“You mean about the way he drove tonight?” Alec asked.
“Yeah, that and what’s ahead of us … and behind us, too.”
“You cover a lot of territory,” Alec said with a lightness he didn’t feel.
“Fifty years of it, I guess.”
“I sure can’t make any sense out of that, George.”
“I guess not. Sometimes I don’t even make sense to myself.”
George was silent for a long while and Alec thought the subject had been closed; then the old man spoke again.
“The way I see it,” he said, “is that Tom knows as well as I do that Jimmy’s waited about fifty years to own a colt like Bonfire, one who could possibly win the Hambletonian.”
George paused, and Alec heard the creak of springs as the old man suddenly sat up. “I guess I don’t have to tell you what the Hambletonian means to us.”
“It’s your top race for three-year-olds,” Alec said.
“It’s more than that,” George returned quickly. “It’s got tradition; it’s …” He stopped to grope for the right words to explain all that the Hambletonian meant to him. Finally he gave up and said, “Look at it this way, Alec. Give us one race to win in our lives and we’ll take the Hambletonian. You have the equivalent of that in your sport.”
“The Kentucky Derby,” Alec said quietly. “I know what you mean, George. You don’t have to explain.”
“I guess not,” the old man said, lying back on his pillow again. “Few of us ever come close to winning a Hambletonian. But with Bonfire Jimmy’s awfully close. He knows it, I know it, and so does Tom.”
“So you think that’s why Tom drove as he did tonight?” Alec asked. “You think he was too anxious to make good with a top colt like Bonfire?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. But not for himself or even for the colt. Tom’s thinking about Jimmy. He knows Jimmy is a sick man and that he might not even get a chance to raise another colt, much less a top Hambletonian prospect.”
“That’s a big load for Tom to be carrying,” Alec said.
“I know it and that’s why I’d do anything I could for him. He’s too young for that much responsibility, especially feelin’ the way he does about Jimmy. But he won’t listen to me. He’s got a mind of his own, all right.”
“How sick is Jimmy?” Alec asked. “Doesn’t he come around at all to help with Bonfire’s training?”
“No, he has to stay home. Doctor’s orders. He had a serious operation last year and he’s not supposed to get excited. Boy, he’d sure get excited around here! He hates these night raceways.”
“Then how come you’re here?”
“Well, that’s Tom’s doing, too. We’ve been racing Bonfire at small fairs for the past two months. That’s what Jimmy wanted us to do because it’s what he always did when he was driving. Bonfire had things his own way, just as any top colt would at such places. He won as he pleased with nothing ever gettin’ near him. Tom decided a couple of weeks ago that it was no way to get Bonfire ready for a big race like the Hambletonian. He wrote Jimmy and got his permission to bring Bonfire here for a couple of weeks before going on to Goshen. So here we are.”
Alec said bitterly, “Tonight’s race sure was a good way for Bonfire to meet other top colts. It couldn’t have been a worse introduction.”
“I know that, all right,” George agreed. “And so does Tom. That’s why he’s out walkin’. He must know now that he’s got to set himself straight as well as the colt. He’s got to quit thinkin’ about doin’ right by Jimmy. He’s got to take this coming Hambletonian, big as it is, in his stride and just do the best he can. That’s all Jimmy expects.”
“It’s easy to talk that way,” Alec said. “It’s something else when you’re in the driver’s seat.”
“Sure, I know you’re right, Alec. And I guess I’ve forgotten how it feels to be young. I suppose most fellows Tom’s age would be more anxious and more eager than he is if they had a colt like Bonfire to handle.”
“The chances are,” Alec said, “that they wouldn’t even be given a colt to train. It’s usually a job for a man who’s had years of colt training behind him, someone like your Jimmy Creech or my friend Henry Dailey.”
The springs of George’s cot groaned as he turned over. “Well, one thing is sure. Jimmy’s not going to be of any help to us before we get to the Hambletonian.” George paused. “How about this Henry fellow? Why don’t you ask him to drop by? Maybe he could settle Tom down.”
“No. I don’t think Henry could make it,” Alec said. “He’s pretty busy.”
He said nothing more and George too was silent. Alec felt sure Henry wouldn’t come to any harness-racing track. He didn’t care much for the sport. He’d been a jockey too long to have anything to do with people who sat behind a racehorse rather than astride one.
Henry had been very emphatic about this when Alec had called him earlier. Alec had told him of the race and accident, adding that George thought it best for him not to write Jimmy Creech about what had happened to Bonfire.
“Don’t worry none about my writing him,” Henry had answered. “I’m not getting involved with Jimmy’s problem or Jimmy’s sport. And don’t you go getting mixed up with those ‘tail-sitters,’ either!”
Alec closed his eyes. He thought of Tom out walking by himself … and George, who was tossing restlessly on his cot, unable to sleep. He’d met them only a few hours ago and yet he seemed to know and understand them so well. He felt almost the same way about Jimmy Creech, whom he’d never even met. Tail-sitters, all of them. Well, he was mixed up with them, all right. And this was only the beginning.
COLT TRAINER
3
Early the next morning after Bonfire had been watered and fed, George, Tom and Alec went to the track cafeteria for breakfast. Alec was the only one who ordered a large meal. George complained of stomach pains “just like the kind Jimmy used to get.” Tom said he wasn’t hungry.
Alec watched the young driver and trainer who was responsible for Bonfire. Tom was one of those people whose every emotion is mirrored in their eyes. And in them this morning Alec saw the same concern for Bonfire that had been there the night before, as well as a growing impatience to find out what he wanted to know.
“You’d better get some food in you,” Alec suggested.
“I said I wasn’t hungry,” Tom answered irritably.
George looked at them. They were like a couple of yearling colts yet strikingly different in size, appearance and temperament. Tom was big and raw-boned, his gangling form promising great strength and weight in the years to come. His angular face with its high cheekbones was haggard and white despite all the days he’d spent in the sun. Its pallor was accentuated by his coal-black hair. Tom needed time to fill out, to age, before racing his best.
Alec on the other hand, was like a compact, racy colt who had already reached his maximum strength and size. His shoulders were surprisingly large for one so young, as were his arms and chest. Only his slim hips and legs marked the boy rather than the man. Yes, George decided, Alec was like a colt who is ready to be raced. In many respects he appeared much older than Tom, although his face looked more youthful. Perhaps it was his eyes that made the difference. They held all the self-confidence and maturity that Tom’s lacked. No skittishness was there, and even now, when Alec was as concerned as Tom, his face retained the coloring that almost matched the red of his hair.
George ran his large-knucked hand through the fringe of white fluff that ringed his bald dome, and decided that the safest thing for him to do was to leave Alec and Tom alone.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tom said. “I want to get the colt to the track.”
Alec stopped eating. “Why don’t you give him some time off?” he asked. “It’s pretty soon after last night. He ought to be given a little chance to forget what happened.”
Anger crowded out the impatience in Tom’s eyes. “I’m running things, Alec,” he said quickly. “If you want to s
tick around, okay. But leave me alone. I’ll eat when I want to eat. I’ll train the colt my way.”
For the next few moments no one said a word.
Finally Tom pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “See you at the barn,” he said. He started for the door, stopped, and turned back to Alec. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” he apologized. “I know you’re thinking of the colt too. But I’ve got to find out how he’s going to act. You understand that, don’t you, Alec?”
“Yes, I understand,” Alec answered. “But I just thought you could put if off a few days. A colt forgets quickly if you give him a little time. Push him too soon, and you only run into real trouble.”
“I don’t have a little time,” Tom returned impatiently. “I’ve got to find out now.” He left the cafeteria.
For a few minutes Alec and George were silent. Alec toyed with his scrambled eggs without eating them, and finally pushed the plate away.
“It’s strange hearing a fellow Tom’s age talking about not having time,” he said.
“Like I told you last night,” George answered, “he’s thinkin’ of the Hambletonian. It’s only a couple weeks off now.”
“I know.”
They left the cafeteria and walked through the busy stable area. Radios blared from every row while grooms worked. A voice over the public-address system tried to compete with the radios for the attention of the men.
“Fred Ringo, call long distance operator number twenty-three, that’s two, three. Dr. Hunt is wanted in the race secretary’s office. Ray O’Neil, call Mrs. O’Neil …”
Horses were already on their way to the distant training track with grooms sitting behind them and clucking. The day at Roosevelt Raceway had begun. It would end only with the turning off of the giant floodlights late that night.
George and Alec found Tom and Bonfire waiting for them. The colt had been taken from his stall and was wearing his harness. He pushed his bridled head toward Alec, nickering softly. Alec stroked him, and then helped George hitch him to the training cart. The colt was eager to go. There was no sign of lameness. His eyes were clear, devoid of any fear. As with Tom, only impatience was there. Bonfire saw the horses going to the track, and wanted to join them.
Tom said, “Okay, boy. Let’s go.” His words came easily, lightly. He was relieved by the way Bonfire was acting. Turning to George, he asked, “Are you coming?”
“No. I’ll stay here and clean up. Take Alec along.”
Tom moved over on the seat of the training cart. “C’mon, Alec. Ride over if you like.”
Alec slid onto the narrow seat beside Tom, who clucked to Bonfire.
“It’s good neither one of us is fat.” Tom laughed.
They went across the parking lots, deserted now except for men picking up discarded papers and programs from the evening before. To the far right of the mammoth empty stands and main track was the half-mile oval used for training.
Alec noted Bonfire’s pricked ears and alert head as they neared the track. The colt’s red body, moving so easily between the shafts, reflected the brightness of the morning. He was everything a colt should be.
It’s as though last night’s accident had never been, Alec thought. Perhaps my concern for him is needless … and so, perhaps, is my staying here. Henry would be much happier if I were home.
Alec left Tom and Bonfire at the track gate, and went over to a bench and sat down. He watched Tom take the blood bay colt the wrong way around the track with other horses who were only jogging. Coming the right way around the track were the working horses, their hoofs pounding hard, their bodies lathered with sweat.
As Bonfire came around the track, Tom kept him near the outside rail, giving the other jogging horses plenty of room to pass. The blood bay colt paid no attention to those who went by. He was all business, striding easily without demanding more rein. He knew he would be asked for speed only when he was turned the right way of the track.
Watching him act so beautifully and unafraid, Alec hoped that Tom wouldn’t turn him the other way this morning. If Tom would only let well enough alone for today, the colt would regain any self-confidence he might have lost by his fall. But Alec remembered Tom’s remarks in the cafeteria, and knew that his was only wishful thinking.
Tom turned Bonfire around after a mile had been jogged. Alec watched him bring the colt down the center of the track. If there was going to be any trouble, it would come now, and Tom would find out all that he was so impatient to know.
Bonfire came down the homestretch without going all-out. Behind him came the faster working horses for whom Tom had left the inner rail. They moved up quickly on the blood bay colt, passing him on the inside. Bonfire paid no attention to them, nor did his strides break or falter.
After they had gone by, Tom must have given Bonfire more rein, for the colt’s speed picked up. Alec knew then what Tom was doing. The horses had passed to Bonfire’s left without upsetting him. Now Tom was going to take the colt past them.
Bonfire responded quickly to Tom’s request for speed. He overtook those in front of him, and went by on the outside without a turn of his head.
Alec watched him draw away, going around the back turn; then Tom began slowing him as they moved down the homestretch. Again the horses behind came up on him, but this time Tom kept Bonfire close to the inner rail.
Alec felt a heavy lump rise from his stomach to his throat. He tried swallowing to get rid of it. He watched the horses coming toward him, knowing that this was the supreme test for Bonfire. It was on his right that the accident had occurred the night before.
Now the others were moving up on Bonfire. A black mare was closest. Her driver began taking her past Tom, who glanced at her as she swept by. Then she was abreast of Bonfire, and the colt turned his head slightly in her direction. But there was no hesitation to his great strides.
Alec knew fleeting hope. “Go by! Go by!” he urged the mare. But then he realized that Tom must have given Bonfire more rein, for the black mare couldn’t pass him. Alec’s heart sickened at what Tom was asking of his colt.
Stride for stride they came, the mare’s nearness making her as one with Bonfire. Tom didn’t let his colt draw away from the mare. He kept Bonfire with her purposely, waiting to learn what effect the close racing quarters would have on his colt.
He found out in the next few strides. Bonfire suddenly bolted high in the air, jumping away from the mare. Tom kept his seat in the swerving cart and finally brought the colt to a stop. Like Bonfire, he was trembling.
As Alec ran toward them, he felt certain that Tom’s impatience had ruined a truly great colt forever.
Together they took Bonfire back to the stables without a word to each other. Alec didn’t want to speak to Tom. He was too furious with him to say anything. If he told Tom how he felt, it would only make matters worse.
Tom walked behind the blood bay colt, still holding the lines in hands that hadn’t stopped shaking since he had brought Bonfire to a halt. His face disclosed all his misery. Disappointment was there. And although impatience had left his eyes, insecurity and helplessness were evident there now. Tom knew he had a real problem on his hands, and he didn’t know how to cope with it.
At the stables George didn’t have to ask them how things had gone. He had only to look at their faces to know. He helped to unhitch Bonfire and then sponged him down. When he had finished he put a cooler over the colt and looked around. Only Alec was there, and he was cleaning the harness.
“I’ll do that job,” George said, “if you walk him. My legs are botherin’ me today.”
“Sure,” Alec said. The colt had stopped trembling and the fright had left his eyes. But after this morning’s incident it would take a fine colt trainer to rid Bonfire of his fear. It had become a living part of him.
Suddenly George spoke. “Did Tom push him too hard?”
Alec nodded. “Bonfire was doing all right until then.”
An hour later Alec was still walking the colt
when Tom joined him. They walked on either side of Bonfire in silence.
“Want me to take him now?” Tom asked after a few minutes.
“I don’t mind walking him. He’s just about dry, anyway.” Alec wasn’t angry with Tom any longer. After all, Tom wasn’t to blame. The person at fault was Jimmy Creech—the man who’d given Tom the great responsibility of training a young, high-strung colt.
Tom said, “I don’t have to tell you that you were right … I mean about what you said in the cafeteria at breakfast.”
Alec stopped Bonfire so that he might see the boy on the other side. “Tom,” he said, “I don’t know any more about this than you do. Colt training isn’t for us. It’s a job for experienced men. It’s a skill that’s acquired only after many years of trial and error. When things go right for a colt, the job’s hard enough. If anything goes wrong, it calls for the very best of horsemen.”
Tom turned away. “What you’re driving at,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “is that things have gone wrong and you can’t help me. No one can.”
“You need Jimmy Creech,” Alec said. It was no time for anything but frankness.
Tom shook his head. “No, I couldn’t do that. It’s the last thing I’d ever do. He’s sick enough as it is. The operation he had last fall wasn’t as successful as we thought.”
Alec turned Bonfire around and took him back to the stall. The colt tossed his head, and then got down and rolled in the straw. Alec and Tom watched him for a long while without saying a word. Finally Bonfire got up and came close to them, pushing his mole-soft nose into their shirt pockets.
Tom got a carrot for him. While Bonfire was eating it, Tom said, “You told us about Henry Dailey, who’s Jimmy’s old friend. Wouldn’t he help me with Bonfire? Could you ask him, Alec?”
“He wouldn’t come, Tom. He doesn’t like harness racing very much.”
“But he likes colts, doesn’t he?”
“Of course,” Alec said.
“He might do it for Jimmy,” Tom urged.
“I doubt it, Tom. You see …”
The Black Stallion's Sulky Colt Page 3
