Henry nodded his big head.
“Well, when is he going then?”
Henry stopped, and his tortured gaze met Jimmy’s. “Tonight,” he said.
“Tonight?”
Henry nodded again.
“What race?” Jimmy asked, and there was mounting excitement in his voice, his eyes, in everything about him.
Alec waited for Henry’s reply, and finally it came. “The first race.”
There was no holding Jimmy now. “I can see it then,” he said eagerly. “I can sneak it in without my doctor knowing. It’ll still leave me time to catch my train from New York, won’t it, Henry?”
“I guess so,” Henry returned grudgingly, “but don’t you think it might be wiser if—”
“You talk like my doctor,” Jimmy interrupted, irritation creeping into his voice. “I can just see you going home under the same circumstances!” He looked back at the stall and then at Henry again.
“If he’s going in the first race, why aren’t you warming him up?” Jimmy glanced at his wrist watch. “He should have made a trip by this time.”
“He’s not going,” Henry said in a low voice. “He doesn’t need any before his race.”
“He doesn’t what?”
“He doesn’t need any trips,” Henry repeated. Then he added, “Now take it easy, Jim, an’ let me explain why. I know you’ve always warmed up your horses, same as you did when we were kids. But this colt don’t need that kind of pre-race work. It knocks him out. He’s a speed colt. He’s not built or bred for all that work before a race. It tires him out. He’ll leave his race on the warm-up track.”
Jimmy made no effort to control himself as he’d done when confronted with the special hood. His voice was shrill as he answered Henry. “You’re telling me about my colt!”
Again Henry said, “Now take it easy, Jim. Please. I was just tryin’ to explain how—”
Jimmy interrupted, “—how to train my colt, that’s what you were trying to do! You, who wouldn’t have anything to do with my kind of horses!” Jimmy’s face was white with rage.
Henry said as quietly as he could, “That was years ago. I don’t feel that way now, Jim. I’m tryin’ to help.” He paused. “I got a right to tell you what I think about this colt. An’ I don’t think race day is the time to train him.”
“You got no right to tell me anything if you don’t train him the way it’s supposed to be done!” Jimmy bellowed.
“If I don’t train him the way it’s supposed to be done,” Henry repeated slowly.
Alec saw the tiny pinpoints of light come to Henry’s eyes. Please, Henry, keep quiet, he thought. Let Jimmy do the talking. Remember he’s a sick man. You get mad at what he’s saying, and you won’t do the colt or us any good.
But Alec’s pleading thoughts were of no help, for Henry said bitterly, “Why don’t you look at your colt, Jimmy? You can see what I see if you’ll just let yourself be reasonable. It’s not hard. He’s not like the others you’ve had. He doesn’t have to be trained the way it’s supposed to be done at all.”
“Stop it!” Jimmy’s voice shrilled up and down the shed row. Grooms in nearby stalls stopped their work to turn and look at him.
It was many seconds before Jimmy had control of himself, and then his words came pouring out while his pointed Adam’s apple rose high in his thin neck. “I’ve taken all I can from you, Henry! You tell me to look at my colt. You tell me how to train him. You, who never even sat behind a fast horse. You’re telling me. Get out of here. Get out quick before I throw you out!”
He turned to Alec. “You go with him! I don’t need you, either!”
The blood rushed to Alec’s head. He turned toward Henry, but his old friend wasn’t looking at him. Instead Henry was walking down the row, his bowlegs moving like a very slow wheel, his big shoulders stooped and beaten.
Tears came to Alec’s eyes. He could hardly see Jimmy standing there in front of him. He heard Bonfire moving about to his rear, and then felt the colt’s warm breath on the back of his neck. He heard himself say, “I want to stay. I’ve got to stay.”
Jimmy shouted, “Then you do it my way!” He whirled to watch Henry, who was far down the row.
After many minutes Jimmy turned back to Alec. He was no longer furious but terribly weary. Yet his jaw was set with pure mulishness, and Alec knew there’d be no backing down. He awaited Jimmy’s orders. Finally they came.
“Let’s hook him up,” Jimmy said. “I want you to jog him a couple of miles. After that we’ll turn him and go a mile in about two minutes ten seconds. No slower. You got a watch?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jimmy looked at Alec and then said more kindly, “Henry’s all wrong, you know. With our horses y’got to get them really loosened up before they race. It not only helps their muscles but it gets them to a high racing pitch. They’re ready to go then. Any temperament has been taken out of them. They don’t do any jumping around. They keep their minds on the business at hand.”
Alec listened, realizing that Jimmy believed everything he said. No one was going to argue him into believing that Bonfire didn’t need to follow this set training routine. And Alec didn’t find this so strange when he thought of the younger men at Roosevelt Raceway. They did things no differently. They followed the leader, as Henry had said, and here was one of the leaders—Jimmy.
He put the hood on Bonfire while Jimmy got the bridle and harness. As they worked, Alec got up courage to say, “You’re sure you want me to go that fast a mile with him on the training track?”
“Sure I do,” Jimmy said stubbornly. “He’ll be going faster than that before you’re through warming him up. I want the second and third mile trips to be down around two minutes five or six seconds.”
Alec said, “That’s almost fast enough to win a Hambletonian.”
“That’s what we’re aimin’ to do next week,” Jimmy answered.
Alec stayed behind as Jimmy led Bonfire from the stall. With all this scheduled work it was going to be really rough out there tonight. He wondered if Henry would be around to watch the race.
By seven-thirty they had Bonfire in the paddock. Two of the three separate mile warm-ups were behind the blood bay colt. And now, less than an hour before being called to the post, Alec drove him out on the main track for his last warm-up mile.
Alec was as hot as his colt from all the work they’d done in so short a time. He thought he’d never in his life forget Bonfire’s second mile. The colt really had had to step along to finish it in the time Jimmy had ordered. This final trip was to be as fast. Under any other circumstances Alec would have been overjoyed at the prospect of another fast ride behind Bonfire. As it was, he couldn’t be very happy knowing there was still a race to be run.
It wasn’t yet dark but the track lights were on, and the great stands were beginning to fill. There were many horses on the track, all working, and Alec paid attention to them only because of Bonfire’s eyecup. He had to be ready to close it any time a horse came up close on their right.
Bonfire tossed his head a little. He was wearing the number 5 on his head now that they were on the main track. It was a raceway rule, just as it was a rule that the drivers be wearing their racing silks at this time. Alec glanced at the sleeves of his red-and-white jacket—Tom’s jacket and Jimmy’s colors.
Bonfire was eager to go again, for his red coat was very wet; too wet, Henry would have said. Alec looked over at the stands, wondering if Henry was there.
He knew Henry was right about Bonfire. Already the colt had done too much work. Through the lines Alec felt a lack of the sharpness that had been in Bonfire during the last mile.
He turned the colt at the top of the stretch and took him down, giving him full line as they swept past the starting pole. At the same time he pushed down the stem of his watch, starting the sweeping second hand. Henry had always said that he didn’t need to carry a watch, that he had one in his head. But Alec didn’t want to take any chances at guessin
g Bonfire’s pace just now, with Jimmy demanding another 2:06 mile on the dot: “No slower, no faster.”
Alec felt the sulky seat leap from under him as he asked Bonfire for speed. It seemed more alive than it had the first day he had worked Bonfire for Henry. The seat of the racing sulky was much closer to the colt’s hindquarters than that of the training cart, and Alec felt as though he were being carried along on Bonfire’s flying heels. He sat on the colt’s tail, leaned a little to the side so he could see the track, and went on.
Around the half-mile oval they raced and whipped past the stands again, going into the second lap. Alec glanced at his watch and kept Bonfire down to the same speed. When they had gone three-quarters of a mile he looked at the watch once more, and then let the colt out another notch.
Bonfire quickly responded and came flying off the back turn into the homestretch. All the way down to the finish line he demanded more rein from Alec. But Alec held him in, completing the mile in the time Jimmy had ordered.
A little later he drove Bonfire through the paddock gate. Jimmy took the colt’s bridle, saying, “Nice going, Alec. Now we’re all set to race.”
Alec wondered. He’d know for certain in about forty minutes, when they went to the post. He’d know the second they stepped onto the track again and he felt Bonfire through the lines.
THE OLD HAND
9
The paddock bell sounded and the gate to the track was opened. Over the public-address system came the bugle call to the post, and then the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the horses are now coming onto the track for the first race of the evening’s program.”
Jimmy Creech removed the worn white cooler with the badly faded red borders from Bonfire’s back. He stepped away. “Good luck, Alec.” He watched Bonfire pass through the gate, the fifth horse in the field of eight.
Jimmy carefully folded the blanket, and then pressed it lovingly against his scrawny chest. Everything else for Bonfire was newly bought and slick and polished—the black harness, the red hood, and the sulky with its glistening wheels. But the old blanket held many fond memories, and tonight, as in races long since past, it would bring luck to his horse, even though he wasn’t up behind this colt, the finest of them all!
He turned to watch the marshal who rode the colorful palomino horse at the head of the post parade. He noted with scorn the man’s white form-fitting coat and pants, his shiny black boots and peaked hunting cap. All so dashing beneath this galaxy of lights, all so sickening compared to the county fairs Jimmy had known and loved.
Jimmy looked for Bonfire when he heard the announcer begin to introduce the horses. There was a bench just inside the track where he could sit if he liked. But he didn’t want to sit there tonight. He felt the hot surging of his blood, the increased beat of his heart.
“Don’t get panicky now,” he told himself. “There’s plenty of time. Plenty.”
He left the security and comparative privacy of the paddock for the swarming crowd standing on the cement apron before the great stands. He pushed his way through the people. He wanted to get near the center of the stretch where he’d be able to see his colt start and finish. He carried the worn blanket beneath his arm.
His heart beat faster as he came nearer to where he wanted to be, and despite the rumbling, loud cries of the milling crowd, his ears heard only the voice of the announcer. He listened eagerly for what he wanted to hear, and at last it came.
“Number five is Bonfire, a blood bay colt sired by the Black and out of Volo Queen. Bonfire is owned by Mr. Jimmy Creech of Coronet, Pennsylvania and is being driven by Alec Ramsay.”
Jimmy listened and sought to still the pounding of his heart. Owned by Jimmy Creech. Bred by Jimmy Creech. Raised by Jimmy Creech. Broken by Jimmy Creech. Trained by Jimmy Creech. After sixty-three years of waiting, waiting for this one.
“This is my colt,” he wanted to shout to those around him. “This is the result of all I’ve worked for. Look upon him. He carries the blood of the finest mare I ever bred and raced. No, not a great mare. She saved her greatness for her colt, this colt in whose blood along with hers is that of a fine stallion. A great stallion but one never before bred to a harness mare; therefore untried and unsought by the rest of you who seek change only by turning night into day with your bright lights and fancy frills! You seek perfection in the extravaganza of your colored stages such as this. I seek it in a horse. And there he is. Look upon him, all of you!”
The marshal left the horses at the head of the stretch, and they came down in their first warm-up score. Jimmy watched Bonfire’s every stride, reveling in the beauty of the colt’s long legs. He was most proud, and confident of victory for his colt. Didn’t every person there see all that he did?
He glanced self-consciously at the people standing near him. Their eyes weren’t on Bonfire as he went by. They were watching a tall chestnut horse warming up close to the rail.
“That’s Streamliner,” he heard a woman say excitedly.
Jimmy’s puzzled gaze remained on her. Was she so impressed by the fact that six years before Streamliner had placed third in the Hambletonian? Was she unable to see any other horse on the track, including his colt? Didn’t she know that she was looking at an aged horse, one who should have been retired long ago? Wouldn’t she rather look at a colt who was young and on his way to greatness?
Jimmy turned away from her in search of other people who did appreciate the grace, the smoothness of Bonfire as he went by again. Only then did he see, a short distance away, the man whose head followed the movement of the blood bay colt all the way down the stretch. But Jimmy quickly turned away, for the man was Henry.
A few minutes later the horses reached the mobile starting gate and followed it around the back turn. Suddenly Jimmy felt nausea sweep over him. He took the folded blanket from beneath his arm and pressed it close to his stomach, hoping its warmth would keep him from vomiting. He mustn’t get sick now. He must see the race tonight, and next week the Hambletonian. Then he would be content to do as his doctor had recommended and never watch another race.
The gate was moving faster. The horses followed it past the stands. Jimmy watched Bonfire. Alec had him a few strides behind the horse on his right. The eyecup was open. But nearing the starting line Alec began moving up. The eyecup closed as Bonfire raced alongside the number six horse in close quarters behind the barrier.
Jimmy pressed the blanket harder against his stomach, and the beat of his heart seemed to pound louder than all the horses’ hoofs. If it was like this for him tonight, how would he ever be able to watch his colt in the Hambletonian?
The car swept across the starting line, its long barrier wings folding quickly at its sides. The lights in the stands dimmed. The race was on!
In the first great surge Jimmy saw Bonfire’s hooded head in front. He shouted at the top of his voice. He saw the eyecup open. He shouted again as Bonfire drew farther ahead going down to the turn. His speed was so great that Alec was safely able to move him over to the rail, taking the lead.
“Look!” Jimmy shouted to everyone about him. “Now you’ll look at him!”
Over the public address system the announcer said, “That’s Bonfire out in front. Streamliner is second.”
Jimmy found it hard to breathe. He opened his mouth, seeking more air. “You look too!” he wanted to tell Henry. “You didn’t think he could do it!”
Going down the backstretch, Bonfire continued to pull away from the others. Was there ever a better striding colt? Was there ever one any faster? “No, no,” Jimmy answered himself. “He’s it. He’s it.”
“At the quarter-mile,” the announcer called, “Bonfire has increased his lead to four lengths. Streamliner is second. Lady Luck is third. Worthy Lad is fourth …”
Jimmy glanced at the lights on the infield board that gave the time of the first quarter-mile. Satisfied, he turned back to watch the race. Alec had taken Bonfire to the quarter in just the time he’d ordered. Jimmy grinned. It w
as close to Hambletonian speed, and that’s what he wanted from his colt tonight.
The horses came around the back turn, all in single file, taking the short mile by staying close to the rail. Bonfire raced alone, far ahead of the field. The people in the stands rose from their seats to acclaim this blood bay colt who was streaking down the homestretch for the first time.
Jimmy heard the ovation and his heart pounded harder than ever. He watched his colt approaching the stands. The eyecup was open. There’d be no need for Alec to close it again. No horse could catch up with Bonfire. But the special hood had made it possible for Bonfire to race tonight. Jimmy glanced kindly in Henry’s direction. In his pride he could afford to be forgiving and appreciative.
Suddenly the ovation for Bonfire stopped. He was passing the stands but he didn’t seem to be drawing ahead of the others. Jimmy glanced back at Streamliner. The chestnut horse was gaining on Bonfire! Or was Bonfire tiring? Jimmy’s eyes were so blurred it was hard for him to tell.
Then the crowd began shouting again. But for Jimmy it was a different kind of clamoring. The spectators were now urging Streamliner on in his drive to catch Bonfire! It seemed to take the blood bay colt a long time to reach the half-mile pole, where the race had begun, and Jimmy found himself counting off the seconds.
The announcer called, “At the half-mile it’s Bonfire still in front by half a length. Streamliner is second. Lady Luck is third. Worthy Lad …”
But Jimmy wasn’t listening. He looked at the time for the half-mile. Only the clock was important now. He found that Bonfire had gone two seconds slower in the half than he’d ordered. Jimmy was furious with Alec for having disobeyed his instructions. But then he saw Alec’s raised hands, hands that were asking Bonfire for more speed without getting any response.
A slight twist of concern appeared on Jimmy’s face. He watched Streamliner draw alongside Bonfire. The colt’s eyecup was closed. When Streamliner went by, the cup was opened again.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Jimmy told himself heatedly. “He’ll come on again. He’ll catch that chestnut horse soon.”
The Black Stallion's Sulky Colt Page 8
