The colt got to his feet while his mother was still lying down. He stood on awkward, disobedient legs, wavering triumphantly. He fell down but tried again immediately, placing two perfectly formed front hoofs in the straw and then quickly getting his hind hoofs upright. This time he stayed up on his overlong legs, his bright eyes turned on his mother as if he were impatiently waiting for her to appease his hunger.
The nursing instinct was his strongest basic impulse, and he needed no urging, no help from outsiders. As soon as Mahubah got to her feet he went to her, walking on legs that were braced at unbelievable angles … and yet to everybody who was watching they were the straightest legs in the world.
“Why, he hardly wobbles,” one man said. “Just look at him.”
“Bigger than most,” the foaling man said. “Stronger than most. Straighter than most.”
“And with his grandpappy’s star,” another man said. “Y’know, he just might be the one, at that.”
“Might be,” still another onlooker commented cautiously.
“He’s got the body and the breeding,” the man who had first spoken said now. “Time will tell.”
“Only one way we’ll ever know,” one of the more cautious men pronounced dramatically. “And that is to see what he does on a racetrack. He must prove himself to packed and shouting stands. He must come out to the roll of drums. He must carry glistening silks. He must level away at the head of that long testing stretch and prove himself in battle with the fleetest of his contemporaries. Yes, the test of the racecourse is the only one that counts.”
“That’s a long way off yet,” another said, smiling.
“Not so long.”
Only the boy Danny remained quiet. He was much too busy watching this wonderful tableau. Was there anything to compare with the first few minutes in the life of a foal?
The colt was nursing. Big and strong as he was, he needed his mother very much, not only for her life-giving milk but also for the warmth of her breath, her caresses, and her constant reassurance. And, tired and weak as Mahubah was, she gave him everything he asked for, licking his tousled coat while he nursed.
The boy wondered if she had known what it was all about or whether her foal had come as a very pleasant surprise to her. And did she care what all these men had to say about her colt and about the great things they expected him to do? To her, he must appear strikingly beautiful, with no gauntness of body or awkward, stiltlike legs. To her, every movement he made must be a picture of flowing grace. And he would grow handsomer as he moved around where she could see him better.
“And you, Danny, what do you think of him?” the foaling man asked finally.
“I only know I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” the boy said quietly. “That’s all I know.”
Man o’ War
4
Danny didn’t find school easy that day, knowing that Mahubah’s colt was waiting for him back at Nursery Stud. He told himself over and over again to take it easy, that the colt wasn’t going anywhere. The night before should have taught him the rewards of patience. It was the mark of a good horseman. Still, he wanted to learn it fast.
Thirteen hours after the colt had been born, Danny was back at the farm. He leaned on a paddock fence watching Mahubah being followed obediently by her son, who never let her get more than three or four feet away from him. The colt nuzzled her constantly to get something to eat, and when he wasn’t nursing he was rubbing his downy nose against her muzzle.
“It won’t be long before those funny legs of yours straighten out,” the boy called. “Then you’ll get a chance to see how fast you can move them.”
The day was warm and Mahubah remained in the sun, avoiding the shadows at the edge of the paddock. Early spring rains had brought the grass to a lush green and the ground was spongy beneath her hoofs. Her nameless colt darted around her, the blood dancing in his veins. His was a brand-new world and there was much to be discovered!
The boy followed every movement of the colt. One of these days he would get this colt to come to him, enticing him with a carrot or an apple. But now he was best left alone with his mother. What a leggy, large-framed colt he was! And how much he looked like his father! But he’d be redder than Fair Play, much redder. Anyone could tell that even through the baby hair. And, man, look at that stride for a new foal! Big he was. Big and red. Big Red.
It wouldn’t be long before they’d fit a halter to his head and start leading him around. But today, his first day, he was left free to feel the wind and sun for the first time and to smell, too, the redbuds and the dogwood blooming beside the paddock fence. It would be a good life for him, a really good life, with everything a horse could want. He would have the best of everything, because that’s the way it was at Nursery Stud.
“Hello, Danny.”
He turned quickly at the sound of the woman’s voice, recognizing it. “Hello, Mrs. Kane,” he answered.
Together they watched Mahubah’s colt, Danny waiting for the woman to pass judgment on him. There weren’t many women who could have taken over a man’s job as Mrs. Kane had done since her husband’s death. She ran things now. She was the superintendent of the big farm and it was no easy job.
So keep your eyes and ears open, he cautioned himself. You can learn a lot from her. As you were told last night, you’re lucky to get your start with good people. So listen to everything Mrs. Kane has to say.
“He could be the best of this year’s crop, Danny,” she said, her keen eyes following Mahubah’s colt.
“He’s got the size for it,” the boy answered.
“And the breeding,” she added. “In fact, Mr. Belmont has such high hopes for this colt that I just sent him a telegram at his New York office.”
“You don’t usually?”
“No, not usually. I knew he’d be specially interested in this one’s arrival,” she said.
“And you?”
She smiled. “I have high hopes for him, too.”
“You’ve bred other Rock Sand mares to Fair Play,” he said. “Have any of the colts shown anything?”
“There’s just one of racing age,” she answered. “His name is Sands of Pleasure, and he’s been winning. There’ll be other winners of this cross. Mr. Belmont is sure of it.”
Her gaze left the boy for Mahubah. “She is a fine mare,” Mrs. Kane went on. “She is not loaded with fat and she has produced a strong and vigorous colt who will require little attention. He looks as if he has the resistance to withstand infection from most any quarter.”
“Is he her first colt?”
“No, her second. Her first is a full sister to this colt, and we named her Masda. She is now in training and showing good speed.”
“Then Masda should give you an idea what to expect from him,” he said.
“Perhaps … and perhaps not. One never knows what to expect even with the same mother and father, Danny. Like children, they can be very different.”
A cloud passed over the sun and suddenly the weather turned cold and gloomy. The boy felt a chill pass over him, and he turned to Mrs. Kane to find her, too, shivering a little.
“I must go now, Danny,” she said quickly. “Watch him for us. Don’t let him get into any trouble.”
His gaze followed her. Everybody was busy here at the farm. They went from one foal to another, from one horse to another. He was the only one satisfied with watching just one colt.
The chill swept over him again. His eyes turned skyward. There were ominous clouds, running before a high wind and almost certain to bring rain. But it was far more than the threatening storm that bothered him, if only momentarily.
The world he lived in was not so different from the world of a foal. When everything went well, as it had gone last night, it was thrilling and exciting. When it did not, it was terrifying.
At home and school the talk was that soon the United States would be at war with Germany, entering the terrible conflict that was already being waged in Europe. If that happened, th
is colt might never know the career for which he was born.
Suddenly the sun broke through the clouds. Danny smiled again. It was wrong to have such gloomy thoughts on the colt’s birthday. This was his day and they should make the most of it!
The colt was trying to imitate his mother, spreading his awkward legs and bending them, trying to reach the grass. Soon he toppled over and for a moment lay still, rubbing the grass with his nose and working his lips. He pulled a few blades free and held them in his mouth without eating them. He had no taste for grass yet. He rolled over, kicking his long, unmanageable legs in the air and seeming to revel in his newly found strength. But a moment later he’d had enough, for he stretched out on his side and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his furry body while he slept.
The next few weeks slipped by and life for Mahubah’s colt changed rapidly. Danny watched him run faster around the paddock, happy that his legs were more apt to go where he wanted them. He fell less often. He could reach the grass with his nose simply by bending his knees a little, but he still didn’t care for the taste of grass. He much preferred his mother’s milk, and his appetite was great and continuous. His large frame began filling out; his strength grew. He drank in the wind and it intoxicated him. He raced in the sun, but never too far away from Mahubah. And Danny was certain that the colt was beginning to wonder when he would be allowed to play with others his age, those he saw with their mothers in the big field beyond. He would show his heels to all of them! But most of the time Mahubah’s colt just slept in the sun, so for him April 6, 1917, was no different from any other day.
For Danny, who joined him after school, it was a day of fear and uncertainty. The United States had declared war on Germany. A lot of people would go to the fighting front, maybe even his own father. Many would die for a cause they strongly believed in. Then of what importance was this red colt he watched so closely? Who cared if he could run fast or not? What did it matter, with the whole world up in arms?
Yet he stayed with the colt, knowing that to him it was still important. If he couldn’t fight himself and had to remain at home, there were some things he had to hold on to, and Mahubah’s colt was one of them.
The weeks swept by and he found himself holding tighter than ever to Mahubah’s colt. Only the old men remained at Nursery Stud. All the others had gone to war.
He helped with the care of the young stock and was allowed to lead his colt behind Mahubah as they walked from barn to pasture. He was one of the first to know that the blood of the grandsire Hastings ran strong in this red colt.
“Easy, Red, easy,” he whispered. But the stout colt pulled furiously against the lead shank, not actually fighting but playing hard, and eager to be off with the other youngsters who now shared his day.
“He’s goin’ to turn into a real warrior, that one,” an old groom warned. “You be strong, Danny-boy, an’ push him back. Don’t you go lettin’ him get away with anything now. He’s big and quick, that one, an’ he ain’t goin’ to get no easier as we go along.”
“You’re doin’ good, Danny,” another said. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine as you are. Don’t you let anyone tell you to push that colt. No, sir. Some you might be able to push, but not that one. He’ll push back, he will. Fightin’s easy for him to learn, an’ he’s quick as lightning. Hold him good and take all the time you want. Don’t you go losin’ your temper with him none. You be rough an’ he’ll jus’ be rougher. He’ll never amount to anything then, he won’t. Ask him nicely, boy. Maybe he’ll listen to you like a baby. Maybe he will.”
What a baby! Danny decided. A young tiger was never so quick … or smart … or strong. The colt flew at the end of the lead shank, and Danny had to use all his strength and size to control him.
“Easy, Red, easy,” he called over and over again, thankful that he wasn’t as small as a jockey after all. And finally one day he reached the point where the big colt obediently followed Mahubah to the field without giving him a fight.
The grooms stood around watching him break away with the other colts. When he played he was the first to whirl, dancing on his long legs and avoiding the others with the grace of a bird in flight.
“He’s quicker than the rest,” one groom said.
“An’ brainier,” another added. “He’s the best of the year’s crop. He sure is.”
“Yeah, but what he’ll do on the track is somethin’ else.”
“If he ever gets there.”
“Y’mean …”
“I mean what y’think I mean. They made Mr. Belmont a major and sent him off to Europe, didn’t they? So there’s no tellin’ what’ll happen to Nursery Stud. Heard some folks say, too, there won’t be any more racin’ until the war ends. Some say more’n that. Some say the Major’s thinkin’ of selling off all his young stock. So who knows what’s goin’ to happen to this colt or any colt or even us?”
Danny listened to this startling news. Regardless of what Major Belmont decided to do about Nursery Stud, he knew one thing for sure—he wasn’t leaving Mahubah’s colt. Wherever the colt went, he’d go too!
Later, he found he needn’t have worried, for while the war raged overseas, life went on pretty much as usual at the farm. The days grew longer and the nights warmer, just as in any other year. Mares and colts lay down to sleep at night in dark pastures and spent their days in the cool, fly-protected barns. And Danny enjoyed his best summer vacation from school.
He never strayed too far from Mahubah’s colt, and his tales of Red’s speed and prowess were by far the most listened to of any on the farm.
“I’ve got him standing still even when I rub his shins,” he said proudly. “Boy, he sure was ticklish there. And I don’t think a faster colt’s ever been foaled … at least, I’ve never seen one.
“You still got a lot to see yet, Danny,” an old groom told him. “We’ve had colts here who got the best of everything and yet turned out pretty sour when they reached the track. They had the best breeding, the best handling, the best trainers ’n jockeys ’n everything else. Then they won nuthin’, nuthin’ at all.”
“But every little thing we do is important,” another said. “An’ no one ever knows when he’s got the best colt there is. Danny is doin’ right well. He’s got his colt used to bein’ handled and actin’ better than any of the rest of us could do.”
The first groom shrugged and said, “Mebbe so. Anyway, it ain’t goin’ to be Danny’s colt no longer. Not by name, it ain’t. Nope, they gave him his real name this morning. They sho did.”
“They nothin’,” and the second groom grinned. “There’s only one person who names horses here an’ that’s Mrs. Belmont. The Major wouldn’t have anyone else doin’ it, no suh.”
“That’s what I said. An’ she got around to namin’ Danny’s colt.”
“She give him a good one? Never was a good racehorse with a bad name.”
“She chose a mighty pow’ful one, she did. ’Pears to me nuthin’ could be more pow’ful than one of them big battleships I bin readin’ about.”
“Battleships? Is that what she went and named Danny’s colt?”
“You makin’ fun? You know well as I do she wouldn’t go namin’ any horse Battleships. No sir, she named him Man o’ War, that’s what she did. Ain’t that what they call them battleships?”
“Man o’ War,” the old groom repeated, rolling the name around his tongue almost as if he were savoring it.
“Man o’ War,” repeated Danny, his eyes finding the big colt out in the pasture. “It’s good, all right. But I think I’ll still call him Red.”
The Weanling
5
September came and Danny went back to school. But that didn’t keep him away from Nursery Stud. Every afternoon he walked through the field full of suckling foals. He knew most of them by name, for, immature as they all were, their heads bore a close resemblance to their parents’. Most of them carried their parents’ white markings, too—the splashes of body white, the stockings, the star
s and blazes. Danny never had trouble spotting Man o’ War’s star and the narrow stripe running down the center of his nose.
He watched Man o’ War grow taller than the others and become a bit arrogant in his newly found strength. So he worked all the harder with him, knowing that gentle treatment now would save a lot of trouble later on. He handled him daily, and it became as much a part of his routine as feeding, watering, and mucking out stalls.
The old grooms were happy to have his help.
“We sho got plenty to do around here, Danny-boy, we sho have,” one said. “Jus’ keepin’ these stalls clean like they should be ain’t easy. Broodmares are lots dirtier than horses in trainin’. They sho is.”
So Danny worked hard around the farm, but hardest of all with his colt. Man o’ War was as spirited as a young foal could be, and Danny had no intention of breaking that spirit. He used soft words, soft cloths, soft brushes and hands.
He studied Man o’ War’s appetite as closely as everything else. When the time came, he started feeding him whole oats rather than rolled oats. He watched him go eagerly beneath the field “creep” rail, a rail high enough for the youngsters to get under for their feed but too low for the mares. Gradually, Man o’ War was developing an appetite for grown-up food and becoming less dependent on Mahubah for his nourishment.
Sometimes Mahubah, even though she was among the best of mothers, tried to get under the “creep” rail and into the field pen where her colt ate at will. She was getting oats and bran and cracked corn in the barn but her appetite was enormous, for she not only was supplying milk for her growing, demanding son but was again in foal to Fair Play. Danny always shooed her away from the feed pen gently for he was sympathetic to the demands of motherhood.
With the coming of early fall he watched Mahubah’s dark body start to take on its winter coat, shading to a heavy seal-brown. She was a big, strong mare, standing just under sixteen hands, but the strain of nursing Man o’ War while carrying her new foal was beginning to tell on her. Danny became very anxious for her to be relieved of this double duty.
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