The Black Stallion's Filly

by Walter Farley

  “You’d better let me do it,” Alec said impatiently. “There are some things you can’t do all by yourself, especially with only one hand.”

  “I can use both hands,” Henry said, moving his injured arm.

  “Keep it still. You’re making it bleed all the more.” Alec poured the antiseptic on a swab of cotton and cleaned the wound. The bleeding was beginning to stop. “You won’t see a doctor. You’ve got a mind of your own just like the filly. You’re a good pair.”

  “Now the bandage,” Henry said, ignoring Alec’s criticism.

  When the bandage was on, Henry again moved his arm in spite of Alec’s protests. He put on a clean shirt and another sweater, then went to the kitchen.

  Alec heard the sharp clang of a cooking pot against the stove. He arrived in the kitchen to see Henry drop a large potato in the pot. “What are you doing?”

  “Boiling myself a potato.” And with that Henry sat down in a chair, offering nothing more by way of explanation.

  Alec sat down, too. He waited until the steam began to raise the lid of the pot. Then he said, “You’re not going to eat that potato?”

  “No.”

  “Then what are you going to do with it?” Alec’s forehead became wrinkled with concern.

  “It’s a little trick I use only when I have to,” Henry said finally.

  “Maybe you ought to wait until tomorrow, Henry. Maybe you’re sore at her now. You might do something you wouldn’t ordinarily do.”

  Henry smiled. “I’m not sore at her, Alec. I got too close without paying attention to her. It’s just that I’ve got to stop her now or she might do real injury to one of us next time.”

  “Will it hurt her?”

  “She won’t like it,” Henry said. “But she won’t forget it, either. It’s worked before; it’ll work now. I’ve tried bein’ nice, and it didn’t pay off.”

  Alec asked no further questions.

  Henry went to the closet just off the kitchen and began rummaging around the upper shelf. Alec knew he kept a lot of patent bits and gadgets there which they very seldom had any occasion to use. Finally Henry returned, carrying only a slender, round stick about two feet long; it narrowed to a sharp point at one end. It was this end which he thrust into the potato. Then he carried it to the sink and ran cold water over the potato just long enough to kill the steamy odor.

  “Henry, you’re not going to stick that in her mouth!”

  “No, I won’t make the move. She’ll be the one to do it—that is, if she tries to bite me again.”

  Henry went to the closet once more, this time to get a sponge which he placed carefully beneath his sweater near the shoulder of his good arm. Then he returned to Alec. “Slide the stick down the sleeve now,” he said. “Keep the potato against the sponge there. I don’t want it touching my shirt. It’s hot.”

  “I know it.”

  When Alec had finished, the trainer buttoned his sweater again and, taking a heavy rubber band, ran it around his wrist to keep the stick steady and the potato in position.

  By this time Alec knew what Henry was going to do. He would groom the filly, getting close enough to her head so that she could bite him if she wanted to. But this time instead of tearing Henry’s flesh, she would sink her teeth into the boiled potato, burning her mouth.

  “She might hate you forever for it,” Alec said. “This trick might undo all the good your gentling has done for her.”

  “No,” Henry said, “the secret to the success of this trick is that I have the freedom of my hands. I’ll just be standing there grooming her as I always do. She won’t connect my hands with anything that happens to her. She’ll know only that when she bit me she hurt herself. And I have yet to see a horse that forgets this lesson and wants to bite anyone again.” He paused. “I don’t like to burn her. But in a way it’s a lot like a parent letting his child put a finger on a stove to teach him that it’s hot and to prevent a more serious injury later on. Well, maybe I’m doing just about the same thing here. She’ll burn her mouth. But it won’t be anything serious, and she’ll have learned her lesson.”

  “If she bites,” Alec said.

  “Yeah, that’s right. She may not. I don’t know.”

  “And,” Alec said, “if she does, you’d better make certain her teeth hit the potato and not your arm again. If she does, you will have to go to the doctor.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make certain of that.”

  They went to Black Minx.

  “Stay outside the stall,” Henry said, picking up his soft brush.

  Alec watched him walk up to the filly and talk to her softly. She pricked her ears at his reappearance and watched him out of the corners of her large eyes. Henry stayed away from her head, running the brush over her back and humming to her. His right arm, with the concealed stick and potato, was straight and rigid.

  For a long while Henry continued grooming her back and hindquarters, seemingly in no hurry to approach her head. She stopped watching him and her head ceased its tossing. She was enjoying the soft touch of the brush, and Henry was giving her every chance to behave like a well-mannered filly. But finally he began moving toward her neck. He brushed her mane for a while. Her head remained still. Henry went a little more to the front of her, running the brush down her long neck. His right shoulder was close to the filly’s head. Now she was watching him. She tossed her head.

  Alec knew she’d be able to reach Henry now if she tried. But Black Minx made no move, and Henry continued his grooming and humming. Nevertheless Alec saw that the old trainer was ready for her. As the minutes ticked away, it looked as though there would be no need for any lesson.

  Then Alec noticed the sudden trembling of the filly’s black body. A moment later she shifted her feet restlessly and began tossing her head angrily. It was as if she suddenly had decided that she’d been well-mannered long enough and the time had come to reestablish her independence. Her stump of a tail moved back and forth like a car’s windshield wiper. She continued tossing her head. She was not getting her own way and she didn’t like it. Henry kept brushing her neck, his right shoulder close to her mouth. Suddenly her ears swept back. She nipped at him but missed. Henry paid no attention to her; he kept at his grooming.

  Alec did not believe the filly had intended to reach Henry that time. Perhaps her bold, precocious mind had meant it only as a warning to Henry that she wanted her own way.

  The sound of the filly’s hoofs moving in the straw and Henry’s humming went on for a few more minutes. Then the hoof movements stopped. Black Minx reached for Henry and there was no stopping this time. She bit his bulging arm!

  Her head came back fast, her eyes showing how startled she was. Henry never stopped his grooming to look at her. But Alec was watching. She had bitten squarely into the boiled potato. Her lips were drawn back and her mouth was working frantically. She kept it open and her incessant blowing filled the stall. Alec couldn’t help smiling at her surprise and bewilderment.

  All the while Henry continued working. He brushed her mane again, ran a cloth down her forelegs, even stooped beneath her head to clean her chest. But Black Minx’s only movements were to work her mouth. She paid not the slightest attention to him.

  Finally Henry left the stall and went with Alec to the far end of the barn. There he withdrew the stick from beneath his sweater, and they looked at the deep marks made in the potato by the filly’s teeth. The escaping steam turned gray in the cool air of the barn.

  “She hit it square,” Henry said. “I’m going to stay around to make sure she’s all right.”

  Alec said, “I hope it works.”

  “It will. I don’t expect any more trouble from her.”

  “Even on the track?” Alec couldn’t help asking. “You can’t use a hot potato to cure her loafing, Henry.”

  The trainer smiled. “No, but I can outsmart her another way.”

  “Are you going to tell me just how you’ll do it?”

  “I’d rather show yo
u,” Henry said.

  “When?”

  “Are you pinning me down?” Henry asked.

  “Sure.”

  “All right then,” Henry said, still smiling. “We’ll make it next Saturday, if the weather is good enough for us to get out on the track.”

  “You’re really trying to be mysterious about it, aren’t you, Henry?”

  “Yep, I guess I am.” Without another word the old trainer went back to the filly’s stall.

  Alec left the barn, wondering what other trick Henry had up his sleeve for Black Minx. He’d find out next Saturday.

  RUNAWAY!

  6

  During that week, the weather became more what was to be expected for the middle of January in New York State. It turned very cold, verging near zero several nights. The ground froze.

  Henry sent Black Minx to the track every day; only a cold rain or an icy track could force him to keep her in the barn. Her burned mouth ceased bothering her, and she no longer drew back her lips, baring her teeth to Henry or Alec. She seemed cured of nipping, just as Henry had said she would be.

  Often, as Alec galloped her on these cold days, he couldn’t help thinking that Henry might get this black filly to the Kentucky Derby after all. If one trick had proved successful, another might work, too. He never mentioned the coming Saturday to Henry, and his friend didn’t bring it up either. From all that went on between them that week it was as if their conversation in the barn never had been.

  Late Friday afternoon the snow began to fall. It continued through the night, and when it stopped on Saturday morning there were three good inches of it on the ground. Alec turned out all the horses, for he knew that snow was good for their legs and feet. He watched them at play in the paddocks and fields beneath an overcast sky, their winter coats somber with no sun to pick up the highlights. When he left the Black in the far field, he walked along the track, scuffing the snow. He didn’t know if Henry would postpone whatever it was he had planned today for the filly. That is, if Henry still remembered his promise of a week ago.

  Alec stopped to pick up a handful of snow. It was light and dry. His foot pushed the snow from the track until he came to the sandy loam beneath. It was hard, of course, just as it had been all week long. In fact, the track was in better shape than before for a fast work, for the snow provided a soft cushion.

  Alec began walking again. He had a lot of work to do—stalls to clean, bedding down, grooming, and handling the three colts who had become yearlings as of the first of January. Even so, he eagerly looked forward to what might come when he rode Black Minx onto the track within a few hours.

  It was a little after noon when Henry boosted him up on the filly. Except for the snow and Black Minx’s liking for it, this moment was no different from the beginning of any other day’s workout. Alec sat astride Black Minx outside the barn, awaiting any special instructions from Henry. None came.

  The snow rose to the filly’s fetlocks. She loved it. She kept moving her feet. Finally Henry led her up the road, past the stallion barn and paddocks, before turning her over completely to Alec. She made one of her rare moves to unseat him but he moved as one with her. The pressure of bit and knees brought her back in line again.

  Henry said, “She knows you’re always one step ahead of her, Alec.”

  The filly pranced to one side, flaying the snow. Her breath made two billowing streams of gray in the cold, crisp air. She felt good. She wanted to gallop. But Alec doubted that she’d move any faster for him on the track just because she felt so good.

  He took her across the field, holding her to a jog so as to be within hearing distance of Henry’s voice. Would today’s instructions be the same as on all other days? Would Henry say, “Gallop her a mile … a mile and a half … two miles” and let it go at that, forgetting completely that this was the day?

  Alec rose high in his stirrups, his head alongside her neck. The wind was cold. When she galloped it would become colder. If she really let out, it would be a bitter wind. But he’d welcome it. He might not even feel it. He’d be too excited if such a thing happened. Wait a minute now! He was getting ahead of himself. The chances were good that Henry had forgotten their talk. Henry was fine at that, especially when he thought it wiser not to remember.

  Black Minx moved onto the track, or at least where it would have been if the snow hadn’t covered it. Alec took her over near the rail so she’d know they had arrived. He talked to her while he let her move into her lope going up the track. Then he brought her to a stop, turned, and waited for Henry. He pulled down his peaked cap hard upon his head and over his ears. He buttoned the top of his jacket and turned up his collar. Come what might, he was ready.

  Standing in the same spot, the filly moved her feet in the snow, still playing. Alec watched Henry coming up the track. He was in a half-run to keep warm, his bowlegs spinning like a wheel. Henry’s face indicated nothing exceptional to come; as always before a session on the track, it was sober and serious.

  “What’ll it be, Henry?”

  The trainer stood at the saddle now. When he gave his instructions, his words were the same as those of the day before and the day before that. “Gallop her a mile, Alec. That’ll be enough.”

  Alec turned his eyes away. That was that. He’d wasted his time even thinking, wondering about it. He moved forward in his saddle, ready to go.

  “Wait a minute, Alec.”

  He sat back once more. “Yes, Henry?”

  “We’re going to work her a fast quarter today. Not that she needs it yet, but because of what we talked about last week. It won’t hurt her none. She’s good and hard from galloping.”

  Alec’s eyes were wide. It had come. “How do I get this fast quarter out of her?”

  Henry’s words were terse, clipped, all business. “Take her the usual gallop for three-quarters. I don’t care if you try to urge her to go faster or not. It doesn’t matter to me, so suit yourself. But when you hit the last quarter pole I want you to do a simple thing. I want you to let her take hold of the bit, and don’t take it away from her like I know you can do. But I want you to try. Give her the idea you’ve lost control, that she’s running away with you, that you can’t get the bit from her. That’s all I want you to do, Alec. We’ll see what happens.” Henry stepped back. “Go ahead now.”

  Alec didn’t remember sending off the filly. Henry’s words still rang in his ears. He thought about them all down the stretch and into the first turn. He didn’t feel the cold wind on his face. He let the filly gallop as she pleased.

  So simple, if it worked! And why shouldn’t it work? He had known all along that she had a mind of her own, that she was a contrary little filly. How often had he said that she was most likely to do just the opposite of what he wanted? Many times! Yet it had taken Henry to figure out that her headstrong temperament might be used to their advantage. Henry had said he was going to outsmart her. Well, if this trick worked, he’d be doing just that!

  They were in the backstretch when Alec began clucking to her. He’d better urge her to go faster as he had always done. She might think it strange if he didn’t, and he wanted everything to be the same until that last quarter. He could hardly wait. He was tense, excited. He decided he’d better relax or she’d sense the difference in him. She was that smart.

  She went down the backstretch, moving lightly over the snow and enjoying every stride she took. Her ears flicked back at his words, her mane waving beside him. He felt her mouth on the bit, toying and playing with it even as she galloped. Whenever she’d grabbed the bit in the past he’d taken it away without much trouble. But soon it would be different. Soon he’d let her take the bit. He’d let her hold on to it. Run away with him! So simple, so easy. Would it work?

  They swept past Henry, entering the last half-mile. Alec tried to move her faster, urging and coaxing. But her strides kept coming the same distance apart, no longer, no faster. Alec felt her powerful hindquarters carrying him along almost effortlessly. He became exci
ted again at the potential speed she had to give.

  Around the first turn once more, then they were at the top of the backstretch. The last quarter-mile would begin halfway down the track. Alec got ready.

  Hunched forward, he concentrated on the working of her mouth. He forgot everything else. He moved his hands, carefully, gently. He felt her moving the bit, ready to grab it. He let her alone this time. She played with the bit some more, then suddenly had it between her teeth!

  Alec’s hands moved quickly. But not too fast, not too hard. He didn’t want to be successful in getting the bit away from her. Not now! Instead he began calling, “Whoa!” in her ear. He started sawing the reins lightly against the corners of her mouth, but never hard enough to dislodge the bit from between her clenched teeth.

  The quarter pole flashed by and Black Minx was in full flight! Alec felt the release of her hard muscles beneath him and the tremendous quickening of her strides. He saw the rail posts go by with ever-increasing speed. But he paid little attention to all this as he concentrated on making the filly think he’d lost control of her.

  No longer did he cluck in her ear, urging her to gallop faster. Instead his words were a constant stream of whoa’s which served only to drive her on to greater speed. The wind cut his face. He wanted to smile but couldn’t. He worked his hands against her mouth, but this, too, only made her go faster.

  She was running away with him! And she ran the way anyone in the world would love to see his horse run. Her strides swept over the snow with the speed of the wind. She held her head high but pushed hard against the bit. She never moved it in her breathtaking flight beneath the gray, flat winter sky. She rounded the back turn with no lurching or swaying of head or body. Her every stride was the ultimate in grace and beauty, in balance and speed.

  As they came down the homestretch and neared Henry, Alec’s frantic calls of “Whoa!” rang above the pounding of her hoofs in the snow. He let her go until they had left Henry behind and had passed the finish line. Then he stopped sawing her mouth. He gave her loose rein and felt her grip on the bit relax a little. He pulled back in sudden movement. Again he gave loose rein, then drew back, sawing. This time he worked the bit free. She tossed her head, fighting him for many strides before she realized that he was in full control once more. Only then did she slow down.