The Black Stallion's Filly (10 page)

The picture left the horses to sweep over the throng that jammed the grandstand, the clubhouse, and the track's infield, where thousands were gathered along the rail.

“Get back to the horses, Mister,” Henry growled.

The picture shifted to the post parade again as the announcer went on: “We have only one minute before post time. The race is a mile and an eighth in length,
with a purse of eighty-nine thousand dollars waiting for the winner. Twelve three-year-olds are on their way to the post. All are colts, no fillies having been entered. The favorite is the California-bred colt Golden Vanity in number four post position. Naturally, the crowd here is eager to see him win. Sectional rivalry in this classic has always been keen and exciting, and today is no exception. Top eastern three-year-olds Moonstruck, High Up, Sadhu and My Time are here and rated to give Golden Vanity a race all the way to the wire. But Californians sincerely believe they have another Morvich in Golden Vanity. Morvich, you know, was the only California-bred horse to win the Kentucky Derby, taking that classic in 1922. There are many here today who think Golden Vanity is the first horse foaled in California that is his equal.”

The picture showed a close-up of Golden Vanity as he passed the starting gate and went up the track at a slow gallop, his jockey standing high in his stirrup irons.

It was easy for Alec and Henry to see why the colt had been given his name. He was a light chestnut and startlingly big for his age, about seventeen hands. His neck, body and legs were long and so finely balanced that anyone would pause to look twice at him. His stride was long and elastic, and he moved with an air of arrogant pride. He tossed his handsome head continually and his body shifted nervously from one side to the other.

Watching him, Henry said, “He's beautiful but he looks overeager to me. He could use up most of his energy
early in the race. If he does, the others will get to him at the end.”

“We'll know in a minute,” Alec said. “Isn't that Nino Nella up on him, Henry?”

“That's Nino Nella riding Golden Vanity,” the announcer answered for Henry. “Don't let the colt's big size fool you into thinking Nino isn't just as small as he looks up there. This eighteen-year-old kid from Brooklyn, New York, weighs only eighty-two pounds. His riding has been sensational in this—his very first—season in California. Two years ago Nino was a plumber's helper in Brooklyn. Today he's the hottest jockey here at Santa Anita, with the most wins and money won during the season. They're saying around the track that horses like to run for Nino. And it certainly appears so. He's ridden Golden Vanity to his previous two victories this month, and if he wins with the chestnut colt today it's certain they'll be together at the Kentucky Derby early in May.”

Alec turned from the screen to Henry, but his friend was watching Golden Vanity too intently to meet his gaze. Nino Nella was the rider whom Black Minx had taken through the rail last year in her first and only start in Florida as a two-year-old. Alec knew that a bad accident caused many a jockey to lose courage. That Nino Nella had come out of the hospital to ride so many winners, as the announcer had just pointed out, indicated that he had lost none of his nerve.

The picture had left Golden Vanity to pick up the other colts. All twelve were behind the post; some were already turned and coming into their starting-gate
stalls. Others were being taken by their jockeys far up to the back turn. The television cameras followed them, trying to bring into view the majestic Sierra Madre Mountains beyond the backstretch. But only the lower slopes were visible because of the blanketing clouds.

“It's post time,” the announcer said. “The track is fast. All colts carry the same weight of one hundred and eighteen pounds. They're starting one furlong—that's an eighth of a mile—behind the finish line of this mile track. That's Moonstruck now, going into his number three post position.”

They watched the eastern colt and Henry grunted his approval. Moonstruck was a bay of moderate build but well balanced, strong to the fore and very muscular behind.

“Looks a little like our filly,” Henry said.

Alec shook his head in disagreement. “He's lower set. I think he's definitely a sprinter. He'll get away fast with that driving equipment behind. But I don't think he'll be able to go the distance.”

“He won some beautiful races last year at two,” Henry said.

“But this is a mile and an eighth,” Alec reminded him.

“Yeah, but still—” Henry paused, watching the number 6 colt approaching his stall.

The announcer was saying, “The number six horse going into the gate is another easterner, My Time. He's the second favorite. Last year My Time won …”

My Time was a big, dark colt, and his size would have impressed them more if they had not first seen
Golden Vanity. He was a good sixteen hands, and as strong in line and body as the chestnut colt. My Time walked into his starting stall with a long reach, quick and racy. He looked as if he possessed a lot of speed.

“What'd he do last year?” Alec asked.

“No stake wins—but I think he needed a longer race. He'll have it today. He could win with no trouble at all.”

All the colts were in the gate now. Alec and Henry sat awaiting the break, as tense as though they had saddled a colt for this race. The announcer's voice had stilled. He was waiting too. The heads of the horses could be seen within the wire-mesh doors of their individual gate stalls. There was no movement among them. The break would come any second.

Suddenly there was the sharp clang of the starting bell; the stall doors sprung open and a line of surging, bursting horse-flesh broke forward. For more than a hundred feet there could be seen only the straining heads of colts and jockeys. Then the picture shifted to a side view of the stretch run as the colts pounded past the grandstand for the first time.

The small eastern colt Moonstruck showed his nose in front as they swept by the judges' stand with a mile to go. The other colts were bunched, with little distance between any of them. Moonstruck increased his lead to a length, his short strides coming with amazing swiftness.

Without looking away from the picture, Alec said, “I told you he'd get away in front. He's low set for it. But watch him fold early.”

“Not early,” Henry said, “
if
he folds at all.”

The colts were approaching the first turn. Moonstruck's lead was lengthening. He had three full lengths on the field now. His body was very low. He was stretched out all the way. He was flying!

Only when the field reached the turn did the line of colts behind Moonstruck break at all. Some of the jockeys pulled up, taking their horses behind others to save distance going around the turn.

Golden Vanity raced alongside Sadhu, who was on the rail. The favorite's chestnut body was stretched out, his strides coming fast and long. Nino Nella moved with him, his hands and feet going constantly, moving in rhythm with the big colt's strides. But Alec could see he wasn't pushing his mount. Not yet.

Henry said, “See what I meant when I said some time ago that Nino Nella was a ‘huffle-scuffle' rider? He doesn't sit still a minute. Black Minx wouldn't take that kind of treatment from him.”

Close behind Golden Vanity came the big eastern colt My Time. His dark face was just to the right of the chestnut's hindquarters. The rest of the field was close up. It was a mad surging pack with no colt yet out of the race, none giving way.

Moonstruck's short, fast strides were made for the turns. He stayed close to the rail, never lessening his speed. And when he came off the first turn he had put another length between him and the field. Into the backstretch they went.

Alec said, “They'll catch him now.”

“No they won't.”

Not another word was said. Neither knew which
colt the other was rooting for. It didn't matter. The race was too exciting.

Moonstruck's strides didn't falter. He kept his four-length lead. But now the colts behind him were changing positions. My Time drew alongside Golden Vanity. Sadhu, on the rail, didn't fall back. The three colts were fighting a bitter duel without gaining on the small bay colt ahead of them. And from behind came another colt, a light gray, making his bid. He drew alongside My Time, stayed for a furlong, then dropped back again.

Halfway down the backstretch, Sadhu began losing ground. There was no way of telling if he had tired or if the pace of Golden Vanity and My Time had been stepped up. The jockeys moved with their mounts, straining with them. But neither of the two big colts shortened Moonstruck's lead.

Henry was on his feet now, his arms waving excitedly as he tried to root Moonstruck home. “Keep up there!” he shouted.

Alec, too, was on his feet, watching the small bay colt race for the back turn. He had thought Moonstruck a sprinter, but the colt now looked like a classic horse. He might go the distance. He might upset the favored Golden Vanity!

Moonstruck went into the far turn, still four lengths ahead. Behind him Golden Vanity moved ahead of My Time by inches. But Moonstruck maintained his long lead over both.

Once more the small bay colt took the turn with never a shortening stride. Now Golden Vanity was a
length in front of My Time. His long strides took him away from the rail, seemingly losing more ground to Moonstruck. The flying leader came off the turn and entered the homestretch.

Alec's eyes followed him. With less than a quarter mile to go, Moonstruck's short strides were coming faster than ever. His jockey was asking for more speed and the colt was really turning it on.

Alec was watching Moonstruck so intently that he could think of nothing else until Henry said, “The chestnut, Alec!”

Golden Vanity came off the turn wide, his giant strides taking him almost to the center of the track.
Now
Nino Nella really was using his hands and heels to get more speed from the chestnut! Golden Vanity's strides came ever faster, then he was bearing down on Moonstruck with terrifying suddenness. The small bay colt was tiring, and Golden Vanity was coming down the stretch with a swiftness that was breathtaking.

He caught Moonstruck at the mile post, with a furlong to go. He passed the bay colt and opened daylight between them—one length, two, three, four, five, six, seven lengths. More than fifty yards from the finish wire, Nino Nella stopped using his hands and feet. He settled back in the saddle and came near standing in his stirrup irons as he slowed the chestnut colt. Yet Golden Vanity swept under the wire still a good five lengths ahead of Moonstruck.

Henry turned to Alec before sitting down again in his chair. “That chestnut really turned it on,” he said.

Alec nodded. “He did that, all right. Golden Vanity looks like a great colt, Henry.”

“But why did Nino Nella stand up before the finish?” Henry wondered.

“Maybe to save the colt,” Alec said. “He knew he was going to win without any trouble.”

Henry grunted. “And maybe because it made him and the colt look better.”

The television cameras stayed on the colts as their jockeys slowed them going around the turn, and then singled out Golden Vanity as he made his way back toward the winner's circle.

“Who took third?” Henry asked.

“My Time. Sadhu was fourth,” Alec said.

For a minute they listened to the announcer as he reviewed the race. Golden Vanity's time had equaled the track record despite his being pulled up by his jockey before the finish wire.

Alec was impressed. Turning away from the screen, he said, “That's amazing time for a three-year-old.”

Henry shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, but don't put too much emphasis on it. In California they make track surfaces especially fast. I've seen too many horses who made good records out there come east and be beaten in races that were many seconds slower than their California times.”

Alec studied Henry's face. “You're not underestimating Golden Vanity, are you?”

“No, of course not. He was by far the best in the race today. But I'm not going to come out and say he's an unbeatable whirlwind because of his fast time out there. He may be a Kentucky Derby winner and he may not. First I want to get a look at the other top
three-year-olds; then I'll decide. Also, I'm not so sure right now that Golden Vanity can go a mile and a quarter.”

“He went a mile and a furlong today,” Alec said. “That means he had just another furlong to go for the Derby distance.”

Henry smiled. “You know as well as I do it's that last eighth of a mile that counts in the Derby, Alec. I've seen lots of good colts stumble all over themselves trying to navigate it.”

“But Golden Vanity's jock was pulling him up. He looked as though he had plenty of stamina left.”

“That's exactly what I mean, Alec. It
looked
as if he had it, and maybe that's what they wanted us to think. I saw one or two things that make me think he might not be able to go a mile and a quarter.”

“Perhaps you're right,” Alec said. “But he looked awfully good to me.”

“And maybe you're right,” Henry relented. “Maybe he is another Morvich. Anyway, that's what the Californians will be shouting from the housetops now that he's won this race in record time. All I want to know is this—is he good enough to beat Silver Jet, Wintertime and a few of the other top three-year-olds he'll have to contend with this year?” The trainer grinned. “Who knows? Maybe even Morvich couldn't have beaten 'em.”

They watched Golden Vanity standing in the winner's circle, his great body sleek with sweat. He tossed his head and moved restlessly before the thousands of people gathered about the ring. The picture shifted to
a tall young man who was about to be interviewed by the announcer.

“Congratulations, Mr. Graham,” the announcer said. “How does it feel to own the winner of the Santa Anita Derby?”