Alec waited until Henry had skillfully maneuvered the filly into the corner of the paddock. When the trainer had her by the halter, Alec started down.
More than ever he was anxious to ride her. He had liked her easy way of going about the paddock. But only when they had her on the track would they be able to learn what kind of racehorse she would be. Her mischief and bad manners could be corrected. More important were her speed over a distance, a will to win, and gameness. All three were necessary if she was to become a champion. Within a few minutes they’d start up the long road that would give them their answers during the months to come.
Henry was waving to Alec, urging him to quicken his steps. He broke into a trot, but continued thinking of the filly.
She had a mind of her own, and that to him indicated she’d inherited some of the Black’s temperament. Not all of it, thank heavens. No more than Satan had. A little of it went a long way. Then certainly she should have his tremendous will to win and gameness! Alec’s eyes were shining brightly as he neared Henry and Black Minx.
“Get the tack now,” Henry said.
Alec nodded and went on to the tack room in the stallion barn. A few moments later he helped Henry put on the filly’s bridle. She gave them no trouble with it or with the light saddle that they placed snugly on her back. She had worn each in her stall the week before, and was used to them again.
Henry clasped his hands, ready for Alec’s knee. His face was serious, even a little grim. “I don’t know how long it’s been since she’s had anyone on her back,” he said quietly.
Alec raised his leg and was boosted up. He knew Henry wasn’t worrying about his ability to stay on the filly. The trainer’s concern was mostly due to wondering how she’d look to him under saddle. Henry, too, was well aware that this was the beginning of the road which would take Black Minx to the Derby post or end in her complete failure as a racehorse. Alec felt the light black body beneath him quiver, then shift uneasily.
Henry held her by the bridle. “Stick with her,” he said, “but don’t force her unless you have to. Go slow so you can feel her out.”
Alec nodded, taking up rein as Henry left to close the paddock gate. The filly slid quickly to the side but Alec moved just as fast. He felt out her mouth and pressed his knees a little tighter against her sliding body. He talked to her all the while. Finally she came to a stop.
Henry returned to take hold again of her bridle. He led her past the stallion barn, and the filly’s only sudden move was to turn her head toward Napoleon, who stood at his paddock gate watching them.
After going a short distance, Alec said, “Let me have her, Henry. If she’s going to try anything, I’d rather have her do it here in the field than on the track.”
Henry’s hand left the bridle. “Okay, Alec. Jog her over, then give her a gallop of a mile and a quarter. A slow gallop unless I give you the word to step it up a bit. That’s all I want today.”
Henry dropped behind them. For a moment the filly stayed at her fast walk, then her ears came back. Alec smiled. It was as if she had just realized she was alone with him and free of Henry for the first time. Tossing her black head, she moved into a jog. Alec rose in his short stirrups, talking to her all the while.
And now he realized more than ever that she wasn’t as small as she looked. Her parts were so well put together that she just seemed small until you rode her.
“Act nicely now,” he said softly. “Easy now, girl.”
Black Minx’s heavy mane was tossed back against Alec’s head. He felt her mouth working on the bit. She was feeling him out just as he was doing with her. She turned her ears at the sound of his voice. Quickly, jerkily, she moved them back and forth. He believed she was trying to decide just how far she could go with him. Suddenly she tried to find out. She swerved abruptly, seeking to unseat him. But he moved with her, his knees and hands firm. Finally he straightened her out again.
“You can’t get away with it,” he told her softly.
The filly grabbed the bit and bolted. Alec’s hands gave in to her, but only for a second. Then they moved quickly and he had the bit loose from between her clenched teeth. He brought her down to the jog Henry had ordered.
“I told you not to try it.” He patted her neck.
She extended her head, wanting more rein. She stayed quiet, so he gave in a little. Again he felt her teeth champing on the bit, still feeling him out, not yet ready to admit that he was able to outguess her. He was ready when she swerved once more. His hands and knees tightened as he went with her, then straightened her out again.
For the remaining distance to the track the filly gave him no trouble. Alec rubbed her neck fondly. She knew just how far she could go with him. Perhaps she’d be a good little girl from now on.
He jogged her halfway up the track, then turned, awaiting Henry’s signal to gallop. He was to take her a mile and a quarter, two and a half times around their half-mile training track. He turned to the field beyond but couldn’t see the Black. The stallion was down in the ravine. Henry waved his hand, and Alec gave the filly some rein.
She moved quickly into her gallop, and the smoothness of her gait caused Alec to think again of how like her sire she was. He pressed his head close to her neck. “Come on, you little Black,” he said excitedly. “Come on!”
Like her great sire, she kept her head high and her ears pricked forward while she galloped. Alec felt the flowing power, controlled now, but promising a world of speed when he asked for it.
They passed Henry, and Alec wanted to shout to him that here was a fine filly. Here was one with extreme speed, a filly worthy of her great heritage. But he controlled his enthusiasm. He would give her more rein. Let Henry see a little of it for himself.
His hands moved forward as he took her into the first turn. “Now, Minx,” he said. “I’ll let you go a little more.” He began clucking in her ear.
She moved close to the rail, her strides never faltering. But neither did they pick up any speed. A shadow of concern passed over Alec’s face. They came off the turn and entered the backstretch. She may have been a little afraid of the turn, Alec decided. He gave her more rein, clucking to her again. “Now, girl! Let’s pick them up.”
Her strides neither lengthened nor came faster. Still moving smoothly, she made no effort to increase her gallop in spite of the slack rein, the clucking in her ear. Alec slid closer to her neck, talking to her, urging her on. But her only response was the constant flicking of her small ears, forward and back. All through the backstretch, around the turn and down the homestretch she continued her slow, easy gallop.
Henry shouted, when they passed, “That’s good, Alec, but move her up a little on the next round!”
Move her up a little! Alec grimaced at Henry’s instructions. He sat quietly in the saddle, feeling miserable for Henry, for himself. He couldn’t get an ounce more speed out of this filly. She knew what she was doing, and what he wanted from her. But she just wouldn’t run for him! Perhaps a whip would bring the speed out of her. But forcing a horse to race with a stick wasn’t for him or Henry or Hopeful Farm.
Alec took the filly into the first turn again, sick with disappointment in this first daughter of the Black.
Sires are only half, he reminded himself.
But this filly is out of a good mare. And she has the Black’s looks and temperament. She has the Black’s speed! He could feel it in her every movement. Yet she wouldn’t use it, and neither he nor Henry would ever beat it out of her with a whip.
The reins were slack against her neck. He kept talking to her, urging her, as they once more entered the backstretch. But she did not respond. Suddenly Alec heard the Black’s shrill whistle. The filly bolted, her strides finally coming faster.
Alec caught a glimpse of the stallion moving over the hilltop in his field. Then the Black was plunging toward the high, wooden-barred fence which ran parallel with the track for the length of the backstretch.
His sudden appearance had fright
ened the filly, for she galloped hard. She bore down upon the back turn. She ran low, her strides coming long and fast. Alec pressed his head hard against her neck and let her go.
Coming off the turn, she slowed as suddenly as her terrified flight had begun. She settled back into her easy gallop, turning her head to look across the track’s infield where the Black raced up and down the fence.
Alec took her past Henry again, then into the turn for the last quarter of a mile which had been ordered. As they neared the Black, she watched him but she was no longer frightened. She didn’t break stride even when the stallion settled down to run along the pasture fence beside her.
Finishing the full distance, Alec drew back on the reins. She fought him furiously, but he got her down to a jog. “You’re a contrary filly,” he said bitterly. “I don’t know what Henry’s going to do with you.”
When he took her the rest of the way around the track, he was afraid to look at Henry. He was certain that his eyes would tell the story of his disappointment in the filly.
Taking Black Minx’s bridle, Henry said severely, “I didn’t tell you to breeze her, Alec. You took her too fast that one furlong. She’s not ready for it.” Then he added more softly, “But I guess it didn’t hurt her any.”
“She made that fast move only because the Black frightened her,” Alec said. “I didn’t have anything to do with it. She loafed all the rest of the time. I couldn’t even make her gallop faster as you wanted me to do.”
For a moment Henry’s face sobered, then lightened. “She’s got the speed in her. I’ll find a way to get it out when we’re ready for her breezes and fast works.” He raised a hand to stroke Black Minx’s head. When she tried to nip him he had no alternative but to slap her on the muzzle. “I guess I got a Derby horse, all right, Alec. I guess I have.”
Alec sat back in the saddle. At the moment he didn’t think Black Minx ever would be ready to race, much less start in the Kentucky Derby. But all that was best unsaid.
HOT POTATO
5
The month of December brought no change in Henry’s optimistic belief that he would have Black Minx all set to race by the following spring. He discussed with Alec’s father, who had charge of the farm and racing stable budgets, the nomination payments which would be due the middle of February. These sums of money had to be paid in order to make the filly eligible for the Kentucky Oaks at a mile and a sixteenth, and, more important, for the Kentucky Derby at a mile and a quarter. Both races were to be held at Churchill Downs, Louisville, Kentucky, during the first week in May.
Henry told Alec that although Black Minx was owned by him he wanted her to race in the black-and-white colors of Hopeful Farm. He also insisted that any money she won would be invested in their farm operation and in the training of their horses.
Alec saw no reason for Henry’s high hopes of racing Black Minx successfully. He continued riding her daily, galloping from a mile and a quarter to sometimes two or three miles, according to Henry’s instructions, and never once did she make the slightest attempt to move faster. Henry didn’t offer to explain why he thought he could overcome the filly’s loafing, nor did he tell what he was going to do to accomplish this feat. And Alec did not ask him. He rode Black Minx only as he was ordered, and let it go at that.
She was easier under saddle now, seldom making any attempt to unseat him. She had learned that his reflexes were as fast as her own, that he was alert and ready for her every move. But she wouldn’t run for him, and there was nothing he could do about it without resorting to a whip, the use of which neither he nor Henry approved.
“Besides, it still wouldn’t get any speed out of her,” Henry told him one day. “Use a whip on her and she’d take you through the rail, same as she did Nino Nella in Florida last year.”
“She was a two-year-old then. Don’t they have a rule at Hialeah Park that jockeys can’t carry or use whips in two-year-old races?” Alec had asked.
“Sure. But Nella used his hand, spanking her, when she didn’t move for him. That’s against the rule, too. He was fined by the judges.”
“Getting a fine on top of a broken collarbone couldn’t have made him very happy with this filly.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so. Nella’s out in California now. He sure wasn’t right for Black Minx. He’s a ‘huffle-scuffle’ rider, using his hands and feet every second to get the most out of his mounts. This filly has too much of the Black in her for that kind of riding. Try to force the speed out of her with hands or feet and she’ll balk good. I guess we understand that, all right.”
Alec understood, but it didn’t help any in riding her on her daily workouts. She had become part of his day, and his days were full, although Henry continued to help with the farm chores. Fortunately the weather, for the most part, remained good and they were able to turn out the horses every day.
In the early afternoon of the first Saturday in January, Alec left the stallion barn. A cold rain was falling and he knew he wouldn’t be riding Black Minx. Nevertheless he made his way toward her barn. The next hour belonged to the filly, and Alec seldom veered from his schedule.
The freezing rain pelted his face, so he pulled the hood of his jacket over his cap and hunched his shoulders. Henry wouldn’t be in a happy mood with this kind of weather. Still, there had been few days like it, many less than Henry had dared hope for. Alec wondered if any candidate for the Kentucky Derby had ever been trained so far north. Most of this season’s top three-year-olds were wintering in Florida, California, and the Carolinas. But the weather here had been good to them so far. He hoped it would continue to be.
Even so, could he believe that Black Minx would one day be ready for the Derby? Sliding open the barn door, he went inside, angrily casting off his misgivings. If Henry said she would be ready, she would be. Henry knew what he was doing.
Going to the filly’s stall, he found Henry grooming her. She tried to turn her head at his approach but the short rope held her too close. She whinnied, pawing at the straw until she found the clay floor beneath.
Henry stopped her pawing, then turned to Alec. “Awful day,” he said.
“Awful.”
“Too bad,” Henry said, running his cloth down the filly’s legs. “She needed the work.”
Alec stepped inside the stall. Black Minx turned her head toward him. He saw the restlessness in her eyes. She wanted to get out. “Not today,” he told her.
She tossed her head but stood surprisingly still beneath Henry’s hand. Once more Alec marveled at the change Henry had brought about in her stable manners. Very seldom did she rear or paw. Her only fault was nipping. She was still inclined to do that in spite of Henry’s careful and patient handling.
Henry swept the cloth over the filly’s level back. Alec noticed how fine she looked. The long and frequent gallops had done her a world of good. Her body glistened with supple muscle, in all the right places. That she could look so much like the Black, that she could possess so much of his speed and still not want to run, were the reasons for Alec’s great disappointment in her. Courage and the will to respond and win a race were the qualities he most respected in her great sire. The Black had given these to Satan, but not to this filly. Why?
Alec heard himself say, “It’s such a pity.” He stopped suddenly in a futile effort to choke back his words, to keep them from Henry.
The trainer turned. “A pity, Alec?” He studied the boy’s face. “You mean y’still don’t think I’m going to get her to run the way I know she can?”
Alec shook his head. “I know you can do it, Henry.” He tried to sound sincere.
Henry smiled. “Sure I can, Alec. I’ll get the best out of her the wisest way. I know the key that’ll turn it all loose. You’ll see.” He became excited, his eyes shining brightly. “This is just what makes the handling of a colt or filly by the Black the most exciting thing in the world, Alec. You don’t train ’em by the book. No, you think and probe, and feel your way along to find the right key that
sets the works off. Then you have a real racehorse!”
“You’re right. I know—” Alec stopped suddenly, his gaze shifting to the filly. Henry had moved closer to her head during their conversation, and now she was reaching for his arm, her teeth bared. “Watch out, Henry!”
His warning came too late. The filly bit Henry high on his left arm. Then she drew back, tossing her head. Henry’s lips were clenched tight in pain and his right hand gripped the injured arm.
Outside the stall Alec reached for the torn sweater but Henry brushed his hand aside. “It’s all right,” he said.
“You’d better get to a doctor.”
“Why? I’ve been bitten before and I’m still around.”
“It’s bleeding,” Alec said.
“I know it is. I’ll treat it myself.”
“I still think you should see a doctor,” Alec repeated, although he knew his advice wouldn’t be taken. “She wasn’t playing this time,” he added.
“No.” Henry turned away from the filly and from Alec too. He started down the barn.
Alec caught up with him at the foot of the stairs that led to Henry’s apartment. “What are you going to do?”
“Fix my arm first.” Henry’s footsteps were hard on the stairs.
“And then?” Alec asked anxiously.
Henry was in his bathroom before he answered, “I’m going to tighten the grip on her. I tried being nice but it didn’t do much good. Now she’s got to learn once and for all. If I let her go, she’ll be taking my hand off one of these days. Even if she’s playin’ I won’t like it none.”
He removed his torn sweater and shirt, disclosing the two clean cuts from the filly’s upper and lower teeth. The wound was still bleeding. “Get me that bottle of antiseptic in the medicine chest there,” he said. “And the cotton and gauze.”
The Black Stallion's Filly Page 5