Unlike the others, Alec didn’t turn Bonfire and take him past the stands at a fast clip. Instead he kept going up the track and around the far turn. He gave his colt enough line to jog at the speed Henry had ordered. Bonfire was moist without being sweated. His eagerness to be turned the right way of the track, to go, came across the long lines to Alec.
It was like holding two electric wires, and Alec delicately held the colt down without fighting him. He told him that soon they’d go, but first they must jog slowly to loosen up any muscles that might be a little tight.
They passed the cream-colored limousine with its great barrier wings folded at the sides. The starter was standing in the back waiting for the Hambletonian colts to complete their warm-up scores. He glanced in a puzzled fashion at Alec when Bonfire jogged by, but didn’t say anything.
Up the long back straightway to the second turn they went and then around it, passing the half-mile pole and continuing up the backstretch toward the first turn. Alec looked beyond Bonfire at the colts who were stopping just off the turn and going back past the stands again. He let Bonfire jog a little faster, knowing the track marshals would be waiting to take them behind the gate at any moment.
“Here it comes!” he told Bonfire. “Here it comes!”
He should have felt more alone than ever going around the kite-shaped track with the great stands and horses in the distance, but he didn’t. Somehow it had made things easier for him—and, he believed, for his colt. It had worked off that terribly nervous edge. Bonfire was ready to go, his muscles loosened by the slow jog. Whatever stamina he had was ready to be used in the long, grueling heats ahead.
Approaching the first turn, Alec heard himself humming to Bonfire for the first time. He knew then that he was as prepared as Bonfire to go behind the starting gate.
When they entered the homestretch, the other colts and the track marshals were waiting for them. Alec knew the marshals were angry at his holding them up but he didn’t care. So far he had followed Henry’s orders. He glanced at the long cord tied about his little finger. He’d almost forgotten it. He’d better remember it in the minutes to come. He’d be needing it, with seventeen other fast horses on the track.
The track marshals told him to hurry his colt into parade position. But Alec didn’t hurry Bonfire. That would come later, behind the gate. The long line of colts went past the stands, and a marshal at either side of the track guided the colts in the first and second tiers. Alec drove Bonfire into his number 6 position. There were five colts in front of him and four behind him, making up the ten that would be starting in the first tier. Across the track were the eight colts in the second tier. At the head of the stretch the mobile gate awaited all of them.
Going past the grandstand boxes Alec heard someone shout his name. But he didn’t take his eyes off the golden, empty track ahead; nor did the other drivers when their names were called out by the multitude. The time had come to race. It was written on the face of every driver, young and old.
After they had passed the mobile gate the barrier wings unfolded, stretching across the track. A short distance behind the gate the marshals let them go, and the announcer told the crowd, “The horses are now in the hands of the starter.”
The colts in the first tier were the first to turn behind the gate, and Alec went with them. He’d known what to expect when Bonfire faced the right way of the track, and yet when the moment came it took all his skill to hold the colt. Only when Bonfire saw the barrier wings ahead did he slow his strides.
Standing in the back of the car, the starter called through the small microphone suspended from a leather strap about his neck, “Don’t let your colt rush this gate, Ramsay! We’re not going yet.”
But the car was moving—slowly, it was true, but moving—and Bonfire pushed his red-hooded head close to the barrier in spite of everything Alec could do to keep him back. On either side of them the other colts in the first tier were coming up to the gate, while behind him Alec heard the rush of hoofs as the colts in the second tier followed closely.
The gate began moving faster and the starter’s orders came faster as he tried to keep the large field in position. No slips in this one. This is the Hambletonian. This must be done properly.
Alec saw Bear Cat come up quickly on his right, the colt’s brown head stretching for the barrier. Alec had no alternative but to close Bonfire’s eyecup. Subconsciously he began to count off the seconds, knowing just how long he could keep the cup closed, and hoping desperately they’d be on their way soon so he could open it in time.
The car picked up greater speed going past the stands, but it wasn’t going fast enough to suit Alec. Impatiently he looked ahead at the starting line while counting off the seconds. Three … four …
The thousands of spectators were on their feet. Eighteen colts moved as one, their hoofs drowning out the roar of the car’s motor and the calls of the starter as he tried to hold them together for a short distance more.
Alec had experienced the thrill of surging power all around him in other races, but this was different. This was power controlled by one man and the moving barrier wings that held back the charging field.
“Fred Ringo!” the starter called suddenly, “Slow your colt down. You’re almost on top of Ramsay!”
Alec didn’t have to be told that Fred Ringo had his colt close to him. He could feel Lively Man’s hot breath on his neck. The luck of the draw had given Lively Man the number 16 post position, a bad position for the Hambletonian favorite and his driver, who liked to get away in front. It was bad for Alec, too, because with Lively Man directly behind him he couldn’t drop Bonfire back from Bear Cat and open the eyecup as he might otherwise have done.
Alec was worried. Eight seconds had passed and he still had the eyecup closed, and now as they came within reach of the starting line another second went by. Then the barrier wings were swept away and the car whipped to the far side of the track. The roar of the crowd drowned out the starter’s cry of “GO!” The Hambletonian was on!
Bonfire, free of the barrier wings and of Alec’s restraining hands, bolted in a sudden surge of speed that swept him out in front. His red-hooded head appeared in front of all the others in that galaxy of straining bodies and brilliantly colored silks.
Alec asked his colt for more speed. He had to get away from Bear Cat on his right, and far enough out in front to feel safe in opening the eyecup. Ten seconds had passed. Never before had the cup been closed for more than twelve seconds.
Bonfire responded to Alec’s urging. Alec saw Princess Guy’s head drop on his left, but he didn’t have room to cross in front of her to get away from Bear Cat. And the brown colt was staying with Bonfire, disclosing all the speed that Henry had said he possessed. Alec heard Si Bauder’s shrill cries to Bear Cat and knew the old man wasn’t going to let his colt drop behind.
Alec felt Bonfire’s mounting uneasiness at the closed cup, and his own tension mounted until his heart was beating faster and harder than all those hoofs pounding toward the first turn. He tightened up on Bonfire, hoping to slow his colt in time to let Bear Cat go on ahead so he might open the cup. He could wait no longer; perhaps he had only a second more. He pulled back on the lines harder and then he was conscious of Lively Man’s head directly above him. Ringo was following them, planning to go to the front with Bonfire!
The sweat poured from Alec’s face and numbness swept over him. He couldn’t take Bonfire back any farther with Lively Man on top of him! And it was too late to try once more to get ahead of Bear Cat. Already Bonfire was gathering himself, fighting the closed cup. Another stride and he jumped high, twisting his body to the right!
Fortunately Silas Bauder had seen Bonfire getting ready to jump. He pulled hard on Bear Cat, taking the three colts on his right out of the way with him while Bonfire came down and crossed in front of them; then Bauder and the other drivers turned their colts back, trying desperately to make up all the distance they’d lost. Ringo had taken good advantage of t
he near accident, having gone through the hole left by Bonfire’s sudden jump and sharp swerve across the track. Now he had Lively Man where he wanted him to be, out in front of the crowded field!
Even with the eyecup open, Alec didn’t get Bonfire under control until the colt came to a plunging stop in front of the outside rail. Bonfire was full of fury, and it would be many seconds before his anger would leave him. And yet Alec turned him back to the track. He had a race to run. He gave Bonfire more line, asking him for speed even though he knew it was hopeless to try and catch the others far down the backstretch.
He took him around the turn, and Bonfire’s strides quickened at sight of the field far ahead of him. Alec’s eyes became moist. Bonfire was fighting so hard to catch the others—and he didn’t have a chance in the world.
He tried to tell his colt to wait, that there was another heat still to come when they’d have an even chance to win. But Alec wasn’t allowed to pull too hard on the lines or sit too far back in the sulky. The judges wouldn’t let him rest his colt. Bonfire must go a fast mile along with the others. There could be no jogging, no conserving of stamina and speed for the next heat. That was the rule of the race, and Alec could only plead with his colt, fingering the lines lightly, asking him not to try so hard.
Bonfire didn’t understand. He pushed his hooded head forward, demanding more rein than he was being given. He went long and low and swift, ever closing the distance between him and the colts trailing the large field. But even these were well down the back straightaway when Bonfire rounded the second turn, passing the half-mile pole. His strides came faster as he tried to close the gap still more.
Alec gripped the lines hard, fighting his colt, holding him down as much as possible. But Bonfire had waited to be turned the right way of the track for too long a time, and there was no stopping him now. Yet Alec never gave up trying, even when they swept into the homestretch with the last of the field still many lengths in front.
Bonfire caught one lone straggling colt before he went under the finish wire. And that was his victory.
Over the public-address system the announcer said, “The unofficial order of finish for the first heat of the Hambletonian is as follows: The winner, Lively Man; second, Princess Guy; third, Silver Knight; fourth, Mismatch; fifth, King Midas; sixth, Cricket; seventh, Bear Cat; eighth, High Noon; ninth, Tangiers; tenth, Star Queen; eleventh, Fibber; twelfth, Lord Bobbie; thirteenth, Ghost Raider; fourteenth, Victory Boy; fifteenth, Chief Express; sixteenth, Big Venture; seventeenth, Bonfire; and eighteenth, The Saint.”
At the first turn Alec stopped Bonfire along with all the other colts. He turned and went back up the track to hear the announcer say, “Ladies and gentlemen, the results are now official. Mr. Ringo, please bring your colt before the judges’ stand.”
As Alec drove Bonfire toward the track gate, the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the winner of the first heat of the Hambletonian: Lively Man, a roan son of Titan Hanover and Blue Maid … and his driver, Fred Ringo.”
The applause was loud and long but Alec didn’t listen. He drove Bonfire to where Henry awaited them.
BACKFIRE!
15
Henry led Bonfire back to the paddock. There were few people in their way, for most of them were still at the track watching Lively Man and Fred Ringo.
“It was a tough break, Alec,” and that was all Henry said about the race.
Bonfire was stripped of his harness. Henry washed him. He cleaned his wide dilated nostrils, helping him to get all the air he needed after his hard, discouraging mile. He slapped on the mild liniment and then covered him.
Meanwhile Alec sat in a chair watching Henry and breathing as heavily as the colt. He turned to Si Bauder, sitting in front of the next stall. The old man’s face was white and his mouth sagged. Si hadn’t put back his teeth yet. His eyes were on the number 16 stall across the row. Lively Man was being washed by grooms, and standing around him were newsmen and photographers.
As Alec turned back to Henry his friend said, “I wish you’d opened the cup. Like I told you last night, I don’t think he needs it closed any more.”
Alec said nothing.
Henry pulled the cooler high up on Bonfire’s neck. “If you had, it couldn’t have been any worse than it was.”
Alec made no comment for a while and then he said, “It could have been a lot worse.”
Henry got the lead shank and walked Bonfire. “Take it easy, Alec,” he said going past the boy. “I’ll just move up and down the row awhile.”
Alec nodded. He watched Henry lead Bonfire through the crowded area. He heard the old trainer’s repeated warnings to those in his way. “Horse coming! Horse coming!”
Most of the other Hambletonian colts had been blanketed and were now standing cross-tied in their stalls. Alec saw the paddock judge stop Henry and for a few minutes there were heated words; then Henry continued up the row.
When he came back, he told Alec, “That guy tried to tell me I couldn’t walk my horse. I told him we weren’t goin’ to do any racing if we couldn’t walk. I guess he’ll leave us alone … ‘as a special favor to a Hambletonian colt,’ ” he added bitterly. “That’s what he said.”
After Henry had gone Alec thought of Jimmy and Tom and George. It looked as if they weren’t coming to the paddock between heats. Perhaps they’d decided it would be too crowded a place for Tom. More likely it was because they didn’t want to face him or Henry. Especially Jimmy. Jimmy had no reason for not being here except his great disappointment. Alec bit his lip. Perhaps it was just as well. It would be hard for him to look at Jimmy.
Henry came down the row again, but this time he stopped before the next stall as Si Bauder said, “You’re a walkin’ fool, Mr. Dailey.”
Henry grinned. “It’s easier than sittin’ and better for the colt, Mr. Bauder.”
“You’d never get away with it if we all got out there and started walking our colts.”
“No, I guess not,” Henry said, looking around him. “Paddocks should be built with horses in mind, not people.”
“You got funny ideas, Mr. Dailey.”
“An’ some of yours are funny to me, Mr. Bauder.” Henry glanced at Bear Cat. “Your colt’s blowin’. He’d get more air out from under that low roof.” He began walking away, and then stopped to look back. “Tell me, Mr. Bauder, why do you walk a horse after a race and yet let him stand hot in his stall after a heat?”
“I’ll think that one over, Mr. Dailey.”
Henry continued walking Bonfire, and the long minutes passed. From the track came the roar of the starting gate and the pound of horses as another race began.
During the next half-hour Henry passed Silas Bauder often but nothing more was said. Alec got up from his chair and began walking beside Henry and the colt. His tension was mounting now that the time for the second heat was approaching.
“I’ll walk him, Henry.”
“No, take it easy, Alec. You’ve got enough to do.”
“I guess Jimmy’s not coming back.”
“I guess not.”
“Henry—”
“Yes, Alec?”
“We’ll be starting from a bad position this next heat.”
“Not so bad,” Henry returned lightly, trying to relieve Alec’s tension. “You could have finished last and been starting from the eighteenth position.”
Alec smiled. “It might have been better, then I could’ve gone around on the outside.”
“You can still race on the outside if you want to, Alec.” Henry turned to the boy, watching him closely. “Or you can drop back and go over to the rail, then look for holes comin’ up on the inside. It’s the shorter way.” Henry didn’t add “but the most dangerous.” He didn’t have to, for Alec knew.
They walked on in silence with only the sound of Bonfire’s light hoofs ringing in their ears. Finally Henry brought the colt to a stop and felt beneath the cooler. “Let’s put him in the stall now,” he said.
Later, while they worked around Bonfire, Henry glanced at the red hood hanging at the side of the stall. No matter what route Alec decided to take in the next heat, the hood wasn’t going to be of any use to him. Henry realized he’d be taking a long chance in disengaging the cord from the spring catch but he had no alternative. He must have faith in his belief that neither Bonfire nor Alec needed this mechanical aid any longer. And it had to be this heat. If Lively Man won again, there wouldn’t be another.
Alec said, “I don’t think Lively Man will last this next heat. Ringo will go all out again. The colt will fold on him in the stretch.”
“Maybe an’ maybe not,” Henry returned. “He’ll be going away from the pole position. He should have an easier time of it than before.”
“Then you think he’ll win?”
Henry shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. They’re all top colts, Alec. I’m talkin’ about starting positions. What happens after they get away is something else again.” He brushed Bonfire’s long forelock. “It’s not just Lively Man and Ringo we have to worry about.”
“But if he wins, it’s over.”
“I know it, and if we win we’ll still have to go a third heat.”
Alec rubbed Bonfire’s nose. “Do you think he’ll be able to go a third heat?”
Henry smiled grimly. “Go out and win the second first. Then we’ll start talkin’ about the third.”
No more was said until the call came for them to get the colts ready for the second heat of the Hambletonian. Henry helped Alec with the harness and said, “My advice is to follow Bear Cat, who’ll be startin’ right in front of you in the Number Seven spot. I got an idea that Bauder will be findin’ holes for his colt this time, and you can go through with him. Si isn’t very happy about young Fred Ringo bein’ in the limelight. He’ll be out to put ’im in his place. You go along with Bauder, and then turn Bonfire loose comin’ for home. We’ll see what happens then.”
The Black Stallion's Sulky Colt Page 12
