Man o’ War, too, settled down quickly in his new home. He was eating well, and when Danny turned him out in the paddock to get the kinks out of his travel legs he frolicked like the strong, healthy colt he was. But his play was soon to end, Danny knew. The purpose of Glen Riddle Farm was to prepare all the yearlings for the spring racing season, and the days to come would be a busy time for all.
There were more grooms at the farm than the Riddle stable had had at Saratoga, for taking care of racehorses in training required many skilled hands. At first Danny resented having anyone else help him with the care of Man o’ War, but soon he realized how much had to be done to keep this colt sound and fit and, most important, how much he had to learn about the care of a racehorse and his equipment. Saddles and bridles, as well as all other tack, had to be properly cared for. A faulty bridle, rein, girth buckle, or stirrup could break and cause a bad accident. Blankets and coolers had to be kept clean, as did brushes, bandages, bits, and scrapers. To say nothing of a stall that had to be kept clean and fresh-smelling!
So Danny was happy for the help he received from the older groom who was assigned to Man o’ War.
“Frank,” he said early on the third morning after their arrival, “what do you think of him?”
The man was cleaning the colt’s hind foot and he didn’t look up. “He’s the best there is, jus’ like you say,” he answered. “How else could we feel ’bout a colt we’re rubbing?”
“Yeah, I sort of figured you’d put it that way,” Danny said. “But just wait until you see him on the track, and then you’ll know better what I mean.”
Frank put down Man o’ War’s foot and straightened up. “He’s still too thin for the size of him,” he said critically.
“He eats plenty,” Danny answered in stout defense of his colt. “It’s only a question of time before he puts on more weight.”
“I know he eats good,” the man said. “But he gulps his feed down. A colt’s got to chew his oats to do him any good. Feustel will slow him down. You’ll see.”
Danny didn’t pursue the subject, knowing Frank might be right. Man o’ War did eat too fast for his own good.
A short while later Louis Feustel appeared at the stall door. With him were Mr. Riddle and a man whom Danny had never seen before.
“This is Clyde Gordon, Danny,” Feustel said. “He’s riding your colt this morning.”
Danny snapped the lead shank on Man o’ War’s halter. The time had come for Man o’ War to continue his work on the racetrack. Would he react differently under Gordon’s hands than he had at Harry Vititoe’s? Danny led him from the stall. He’d soon have the answer.
Man o’ War drew back his head when Feustel slipped the bridle over his halter.
“Always the rebel,” Feustel muttered, adjusting the bit. He told Danny, “Gordon is my top rider. He’s used to handling difficult yearlings so he should get along with Red.”
“I sure hope so,” Danny answered, trying to keep Man o’ War still.
The big colt shifted quickly, sending his hind legs flying when Feustel placed the saddle on his back. But the trainer had the girth band snug and the saddle was on to stay.
Clyde Gordon moved over to mount. He stepped back quickly as Man o’ War swung his hindquarters around trying to get rid of the saddle.
Feustel called for more help, and additional lead shanks were snapped to Man o’ War’s halter. Then the trainer tightened the girth band another hole.
“He’s holding his breath,” Danny said.
They moved Man o’ War around in a circle until the big chestnut exhaled and the girth was loose again. Feustel took it up another couple of holes, and Man o’ War reared as the strap tightened.
Danny and the other grooms stepped back but held on tight to the ends of the lead shanks until Man o’ War came down again and was still.
He’ll always resent being saddled, Danny thought. He’ll always put up some kind of battle.
Clyde Gordon was at the colt’s side again, his leg raised, waiting for Feustel to boost him into the saddle. Then, before Man o’ War knew what was happening, Gordon was on his back. He tried to rear but Danny and the others held him down. He shifted his hindquarters but Gordon stayed on him. So far so good.
Mr. Riddle spoke to Louis Feustel and then the trainer said to Danny, “We have a nice old hunter here that Mr. Riddle thinks will be good company for this colt. I want you to ride him out with Red.”
Danny gulped a little. He was going to ride beside Man o’ War. It was the next best thing to being on his colt’s back!
A few minutes later one of the men came up with a tall, big-boned gelding. “This is Major Treat,” Mr. Riddle told Danny. “He was a good hunter in his day, pretty fast and very wise. I think hell have a quieting effect on this colt.”
Feustel smiled at the intent expression on Danny’s face. “Your being along should help, too,” he told the boy. “Get up on him now.”
Danny was boosted into the saddle and given one of the lead shanks attached to Man o’ War’s bridle. The other grooms removed their shanks, and Danny was on his own. Clyde Gordon looked at him a little anxiously but said nothing.
Major Treat was very quiet and Danny moved him closer to Man o’ War. The big colt snorted at the gelding but didn’t rear. Danny shortened the shank. “Come on, Red,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”
Man o’ War moved willingly at Danny’s bidding, and behind them Louis Feustel said, “This might be the answer to a lot of problems with this one.”
Danny had never been happier in his life. Never had he been so close to riding Man o’ War! He could even feel the colt’s mounting excitement as they walked toward the training track. Man o’ War was pushing hard against Major Treat but the old gelding kept moving along, his body rebuffing the big colt’s jolts without giving an inch. Danny patted his mount. He was doing a good job.
Danny kept his eyes on Man o’ War. How close he was to being actually up on him! He could see the track ahead between Big Red’s pricked ears and even touch, if he wanted to, the arched crest of his powerful neck.
Nearing the gap in the track fence, Man o’ War suddenly tossed his head and the silky foretop that crowned him dropped over his eyes. He came to a stop, surveying the track before him. Proud and long-limbed, he stood there, his great eyes bright and arrogant, missing nothing.
Danny held the lead shank tight and waited. Clyde Gordon, too, remained quiet in the saddle.
Never before had Danny been so aware of Man o’ War’s eagerness to run. He was standing absolutely still, but all his senses were keyed to the utmost. Suddenly he reared and came down, swerving sharply against Major Treat. The old gelding took the hard bump quietly but Danny almost lost his seat. For a few seconds there was bedlam in the big colt’s movements as he tried to break free of the hands that held him. Then he quieted down as suddenly as he had erupted. All was peaceful again, and Danny touched him gently.
Gordon said, “I thought he was going to dump me for sure that time.”
Feustel joined them at the track gate. “Jog him around once, and then come back,” he said with some concern.
Danny moved out on the track, keeping Major Treat close beside Man o’ War. There were other yearlings on the track and the big colt’s eyes followed them. He wanted to run but Gordon and Danny were able to keep him at a slow jog.
Major Treat went stride for stride with Man o’ War, and Danny patted him comfortingly. The old gelding seemed to be enjoying his work despite the buffeting he was getting. His heavy ears were pricked forward and he carried his head high, even tugging a bit on the reins. Perhaps Major Treat realized just how important his job was in keeping the young colt under control. It was good to be needed, Danny thought. He had a pretty good idea of how Major Treat felt.
Clyde Gordon was standing in his stirrup irons and had a snug hold on the reins. “This one seems to know all about speed right from the start,” he said.
Danny nodded. “The big jo
b with him is to hold him back so he won’t overdo,” he answered.
“Is he pretty well legged-up?”
“He’s been walking, trotting, and cantering over two miles every day without strain,” Danny answered.
“Then he’s ready for something faster,” Gordon said.
“He’s ready, all right. Just wait until you see the length of his strides when he gets going.”
“They should be long, all right,” Gordon agreed. “He’s got the height for it.”
Man o’ War tried to break into a run. “Easy, Red. Easy,” Gordon said, slowing him down.
When the colt was quiet again Danny said, “He can beat any yearling in the barns.”
“How do you know so much about his speed?” Gordon asked, puzzled. “They haven’t breezed him yet, have they?”
“I’ve seen him go in pasture,” Danny said.
“We’ll find out soon enough how fast he is,” Gordon returned. “It’s hard to tell what a colt will amount to until he starts breezing with others. Some of them fold up pretty easy.”
“This one won’t,” Danny said. “He wants to win.”
Gordon smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm. “Don’t get your hopes up too high, Danny. He’s far from finished, powerful as he might seem to you. I know, for I’ve ridden an awful lot of colts.”
Danny would like to have been able to say that in time. But he was almost certain that Feustel wouldn’t even let him exercise his horses. Usually, the limit for any rider was one hundred and thirty pounds. Put any more weight than that on a yearling’s back and you invite unsoundness, especially when you start asking a colt for fast work.
Man o’ War shook his head as if he was becoming very impatient with the tight hold on his mouth. Danny took a better grasp on the lead shank and spoke to him. The colt pushed harder against Major Treat but didn’t try to break into a run.
“I guess I’m too heavy to ever ride a racehorse,” Danny said, “even as an exercise boy.”
“You’re not light,” Gordon said, his eyes moving over Danny’s body, “that’s for sure.”
“Maybe if I lost some weight …”
“Your bones are too big, Danny,” Gordon said quietly. “Trainers look for kids with small bones before they take them on. They even make sure kids’ parents are small, because then there’s a good chance the kids will stay light long enough to be useful as exercise boys and possibly jockeys.”
Danny turned to Man o’ War. The colt’s head was bowed down almost to his chest by Gordon’s tight rein. It emphasized even more the arched crest of his neck, curving gracefully and flowing powerfully into his shoulders. There were lots of things you saw up here that weren’t so evident from the ground. Well, he was coming this close anyway to riding Man o’ War.
A set of three yearlings went by, breezing a fast furlong. In the lead was the golden chestnut colt owned by Mrs. Jeffords.
“I’ve never seen a classier looking colt than that one,” Gordon commented. “No wonder he’s the darling of the Jeffords stable. They’ve changed his name, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” Danny said, still watching the lightning strides of the golden colt ahead of them. There was no doubt that the yearling had substance and speed as well as beauty. “What’s his name now?” he asked.
“Golden Broom. I guess they figured it goes better with his coat, and they must expect him to sweep all his competition clean.”
“Maybe,” Danny said thoughtfully, “just maybe.”
“It’s a wonder Mr. Riddle didn’t buy him,” Gordon said.
“He wanted to. He liked him a lot, but he didn’t want to bid against Mrs. Jeffords.”
“Oh,” Gordon said. “Well, that might prove to be carrying a family relationship too far. He could be the top colt around here.”
“Maybe,” Danny repeated.
Gordon smiled. “You’re thinking we can beat him with this one?”
“That’s what I think,” Danny answered.
“We’ll find out when the speed trials start,” Gordon said. “You won’t have too long to wait.”
They were back at the gap in the track fence and Louis Feustel came over to them. Looking up at Clyde Gordon, he said, “Take one turn of the track at a gallop, then move him along at a slow breeze the last eighth of a mile.” The trainer turned to Danny. “Keep Major Treat right alongside, Danny. All you have to do is help keep the colt running straight and true. No swerving or bolting.”
Gordon turned Man o’ War back on the track, Danny following. “Remember, kid,” Gordon said, “a breeze is just a bit faster than a gallop. We go any faster than that and Feustel will have our heads. More speed and distance will come when he’s sure the colt’s fit.”
“I’ll remember,” Danny said.
Man o’ War tried to bolt forward as Clyde Gordon gave him a little more rein. Then he settled into the slow gallop his rider wanted, shaking his head in resentment but not fighting. Danny kept Major Treat close beside him, talking to him all the while.
“That’s it,” Gordon said, satisfied. “Keep him traveling in a straight line and I’ll hold him back. That’s all we have to do this morning.”
They galloped a bit more rapidly as they swept around the track, the big colt’s strides coming ever faster and longer. His head was bowed by the tight hold on his mouth, but he didn’t seem to resent Gordon’s hands.
The boy glanced at Gordon. “Maybe you’ll be able to turn his speed on and off,” he called hopefully.
The man grunted. “One thing for sure is that I couldn’t gallop him with no twine string,” he answered. “He sure takes hold.”
Danny nodded, knowing full well that it wasn’t easy holding Man o’ War back. He wanted to go, yet in his own way he was responding to the reins. But he was a lot of colt to handle and his red coat was already breaking out in sweat, not from exertion but from his anxiety to run as he would have liked.
“Don’t let him jump out from under you,” Danny cautioned.
“You ride your horse an’ I’ll ride mine,” Gordon answered, a little angry. He was having trouble keeping the colt in line. He shortened his hold on the reins still more.
Danny felt the hard bump as Man o’ War swerved against Major Treat. The gelding withstood the blow, snorting a little and pushing back, as was his job. He kept Man o’ War on the rail.
Again Danny glanced at Gordon’s hands. He understood the difficult job the man was having, and he wanted to suggest, “Ask him for obedience. Don’t demand it or you’re in for trouble.”
Man o’ War’s strides lengthened to a fast gallop, his long mane and tail whipping the air more wildly now. Major Treat lengthened out to keep up with him. The rail sped by and Danny began counting off the furlong poles. The last eighth of a mile was before them! Gordon was letting Man o’ War go into the breeze that Feustel had ordered.
“Easy. Easy,” Danny heard Gordon calling to the fast-moving colt. And he himself echoed the man’s words as they swept down the stretch.
Man o’ War seemed to be listening to them, for his ears were constantly flicking to the front, side, and back. But his eagerness to run was a powerful compulsion that sought release. Major Treat was trying to stay alongside, his body stretched out to its utmost, his ears cocked back and flat against his head.
“Easy … easy,” Gordon kept repeating, and not once did he relinquish the tight hold he had on the big colt.
They swept past the finish line and the crowd that was there. Danny moved Major Treat still closer to Man o’ War and, leaning over, grabbed the colt’s bridle. He brought him to a stop just as they were going into the first turn again.
Only then was Gordon able to sit back in his saddle and catch his breath. “Like you said, he wants to run,” he muttered. “Maybe we have got a good one, Danny.”
Man o’ War pranced and pushed hard against Major Treat, almost upsetting the gelding as they turned and went back.
“He’s still full of run,” Gordon said.
“Hold him to a walk now. Nothing makes Feustel madder than to have you gallop a colt back to him.”
When they reached the trainer he seemed pleased. “You did fine,” he said. “We’ll hold him to a gallop tomorrow and breeze him again three days from now.”
Louis Feustel turned his attention to the other yearlings he had working on the track, and Danny was made to realize once again that Man o’ War was just another colt in the big stable. It would take time before Feustel knew what he had in Man o’ War.
During the weeks that followed, Danny tried to be as patient as everyone else in determining Man o’ War’s relative speed. The big colt was held to slow breezes every third day and walked and galloped on the mornings in between. By the second week he was breezing a quarter of a mile rather than an eighth. But Feustel never allowed Clyde Gordon to ease up on his tight hold of the reins.
Only on Sunday was Man o’ War given a day off, and then Danny turned him loose in the large paddock with Major Treat. The grass had turned brown with the coming of fall but the sun was still warm. The first month at Glen Riddle Farm had been a succession of nothing but fine, golden days, made even more pleasant by the good news from Europe. The United States and its allies were winning the war, and on November 11 it ended, only a few short months after Man o’ War and the other Nursery Stud yearlings had been sold. The war hadn’t gone on a long, long time, as Major Belmont had thought. And now all his young horses would be racing for other owners throughout the country … to what destiny?
Louis Feustel joined Danny at the fence one Sunday morning and for a while watched Man o’ War at play with Major Treat. The big colt had fire in his eyes and was running around the old gelding, trying to get him to run too. But Major Treat continued grazing and waited patiently for Man o’ War to work off his excess energy.
“He needs this freedom,” Feustel said. “If he stood in his stall on Sunday, he’d be so fresh Gordon would have his hands full staying on him.”
“He’s growing like a weed,” Danny said. “He’s getting stronger every week.”
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