Kentucky Showdown

by J. R. Roberts

  When he came out with the big Darley, there was a smaller man standing by Ben Canby, and Alicia was standing off to one side. She gave Clint a shy glance, then looked away.

  “Clint,” Canby said, “this is my jockey, Davy Flores.”

  Clint shook hands with the diminutive man, who eyed Eclipse and asked, “Who’s this?”

  “This is Eclipse.”

  “Wow,” Davy said, “I’ve never ridden a horse this size.”

  “That’s because they don’t race horses this size,” Clint said.

  Davy looked at Canby.

  “Am I supposed to outrun this monster?”

  “No,” Canby said, “Clint is just gonna run along with you. He wants a close look at Whirlwind.”

  “Well, okay,” Flores said.

  Canby gave Davy a leg up onto Whirlwind, then walked over and mounted his own mare.

  “We’ll ride to the track,” he said.

  “Suits me,” Clint said. “Is Alicia coming?”

  “She wants to see this,” Canby said. “She’ll walk.”

  Clint rode over to her and reached his hand down.

  “Come on,” he said, “I’ll give you a ride.”

  He hauled her up behind him, and she immediately pressed her breasts into his back and wrapped her arms around him.

  “You should know something,” she whispered into his ear.

  “What’s that?” he asked quietly.

  “Davy Flores is in love with me,” she said. “And he’s mean.”

  “I’ll watch out for the little guy,” he said. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “No,” she said. “He’s too . . . small.”

  Clint had met a lot of small men with big chips on their shoulders. Davy Flores hadn’t struck him that way, but then they’d only had time to shake hands.

  They rode over to the training track and Clint lowered Alicia to the ground. Canby rode over to sit beside Clint.

  “I only want him to go six furlongs,” the trainer said.

  “Okay,” Clint said.

  “Don’t press him, Clint,” Canby said, “just ride alongside him.”

  “Don’t worry,” Clint said, “I won’t hurt your little horse.”

  He rode onto the track, where Davy Flores already had Whirlwind prancing about. When Clint rode up alongside them, the smaller man looked up at him.

  “Be careful with that big horse,” Davy said.

  “Don’t worry,” Clint said, “we won’t step on you.”

  Davy Flores did not take that as a joke. In fact, his face got red.

  “I just meant don’t get in my way,” the jockey said. “Whirlwind is the star. Got it?”

  “I got it,” Clint said. “Whirlwind is the star. So where do we start from?”

  “Follow me.”

  Whirlwind led the way to the starting point. Canby sat his horse off to one side, holding a stopwatch in his hand.

  “The boss will call it,” Davy said.

  “I won’t start ’til you do,” Clint promised.

  So they sat at the starting point, both watching Canby, waiting for him to call for the start.

  “Go!” the trainer said, clicking his watch.

  THIRTEEN

  A few miles away, two men were watching Easy Going work around the track. Daniel Farnsworth and Seamus Callaghan watched as their jockey, Tommy Baze, put their horse through his paces.

  “He’s movin’ beautifully,” Callaghan said.

  “He sure is,” Farnsworth said. “These locals don’t have a chance. Our only competition is Sunday Song.”

  The two horses—Easy Going and Sunday Song—had managed to avoid each other up to now. The Derby would be their first race against each other, and they were getting all the coverage.

  “Don’t worry,” Callaghan said. “We’ll beat him.”

  “We’d better,” Farnsworth said.

  * * *

  At Two Chimneys, owner William Kingston and trainer Ollie Shoemaker were watching Lorenzo Capp run Sunday Song around the best training track in Kentucky.

  “Like a freight train,” Kingston said. “He’s gonna go around that Derby track like a train, leaving everything in his wake, gasping.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kingston looked at his trainer and said, “You don’t sound as sure as I do, Ollie.”

  “That Easy Going,” Ollie said, “is some horse, Mr. Kingston. And there’s—”

  “I know that, Ollie,” Kingston said. “But so is Sunday Song. In fact, Sunday Song is better. If you don’t know that, then maybe I need another trainer.”

  They had been together a long time, but that didn’t stop Kingston from threatening to fire Ollie every time they didn’t see eye to eye.

  “Well, boss,” Ollie said, “I’ve also been hearing some talk about a local horse.”

  “What local horse?”

  “They call him Whirlwind.”

  “I never heard of him. Is he entered in the Derby?” Kingston asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who trains him?”

  “A local trainer named Canby, Ben Canby.”

  “I never heard of him either,” Kingston said. “Ollie, I’m not going to worry about a horse I never heard of that’s being trained by a man I never heard of. I’ve got enough to worry about,” Kingston said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Just see to our horse,” Kingston said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kingston watched Shoemaker run to meet the jockey and the horse. For a moment he thought he saw a glint of light on a hillside beyond the training track, but then he told himself he was being too paranoid.

  He turned to go into the house.

  * * *

  In truth, there was somebody watching Sunday Song work, someone watching Easy Going, and even someone with a stopwatch watching Davy Flores put Whirlwind through his paces.

  Not to mention the Gunsmith riding on that big gelding of his . . .

  * * *

  Clint let Davy take Whirlwind out, holding Eclipse back a bit. It didn’t take him very long to realize that he could have run the little three-year-old down anytime he wanted to—but he didn’t want to.

  He ran along behind the animal, watching him, liking the ease with which he moved, his fluidity, the muscles bunching beneath his hide, his tail swishing as he ran. Clint wondered if that would happen during the race.

  After a couple of furlongs he urged Eclipse on and they caught up to the colt, going stride for stride with him. He could see that Whirlwind knew Eclipse was there, and he increased his pace a bit, even as the jockey tried to restrain him. With that kind of competitive spirit, the horse would do well in the Kentucky Derby, where he would only be facing other three-year-old colts.

  Clint eased off on Eclipse, allowing Whirlwind to pull ahead, and he simply paced him from behind for the rest of the workout. When it was over, Davy slowed the animal down, but kept him moving, to cool him down.

  Clint rode over to where Canby was sitting his own horse. Alicia was standing off to the side. She was still avoiding his gaze. He wondered how a woman who had done the things she’d done with him the night before could act so shy the next morning.

  “Well?” Canby asked. “What do you think?”

  Clint suddenly realized that this was why his friend had invited him. Not to watch the Derby, but to see the horse and give his opinion.

  “I think he’s going to do well, Ben.”

  “You see the way the jockey had to hold him back when Eclipse ran up alongside him?”

  “I did,” Clint said. “He’s not going to like having other horses around him. Is Davy going to take him right to the front?”

 
“You bet he is,” Canby said. “I got the fastest horse in Kentucky, Clint—and he can stay. Maybe not with Eclipse, but with other horses his own age, he can stay.”

  “Staying” meant that the horse could last the distance with no problem. The Derby was a mile and a quarter, and many horses who were fast at six furlongs—a furlong being an eighth of a mile—could not last at longer distances.

  “So,” Canby asked, “you gonna bet on him?”

  “I’ll put something down on your horse, Ben.”

  They watched as Davy got off the horse and walked him for a while, and then Alicia ran out and took the horse from him.

  They exchanged some words, and then Davy Flores walked over to where his boss and Clint were sitting their horses.

  “I think I coulda took you, Adams,” the jockey said. “Whirlwind made a move when you came to us.”

  “He did,” Clint said. “I noticed.”

  “We pulled away,” Flores went on. “I had to stop him from hitting top speed.”

  “I know,” Clint said.

  “We could’ve took you and your big horse.”

  Clint looked at Canby. He didn’t want to say anything that would hurt his friend’s feelings, but he wanted to tell the little jockey off. Eclipse could have run past Whirlwind anytime he wanted to. Clint knew it, so did Canby, so did Alicia . . .

  And so did Flores.

  FOURTEEN

  The man in black—whose name happened to be Blacker—clicked his stopwatch and checked the time. Not especially fast, but then they had not really pushed the three-year-old. He’d shown some heart, though, when the big gelding pulled up alongside him. Blacker knew that everyone was either betting on the horse from the East or the horse from California. He also knew that a lot of locals were touting their horses. But a “local” himself—though not specifically from the Kentucky area—Blacker had some interest in this horse called Whirlwind, and his little-known trainer.

  Clint Adams, on the other hand, was well known, and appeared to be a friend of Ben Canby’s. If Adams was here to lay his money down—or even just to offer support—then maybe there was something to this little horse.

  And maybe something was going to have to be done about him.

  About both of them.

  Blacker put his spyglass and watch away, mounted up, and rode off. He had to report to his boss.

  * * *

  Clint had also seen a glint of light that morning, but did not dismiss it lightly.

  “Ben?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Somebody’s been watching.”

  “Where?” Canby started to look around.

  “From that hill,” Clint said, pointing.

  Canby looked.

  “Still there?”

  “No,” Clint said, “I think he’s gone.”

  Canby looked at Clint.

  “Somebody’s worried about us.”

  “You been talking this horse up?”

  “Nope,” Canby said, “fact is, I ain’t said a word to anybody.”

  “Well then, somebody’s paying attention,” Clint said. “Or maybe somebody’s just checking out all the competition.”

  “I think I’ll take a ride up there, see what I can see,” Clint said.

  “Okay,” Canby said. “Let me know.”

  * * *

  Clint rode Eclipse up onto the rise where he’d seen the glint of light, probably a pair of binoculars or a spyglass, as someone watched Whirlwind work out. Of course, being who he was, he had to consider the possibility that they were watching him. They could have recognized him in town, and were wondering what he was up to. He probably should have checked in with the local law when he arrived, but he’d figured his time in town was going to be limited, since he was coming out to Canby’s place.

  He dismounted and checked the ground. He found the tracks of a single horse, and the boot prints of the rider. The man had stood here and, judging from the marks on the ground, might even have gone down on one knee to have a look through his glass. There were no cigarette butts to indicate he’d smoked while he was there, or any evidence of tobacco juice he might have spit. The area was clean.

  He turned when he heard a horse approaching, wondering if the culprit was coming back. He grabbed Eclipse’s reins and prepared for a confrontation, but when the rider appeared, it was Alicia, riding a horse Clint had seen in the barn earlier.

  “What did you find?” she asked.

  “Nothing. What did you think I’d find?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, getting off her horse. “The boss told me you rode up here. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “I’m fine. I just took a look around.”

  “And?”

  “One man, one horse,” Clint said. “He stood about here and watched.”

  “Watched what?”

  “Either me, or Whirlwind’s workout.”

  “A spy.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why would somebody be watching you?”

  “Because of who I am.”

  “You mean that Gunsmith business?”

  “Yes, that Gunsmith business.”

  She eyed him quizzically and asked, “Is that for real?”

  “Is what for real?”

  “All that fast gun stuff?” she asked. “I mean, that stuff about you . . . killing people?”

  “Are you asking me if I’ve killed people?”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “I have,” he said, “but only when they were trying to kill me.”

  “Um, how many?”

  “I don’t keep count, Alicia.”

  “But . . . a lot?”

  “Where’s this coming from?” he asked.

  “Davy,” she said. “He told me that you’re . . . a killer.”

  “Why do you think he told you that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You told me he’s in love with you,” he said. “Do you think he suspects something is going on? Maybe he’s jealous? Or trying to scare you away from me?”

  “But if it’s true—”

  “You’re going to have to decide for yourself what’s true and what isn’t, Alicia. I can’t help you with that.”

  He mounted Eclipse, then looked down at her.

  “Are you coming back down?”

  “Not right now,” she said. “I think I’ll stay up here for a while and do some thinking.”

  “That sounds like a good idea to me,” he said. “I’ll tell Ben. You take all the time you need.”

  He turned Eclipse around and rode him back down toward the training track. He figured he’d spent as much time with Alicia as he was going to.

  FIFTEEN

  As Blacker entered his boss’s office, he saw two stopwatches on the desk. He placed his alongside the others.

  “How did the horse look?” his boss asked.

  “Like a million dollars,” Blacker said. “It ran with the Gunsmith’s big gelding. That’s a horse with a lot of competitive drive.”

  His boss nodded thoughtfully.

  “How about the others?” Blacker asked.

  “As advertised,” the boss said.

  “Gonna be some race,” Blacker said.

  “I’m not looking for ‘some race,’” the boss said. “I’m looking to make money.”

  “With a bet?”

  “To start.”

  “How will you bet?”

  “I have a couple of days to figure that out,” the boss said. “A couple of days to do something.”

  Blacker laughed.

  “You mean we have two days for me to do something,” he said.

  “True,” his boss said, “but I’m the one who will decide what you do.”

  “Well,”
Blacker said. “you let me know when you decide. I’ll be around.”

  * * *

  “What do you plan to do?” Canby asked Clint.

  “I thought I’d follow the trail, see where it leads me,” Clint said. “Maybe I can find out who was on that hill. And why.”

  “It’s not really important, you know,” Canby said. “It just means that somebody recognized Whirlwind as a threat.”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  “What’s another?”

  “That they were watching me,” Clint said. “I have to find out.”

  “I can see that,” Canby said. “If someone’s got it out for you, you wanna know it.”

  “Right.”

  “Well,” Canby said, “do what you’ve got to do, Clint. Then come back here.”

  They were in Canby’s house, and when the trainer walked in, Clint explained again what he’d found on the hill. He hadn’t said anything about Alicia yet.

  “Before I go . . .”

  “Yeah?” asked Canby.

  “In case I run into him,” Clint said, “what can you tell me about the local sheriff?”

  “Ted Hackett?” Canby said. “He’s a bad checker player, but a pretty good sheriff, I think.”

  “Can I use your name if I see him?”

  “Sure,” Canby said. “Tell him you’re a friend of mine.” The man shrugged. “See what that gets you.”

  “I will.”

  Clint turned to leave, still unsure of what to tell Canby about Alicia.

  “Clint?”

  He turned back.

  “Have you seen Alicia?”

  “She’s up on that hill.”

  “What is she doin’ up there?”

  “Thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “A few things,” Clint said. “Give her time. She’ll be back.”

  “If you say so.”

  Clint turned to face the man again.

  “What about Davy Flores?”

  “What about him?” Canby asked. “He’s a good jockey.”

  “What else?”

  “He’s a mean man,” Canby said. “That small man mean, you know?”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Only to himself.”

  Clint nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be back later tonight.”