“The hand-feeding?” Henry asked. Without waiting for a reply, he added, “Since she was a foal.”
“No, I meant her excitement.”
“She’s been excited ever since the sale, but she’ll get no hand-feeding from me. She’s been spoiled long enough. She’ll eat out of her box or not at all.” Henry paused. “She’ll get to it eventually. She did on the trip up.”
Black Minx moved a little closer to them, pushing out her muzzle.
“She has a lovely head, Henry,” Alec said. “It’s small and well shaped, like the Black’s.”
Henry nodded. “She’s a big little filly,” he said with a sudden rush of eagerness. “Not at all as small as she looks. See how deep and well sloped her shoulders are, Alec. And her withers couldn’t be better. Look at her hindquarters, too—big and strong.” Henry was pointing now, his hand extended over the stall door. “She’s well ribbed up in the middle, too, and those legs of hers are just as clean and shapely as I like to see ’em. She’ll go a distance. Mark my words, Alec. She’ll be more than a sprinter, a lot more!”
Alec saw the filly’s muzzle move. “Careful, Henry!”
But he was too late. Black Minx had nipped and torn Henry’s shirt.
They stepped back while Henry pulled up his sleeve. There were no teeth marks. She hadn’t caught his flesh.
“My fault for not watching what I was doing,” Henry grumbled. “She tried it a couple of times on the trip, too, but I was always ready for her.”
“She doesn’t look mean,” Alec said.
“She’s not. She just doesn’t know any better.”
“What do you mean, Henry?”
“Well, here’s the story I got on her. This filly was only a weanling when old Doc Chandler died. His widow sold all their stock, but she kept Elf as a saddle mare for herself. She gave the filly to her young grandchildren as a pet. And a pet is exactly what they made out of her. The kids—they were about high-school age—taught her what they thought were cute tricks. Stuff like gettin’ her to rear and paw the air at them, and sometimes to put her forelegs on their shoulders while they walked in front of her. Then, too, they always had her lookin’ for carrots and sugar in their pockets. She’d pull away at their clothes, and they’d laugh about how she had such a time finding what they had for her.”
Henry stopped because Black Minx had moved to her feedbox and was whiffing her grain; finally she began to eat. “See, Alec,” he said. “You just got to have patience and wait for her. We’ll make her a real good-mannered lady one of these days.”
For several more minutes Henry watched the filly before continuing his story. “Anyway, Alec, the Chandler kids thought all those tricks were pretty funny at first. But when she started growing up and getting stronger the tricks weren’t so funny any more.
“They kept away from her when she started rearing and pawing the air at them. They stopped carrying tidbits in their pockets. Her hoofs and teeth were big and strong, for she was a yearling now, and she could hurt when she played or went after carrots and sugar in their pockets. The kids didn’t want to play any longer but she couldn’t get that into her head. She’d played too long with them to stop all of a sudden.”
Henry gestured at the filly’s hindquarters. “That docked tail, for instance. Let me tell you how she got it.”
Alec’s eyes were on the pitiful little chewed-off tail that was most unlike the filly’s sire’s.
“There’s no doubt that the filly, as a yearling, was hard to handle and very mischievous. But it wasn’t her fault she’d got that way. Whenever the kids entered the paddock in front of her barn she’d run after them, probably thinking of the game of tag they’d taught her. But now the kids were scared and ran, and most often, I guess, they got real angry with her. Anyway, one day she caught one of the boys and nipped him, taking off some of his sweater and some of the skin off his back. As I heard it, he was more mad than hurt. So a few minutes later when he saw the filly going into her stall at the end of the paddock, he ran after her and slammed the door hard to keep her penned up. The heavy door caught her tail, and when the vet came he had to amputate most of it.”
Alec’s face was grim. He said nothing when Henry concluded with, “So that’s the way it’s gone for this little filly. No wonder she bites and paws. But I know I’ll be able to do something about both. It’ll just take time and patience.”
After a while Alec pushed himself away from the stall door. “Did the Chandler kids keep her after the accident to her tail?” he asked.
“They left the picture,” Henry said, “by going to college, and Mrs. Chandler turned the filly over to a trainer to be raced as a two-year-old. But she picked a guy with a big stable, who was never able to give the filly all the time she needed after what she’d gone through. He took her along with his stable to Florida last February and started her in one race.”
“What’s she do?”
“Swerved across the track before she reached the first turn, and went through the rail. It took twenty-nine stitches in her breast to put her back together again. The jockey, Nino Nella, got a fractured collarbone out of it.”
“You sure got yourself a filly,” Alec said grimly.
Henry turned to him, and Alec noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. Yet when he spoke his tone was sharp, even a little defiant. “Do you think, Alec, that I could have got this filly for a thousand dollars otherwise? No, sir. No one else at the sale wanted to take the time with her. They all got too many horses to go to all the bother of makin’ over a spoiled one. But I got the time. And I know something else. She’s got the blood and the body and the spirit to make a classic horse.” He paused, smiling now. “Do I look as though I’m taking a real deep plunge having such high hopes for this filly?”
Alec’s face lightened too. “You look as if you think you are,” he said. “You look as though you find it more exciting than comfortable.”
“Maybe so,” Henry said, turning back to his filly. “But this little girl and I are going out to win the Derby. We’re going to …”
“You’re going to what?” Alec couldn’t keep the astonishment from his voice.
Henry just repeated, “The Derby, Alec. We’re going out to win the Kentucky Derby.”
When Alec spoke again he had regained full control of his voice. “It’s almost December,” he said calmly, “and in five months, by the first week in May, you’re going to have rid this filly of her bad manners and have her trained and ready to go a mile and a quarter?”
“I’m going to try, Alec,” Henry said.
Alec turned away. “Come on, Henry. Mom has breakfast all ready by this time. You need some good strong coffee.”
But Henry didn’t move from the stall door. “I’ll be there in a little while, Alec. I want to groom her down good when she’s finished eating.”
Alec turned back. Henry wasn’t looking at him; he had eyes only for his black filly.
It was light when Alec left the barn. His brow was puckered, his thinking confused. What Henry planned to do with Black Minx was fantastic, incredible. With her background, faults and lack of training, how could Henry possibly think of her even as a Derby starter? And even if he was miraculously lucky and got her to the post, what possessed him to think she might win? From the running of the first Kentucky Derby in 1875 until now, only one filly had won the great classic, and that was Regret, back in 1915. Fillies just didn’t win the Derby. They just couldn’t beat good colts over that grueling distance of a mile and a quarter so early in the spring of their third year. Countless record-breaking fillies had tried it, only to be licked in that last hard furlong. Yet Henry had said, “We’re going out to win the Kentucky Derby.”
Alec pushed his red hair off his forehead. He hated to think that Henry, after all his years of experience, was letting his emotions carry him away. No, it couldn’t be that, Alec decided. He wouldn’t let himself even think it. Instead he went back in memory to the days when Henry had taken him and the Black under his wing, whe
n Henry had encouraged him to race the Black because he had confidence in Alec’s ability to handle the stallion on the track.
At the time Henry’s enthusiasm had sounded just as fantastic as what he’d said a few moments ago. But it had turned out the way Henry had said it would. He had ridden the Black to victory over the two best horses in the country.
Then Satan had come along. Alec hadn’t thought it possible for any horse ever to approach the Black’s blinding speed. But Henry had looked at the weanling Satan and said, “This colt might make you change your mind, Alec.”
Fantastic again at the time. But Satan’s race records now proved how right Henry had been.
Alec stopped in front of the house. He wanted to clarify his thinking before going inside.
If Henry had said he was going to get Black Minx ready for the Kentucky Derby, he’d do just that. It didn’t mean necessarily that she’d win, but it did mean that she would be trained for that classic in early May. She would be ready to go the full mile and a quarter.
Alec decided that during the months to come he would never again question Henry’s ability to reach his goal. Instead he would help Henry with his filly in every way possible—just as Henry had helped him with the Black and Satan.
Alec continued up the walk, ready now for a good breakfast.
THE RELUCTANT FILLY
4
For Alec it was like old times having Henry around every day. That week, the last in November, they exercised Satan and the Black. Together they handled weanlings and broodmares, and performed routine farm chores. Henry was his former cheerful self because he had a coming three-year-old to get ready for the following spring and summer campaigns. Alec laughed more, too. He found that, after all, he had not divorced himself completely from the lure of the racetrack; he could still be excited by the schooling of a young racehorse.
He watched Henry with the black filly, taking a keen interest in each step of her progress. He marveled again at Henry’s unlimited patience that had done so much to win his reputation as one of the finest colt trainers in the country.
“Just give me a break in the weather and I’ll have her ready,” Henry said over and over. “An easy winter, so I can get her out on the track ’most every day, is all I ask.”
The weather was mild that week, but Black Minx didn’t set foot on the training track. Instead Henry kept her in the barn, and he got to know her ways pretty well.
Alec noticed that Henry was all business when he entered her stall, which was often. Never did he fondle her or play, as Alec might have been tempted to do. Henry went about his work with the unconcern of a man accustomed to handling horses—with the least amount of fuss or outward exertion. He was gentle but firm with the filly, and always on the alert for any bold move she might make toward him. Only his hand would reach out when it came; one sharp slap on muzzle or foreleg was his reprimand.
Alec had no idea how many times a day Henry groomed Black Minx that first week. Lots, anyway. Her body shone like glossy satin from soft sponges, soft brushes, soft cloths. But Henry wasn’t at all interested in bringing out the beautiful luster of her black coat. Rather it was his way of teaching her good manners.
“We’re just getting acquainted now,” he had told Alec the first day he spent with her. “No more hand-feeding, and for the present a lot of grooming. That may be all we’ll have to do to stop her nipping. I don’t know. But we’ll start there, anyway.”
The filly had stood tied very short with a soft cotton rope around her neck and through her halter.
“I watched the groom getting her ready at the sale,” Henry had continued. “He made the mistake most people make with a filly like this, and that probably goes for the trainer who took her to Florida. He gave her too much freedom of head, and when she turned on him he tried to straighten her out by a blow with his brush or towel. The trouble was he usually missed. So it all became a game to her, like everything else. I keep her tied short. I want her to learn I mean business. But at the same time I want to make my grooming a pleasure for her, so I use nothing but soft cloths and the like. She’s thin-skinned and ticklish. Never should she be given a real hard going-over.”
It was the first of December when Henry took Black Minx out of the barn. She stood in the cool and brisk morning air with her highly polished body brilliantly reflecting the sun’s rays. Her first week of stall schooling was over. She was ready for a little freedom. But she wouldn’t be allowed to romp for hours on end as did the mares, weanlings, stallions, and even old Napoleon. No, she would be given just a short time to frolic alone. Then Henry’s hand would be on her halter again. She was different from the others; her goal was the Kentucky Derby only five months away. Her days would be spent under saddle, jogging, galloping, and breezing. Always she would feel the weight of a rider on her back, his hands on her mouth. She would know no other life for a long, long time to come.
Henry’s hand moved against the filly’s head, shifting her balance so she was always in motion and couldn’t collect herself to rear or paw. He had led her about inside the barn many times during the past few days. She tried fewer tricks now than she had at first. Still he had to be very careful, never giving her a chance to think of anything but what he wanted her to do. He turned to Alec, standing a short distance from them.
“Did you put Satan in the barn?” he asked.
“Yes,” Alec replied, “and Napoleon is in his paddock, as you wanted.”
“How about the Black?”
“He’s in his field,” Alec said. “It’s a nice morning and I only put him out there a short while ago. He needs the exercise.”
“I guess it’ll be all right. He’s probably at the far end of the field, isn’t he?”
Alec nodded, but his eyes were on the filly. Henry had stopped moving her in those small circles. Alec waited to see what she’d do. Sure enough, her foreleg came up and she pawed the air. Henry brought the end of the lead shank smartly against her leg.
“Mind!” he said firmly. “Stand still.”
Alec knew that she had not struck out viciously. She had done it more in play. But it would not have been much fun for anyone to have been on the receiving end of such a blow.
Henry was moving her again. “One good lick at exactly the right moment is worth a dozen taps poorly timed and placed,” he said. “She’ll learn.”
They started up the road, the filly walking between them. Alec put a hand on her neck, rubbing it gently. She had a mind of her own, but she’d come around, all right.
After she had worked off some of her excess energy by running around the paddock, he would ride her for the first time. He wouldn’t have any trouble. He could stick with any kind of a rough colt, so he wasn’t worrying about that. And the moment he sat in the saddle he would know a lot more about her than he did now—perhaps even more than Henry. He wanted to be pleased and happy with what he found. He wanted Black Minx to be the filly Henry thought she was.
Before Henry turned the filly loose in the paddock, he had Alec go up to the far end to flag her down if she built up too much speed. Leaning against the fence, Alec waited. He saw her go over to look at Napoleon in the next paddock. The old gelding pricked his ears, then drew back, a little startled, as Black Minx bolted up the field, kicking out her hind legs.
Alec watched her closely as she neared him and then cut across the paddock. She had gone smoothly into her gallop, so much like the Black and so unlike Satan, whose first movements were heavy and ponderous. Alec liked what he saw, and his gaze shifted to Henry at the other end of the paddock. He knew Henry was enjoying the filly’s action, too.
Black Minx stopped suddenly to rear high and paw the air. When she came down, she was off again with lightning swiftness. Alec knew then she’d never be left at the post, not with such getaway speed. But would she be able to maintain her speed over a distance? Some horses were built for sprints, some for distances. Her smallness made him think she might be a speed horse, a sprinter. But Henry maint
ained she would be able to go a classic distance, the full mile and a quarter at which the Kentucky Derby was run. Well, why shouldn’t she be able to go the distance? Alec asked himself. Wasn’t her sire the greatest distance runner of them all?
Again the filly came up to Alec’s end of the paddock. But this time she brought herself to an abrupt stop a short way from him. She reared, pawing the air, and whinnied shrilly. She even took a few steps on her hind legs, walking with the perfect balance and grace of a ballet dancer.
Alec didn’t move. It was a pretty trick to see, but just now it had no place in her training as a racehorse.
“None of that, girl,” he called to Black Minx.
Finally she came down and stood still, as though waiting for him to make a move, to run, so she could chase him. But he remained still and, after a few minutes, she snorted and bolted away. After going a short distance, she stopped, whirled, and came back to stand before him again. Her eyes were bright in her eagerness to play.
Alec watched the filly closely, knowing that she was more apt to try her tricks with him than with Henry. He was more the age and size of the Chandler kids, who had played with her so long. But he would have none of it. He would do nothing to hinder Henry’s work in making her the racehorse he wanted her to be.
Black Minx’s large eyes never left Alec. She moved a step nearer to extend her head toward him, her muzzle quivering excitedly. Alec waited, talking to her in a low voice but never moving. His hands remained at his sides. He did nothing to encourage her to come closer, to search his pockets, to nip, to play.
Suddenly she snorted again, tossing her head up and down with mane and forelock flying. Alec still didn’t move, and finally she turned away from him, holding her head and docked tail high. Her manner was one of disdain and disappointment.
Her name suited her well, for certainly she was a little minx, Alec decided. Minx meant a pert girl, one inclined to be forward, impudent, even intentionally mischievous. Well, that was this filly all over!
He saw Henry move toward her as she stood by the fence, watching Napoleon. Apparently the old trainer thought it was time to take control again. She had stretched her legs and worked off the edge of her abundant energy. Alec knew that Henry hadn’t enjoyed watching her tricks, her playfulness. From now on she wouldn’t get a chance to frolic alone. From now on she would leave the barn only under saddle.
The Black Stallion's Filly Page 4