “The disease can reach epidemic proportions if not controlled. It is transmitted from infected horses to healthy animals by flies and mosquitoes or through stable equipment such as combs, brushes, saddles, bridles, blankets and anything else which may have touched an abrasion of the infected horse and is then used on a healthy animal. It may spread, too, when infected and healthy horses are fed and watered from the same buckets or are in any way placed in intimate contact with one another.”
The State Veterinarian paused again for a moment, his gaze dropping to the table, then returning to the men who listened to him in sober silence.
“Your horses have all been exposed to this disease,” he continued very gravely. “Even now they may have it, for the incubation period of swamp fever is generally from seven to twenty-eight days, during which time there are no obvious characteristic symptoms. The symptoms, when they do appear, are a fever of one hundred five or as high as one hundred eight degrees Fahrenheit; dejection, usually with low-hanging head; a shifting of weight from one leg to another; breathing more quickly, sometimes with abdomen; swelling of legs and loss of weight.
“Your horses, gentlemen, are now under a forty-day quarantine, the approximate time necessary for us to determine whether or not they are infected. It is regrettable, but this is the only possible action the state can take to prevent this fatal disease from spreading. The directors of the track have had no alternative but to cancel the International Cup race, and we’re asking you gentlemen to take your horses to a state farm a short distance away, where screening tests will be made to ascertain whether or not any horse has contracted swamp fever from El Dorado. We cannot force you to move your horses to the farm or to take the tests, but I must remind you, gentlemen, that in all fairness to the hundreds of horses due to arrive shortly at this track for the regular meeting, you owe it to them and to the sport in general to remove your horses to the farm, so that there will be no opportunity for this disease to spread any further.”
Black Stallion and Satan Page 10