The Black Stallion and the Girl

by Walter Farley

  The horses bent around the turn, their riders whipping with either hand, scuffing and scrubbing with hands and feet, determined to get out in front for the final run down the homestretch. Becky Moore was just inside Pam, as free with her whip as the men. Too free, Alec decided; she was using it every second, leather striking hide rhythmically, switching from one hand to the other without pause in an attempt to keep her tiring mount on a steady course.

  The horse with the yellow hood had surged into the lead, his jockey rocking and pushing to keep a stride ahead of the one beside him. Both horses were digging in, their hides scraping and moving over to the rail directly in front of Becky’s mount.

  Alec kept his binoculars on them. Becky was beaten, and must have known it. It was pointless for her to continue whipping her mount. Yet with another terrible blow, she launched her horse again. There was no place for him to go on the rail, for the two leaders left him no room. Lashed by the whip, he bore out toward Black Sand!

  Alec watched Pam try to stay clear of him. Black Sand’s strides became ragged as Becky drove her heels into her horse’s sides while lashing him with all her strength.

  For the first time during the race, Alec felt the coldness of fear. Becky would stop at nothing in her determination to keep her mount going. She had switched her whip, from left hand to right, in an attempt to straighten out her mount and drive him between horses.

  Pam checked Black Sand abruptly as Becky’s whip came hissing down.

  Whether or not it touched Black Sand on the legs, Alec couldn’t see. It might have been that the colt was just frightened by it. But, suddenly, Black Sand took two quick jumps to the outside. Pam tried to stop him as he bolted crazily across the track. Alec caught a glimpse of the outer rail and knew that the colt would run full tilt into it. “No!” he shouted at the top of his voice.

  Black Sand’s hurtling body crashed into the fence and Pam was catapulted high into the air!

  Alec had jumped the rail and was on the track, running for the far turn when the field of horses swept by. With the track clear, the ambulance left the infield gate. Alec flagged it down and hopped into the front seat.

  A small crowd was already on the scene when they got there. Black Sand was dead, his neck twisted and broken. White-faced, Alec kneeled beside the still, silk-clad figure that was Pam. His forehead was drenched in cold sweat, his body trembling uncontrollably.

  Pam’s eyes were open but glazed. She tried to raise herself to an elbow but he prevented her by saying, “Lie still, Pam. You’ve had a bad fall.” He moved aside for the ambulance attendants. They removed her helmet, and the sun shone on her hair with a violent light. Her face was grimy, with tiny rivulets of blood running through the caked dirt. He felt tenderness and gratitude that she was alive. Her eyes turned in the direction of Black Sand, and Alec knew he had no choice but to tell her. There must be no subterfuge, no phoniness. That was the way she would want it.

  “The colt’s dead,” he said, unable to control the quaver in his voice.

  She did not answer and her silence alarmed him. He touched her face.

  “Please, Pam. He didn’t suffer. He didn’t know what happened.” Alec passed his hand over her forehead. Her whole face was cold.

  Then, suddenly, her hands were seeking and clutching his. He lowered his face toward hers and she pushed her head into his chest, as if hollowing out a nest. “I know,” she said, swallowing noisily. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  Alec realized that Pam had known the moment the colt had died, for she and Black Sand had been one.

  PAIN AND TEARS

  21

  That night, while Pam slept at Physicians’ Hospital in Jackson Heights, close to the track, Alec took Black Sand’s body to Hopeful Farm. There in the early morning, with the help of others, he buried the colt in the lower pasture where Black Sand had spent so many hours with Pam.

  Alec tried not to be over-sentimental about the burial. They took chances every day in this business, he reminded himself harshly, both with themselves and with their horses. There was a high mortality rate among breeding stock and foals as well as horses in training and racing. The risks were very great.

  Pam had survived the bizarre accident, suffering only facial lacerations. The x-rays had disclosed no bone fractures, no serious injuries; she was being held at the hospital overnight only for observation. He must think of that and nothing else. What might have been for Black Sand was finished. He was a professional horseman. He could look at it no other way.

  Yet, when the men had left with their tractor and shovels, Alec remained beside the newly turned earth, remembering the way it was between Black Sand and Pam, and the happiness he too had shared with them. Here he had spent many happy hours with the colt and Pam, aware of each sound, each touch, every passing minute.

  Alec turned from the grave to a sky that was rippled with crimson from the rising sun. A horse neighed shrilly from a distant pasture, and on the first breeze of early morning he smelled the sweet, soft scent of wild flowers. He walked to the nearby woods and gathered a few of them, which he placed carefully around the new earth. Then he wept, unashamed.

  The sun was flaring over the ridge when he left, and the birds were singing their morning hymn to summer—or, he wondered, was it for Black Sand?

  In the late afternoon Alec arrived back at Aqueduct. He didn’t expect to find Pam there, even if she had been discharged from the hospital. Nothing was worth the price she’d paid yesterday. There was no doubt in his mind that Becky had caused the tragic mishap, perhaps not intentionally but by her relentless riding, her determination to beat men at their own game regardless of the consequences. A foul claim could have been lodged against her, Alec knew, but the finish of the race was of no importance to him or Henry. For them the race had ended on the far turn.

  When he turned into the milling stable area, the first person he saw was Pam. She was swinging an empty pail on her way to a water faucet, looking like any other kid in blue Levi’s with slender legs and scuffy brown loafers with run-down heels. She had her back to him, but he couldn’t mistake her blond hair, tied with a red ribbon and pulled to one side so that the back of her neck showed.

  He hurried and caught up with her. She was leaning over, running water into the pail. Despite his great joy at finding her there, he said simply, “Hi.”

  She raised her eyes to his and straightened; then she moved into his arms and he held her close.

  “You okay?” he asked finally.

  “Sure. They let me go early this morning.” She paused, then added, “Henry met me and asked that I take over Deb’s job for a few days. That’s why I’m here.”

  Alec followed her to the Black’s stall. He wasn’t surprised that Henry had asked Pam to stay. The trainer couldn’t have done otherwise after the accident, knowing the work might help to get her mind off her fall and the loss of Black Sand. But he was surprised and pleased that Pam had accepted.

  The black stallion turned in their direction as they entered the stall. Then with a happy neigh of greeting he moved quickly to the pail Pam offered him, playing in the water rather than drinking it.

  “I took Black Sand to the farm,” Alec said.

  “I know. Henry told me.” She turned away and went to the door.

  He followed, knowing how she felt despite the firmness of her voice. And because he realized she would want to know, he told her where he had buried the colt and described the wild flowers he had placed on the new earth.

  She turned to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her, saying, “I’m sorry, Pam, so sorry it turned out this way.”

  The tiny earrings shone softly in the lobes of her ears. He was aware of her troubled breathing and felt more than ever that he was one with her.

  Suddenly, the Black’s warm breath wafted over their heads. The stallion bent his neck to touch Pam’s cheek with his muzzle, his dark mane flowing over her blond hair.

  Alec was surprised by t
he Black’s display of affection, but he was not jealous to find that his horse loved Pam. He could not be selfish and possessive around her. She had won the stallion’s affection in the same manner she had acquired Black Sand’s love. It was her way with animals.

  Pam spoke, her voice smothered and barely audible, sounding against his chest as if the words came from inside his own body, and not from hers.

  “Oh, Alec, I loved him so.”

  His arms tightened around her and he placed his head on hers. Her chest heaved with her troubled breathing, her bronze skin took on a pinkness.

  “Henry was right about girls’ racing,” Alec said. “It’s everything he said it was. It’s not for you.”

  “But it’s for Becky Moore?” she asked, turning her face up to him. “Is that the kind of riding it takes, Alec? Girls have to be ruthless to race? Is that what you mean?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Alec said.

  With a movement as unexpected and as quick as a cat’s, Pam took his arms from about her waist and stood apart from him. “I don’t believe you,” she said angrily. “I want to race again.”

  Alec was alarmed at the sudden change in her face, from feminine softness to a firmness he hadn’t seen before. “Are you looking for more trouble?” he asked. “Isn’t it enough that you learned first-hand how it can be out there?”

  A queer smile came to her mouth. “And haven’t you learned, as I have, that when you take a bad fall you get up and ride again?”

  Alec looked at her a long while, knowing she was right—that she should race again as quickly as possible. It had been the same for him and other jockeys after bad falls. Otherwise, she would carry the memory of the accident with her the rest of her life, and perhaps never ride the same again.

  “I want to finish what I began,” she said. “Let me.”

  “But how can we do that with no Black Sand?” Alec asked. He hadn’t wanted to mention the colt again, but she gave him no choice.

  “By letting me ride your horse on Saturday,” she answered.

  “My horse? The Black?” he asked, stunned. “It’s no good, Pam. It wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lots of reasons.”

  “You can be plainer than that,” she said.

  “No one but me has ever raced him. You couldn’t handle him.”

  “Let me try him and see, Alec,” she pleaded. “I’m not afraid. And if I can’t ride him, I certainly won’t race him.”

  Alec said nothing, aware that she was studying his face and finding something he could not keep from her. He did not want to let anyone else ride the Black. There were undefinable degrees to which the stallion could be handled without danger. But it went beyond that, Alec knew; the Black was his and his alone.

  “Please, Alec,” she said, “give me a chance.”

  Alec remained silent, thinking of many things—not only her ability to get along with horses, any horse, even the Black, but of their conversation that last night at the farm when she’d said, “True love is giving up that which you love most, if need be, when the time comes.” Her words meant something to him now.

  Alec looked at her face in the half-light of the stall. Her mouth was slightly open, even her breathing seemed slower as she awaited his answer. He loved her too much to turn her down.

  “If I thought you could get away with it,” he said finally.

  “But I think I can,” she said.

  Alec made one last assessment before coming to a decision. To handle the Black in a race called for strength, determination, skill and courage. She lacked only the strength but, perhaps, her will and her need to race were strong enough to compensate. If she was ready to take a chance, so was he.

  “Wait here,” he said. “I want to talk to Henry.”

  RIDING THE WIND

  22

  “It’s incredible that you would even consider anyone else riding the Black,” Henry told Alec in amazement. “Maybe one of our best jocks could get away with it but not a girl—not even your girl.” He softened his voice. “Now I know you think you’re in love with her, Alec, but even so there are limits to one’s love. You can’t do a crazy thing like this.”

  Alec shook his head. “I want her to try him, Henry, then we’ll decide whether she races him or not.”

  “No, we won’t,” the trainer said angrily. “The Black does not belong to you alone, not in registration he doesn’t. He belongs to the farm and the corporation, of which your father is head. And even to me, who has cared for him as well as you. You cannot risk throwing him away on this girl.”

  “I’m not worried about hurting him,” Alec answered. “It’s Pam who will be taking the risk.” He looked down the shed-row and saw Pam coming toward them, even though he’d asked her to stay out of the discussion. Her face had a green tinge and her lips were the color of ash.

  Henry turned to Pam when she joined them. He was astonished that she wanted to ride the Black although he understood her need to race again. He shared her tragic loss of Black Sand and had hoped to make amends for what he knew was partly his fault. But that did not mean he had to go along with anything as ridiculous as her racing the Black.

  “You can’t be serious, Alec,” Henry said, returning to their discussion. “If you want to put another rider up on the Black, get the best. Get Pete Edge or Willy Walsh, but don’t put up a girl. In fact, I won’t have it any other way.”

  Alec did not reply immediately, and the silence between them became strained.

  “I’m letting Pam try him,” he said decisively. “The Black is my horse, regardless of how he’s registered, and I want her to ride him.”

  Henry grunted in shock at Alec’s outright defiance, and turned his face away. For a moment he resumed cleaning tack, a job he had begun earlier. Then without stopping his work he said quietly, “The Empire State Handicap is worth over $100,000, you know.”

  “I know how much it’s worth,” Alec said. He was also aware that when Henry talked about money, the trainer tended to be elaborately polite and even make concessions to others. “And if Pam can ride the Black,” Alec went on, “isn’t it worth taking a chance on winning it?”

  “Maybe it is,” Henry conceded in a muted, silky tone. “If she can ride him, that is. But if she can’t, what then? Will you let Willy Walsh or Pete Edge ride him in her place? Will you?”

  Alec made no immediate reply, and Henry waited a long moment before persisting. “Will you?”

  Alec knew that Henry had two motives—one, his desire to crush such an amateurish suggestion that Pam ride the Black; and two, the possibility of winning $100,000 with a professional male rider in the saddle. Up to now Henry had thought they were out of the race altogether; he had never considered anyone but Alec riding the Black.

  Henry waited impatiently, aware that Alec was in a spot. The old trainer kept his eyes wide and unblinking, a look of exaggerated innocence in them, as if he was content to leave the whole matter to Alec. He doubted that Alec would allow Pam to try the Black. For if she failed to handle him, Alec would be forced to have another professional jockey ride his horse.

  “Well, Alec?” he prodded. “Make up your mind.”

  “Okay, Henry,” Alec said finally. “We’ll do it your way. We’ll put Pam up on him and see how it goes. If she can handle him, she’ll race Saturday; if not—”

  “If not,” Henry interrupted curtly, “I’ll select the next rider. You’ve made the decision, but I’ll follow through on the rest. That’s my end of it.” His eyes left Alec to settle on the girl.

  “You can try him now,” he told Pam, surprising her as well as Alec. “Better now than waiting until tomorrow morning when there’ll be a crowd around. Tack him up, Alec.”

  A short while later, Alec led the Black from his stall. Pam walked alongside, her eyes on the stallion who would test her ability as it had never been tried before.

  The Black walked with a dancing pace, his neck arched high and his head swaying from left to right
. He moved his ears and sniffed the air with great force. A faint sweat had already broken out on his flanks.

  Alec brought him to a halt a short distance from the gap that led onto the track. There he stroked him and told him to be still. He knew the stallion’s instincts went deeper than any language between them. The Black realized something extraordinary was about to happen because he’d been saddled and taken from his stall late in the afternoon with an empty track and stands before him. His muscles were tense, his breathing quick.

  Henry’s eyes remained on Pam, looking for a sign of fear, half-expecting her to change her mind now that the moment had come. “A child weighs more than she does,” he thought. “Where would she get the strength to handle such a horse?” He did not think she would go ahead with her ridiculous plan to ride the Black, not when she finished looking at him and could plainly see what was in store for her.

  Alec kept the Black away from Pam; the stallion was moving much too restlessly to be mounted. It was only a game, Alec knew, but very dangerous if one was not alert. He was putting his horse, his pride, his heart on the line, all without knowing if Pam would be safe.

  The Black feigned impatience and rebellion against the bridle. On trembling legs he pawed the ground, then half-reared, his mane waving high, his eyes flashing.

  “It’s getting late,” Henry said. “We’d better get started if we’re going to do this today.” Yet he made no move toward the horse, knowing it was for Alec to decide when Pam should mount.

  Pam approached the stallion. “I’m ready, whenever you are,” she told Alec.

  “In a minute,” he answered sharply, surprised to find her beside him.

  Pam began whistling the same notes she’d used to attract Black Sand’s attention in the past. Alec was going to order her to stop, and then decided against it.

  She will do it her way, anyway, he thought. Leave her alone. I’m only upsetting them both by my own uneasiness.

  Pam spoke to the Black in a voice that was no less soft than her whistling. All the while she moved closer to him, well within range of his forelegs and teeth.