The Black Stallion and the Girl (13 page)

No two races were ever alike, Alec thought, and this was the worst he had experienced. Despite the fact that the Black was out in front and well on his way to crossing the line first, Alec knew they were far from winning it officially. Too many horses had been impeded from running their race. There had been too much body contact, too much interference and, unfortunately, he and the Black were responsible for most of it. The jockeys would lodge their claims of interference as soon as the race was over and before the results became official.

Going into the far turn, Pete Edge drove Sailor up to the Black’s hindquarters. But Alec gave the Black another notch in the reins and the champion drew away to win with complete authority. For the first time in Alec’s riding career, he heard catcalls and boos mingled with cheers as he rode his horse under the wire.

Later, when he came back to the finish, the Black was not taken into the winner’s circle. The riders had made their claims of interference, as Alec had expected. Pete Edge claimed that the Black had bumped his mount in the first stretch, almost upsetting him.
Becky Moore claimed that her horse had been forced into the rail by Grey Mist and had not recovered. And Mike Costello claimed that the Black had forced him into Becky’s mount. Such objections were not rare in racing but this was the first time they had been made against the champion and Alec Ramsay.

While Alec waited with the other riders for the track stewards to examine the pictures taken by the film patrol, he learned that Mario Santos had walked to the ambulance after the accident, apparently unhurt except for a broken right arm. Alec’s relief was so great that whatever decision the stewards made as to the official order of finish was secondary.

Five minutes later the order of finish was given and the race became official. The Black was disqualified and placed fourth. Sailor was named the winner. Brush Fire was moved up to second, and Grey Mist remained third.

The Black’s running time on the electric board was a new stakes record by four-fifths of a second, but the disqualification seriously marred the glossy record of the champion. As far as the stewards were concerned, Alec was the culprit. They suspended him from racing for ten days.

When they reached the stable area, the press and cameramen were waiting for them. Henry was uncooperative. If he answered their questions at all it was in terse statements.

Alec bore the brunt of much of the old trainer’s criticism and impatience. “If you’d been quicker thinking,” he muttered to Alec, “it wouldn’t have happened. Too slow. Your mind was on other things.”

Alec said nothing, knowing Henry was in one of his worst moods. He held the Black on a lead shank while the stallion was washed, his heated body steaming like damp fire.

“Deb, get a move on,” Henry shouted at the groom. “Don’t stand there gawking into the cameras. Give me that sponge. I’ll wash him myself.”

Henry squeezed the sponge over the Black’s head and the water ran down, carrying sweat with it. The Black shook his head and reared, scattering the crowd.

“Keep him down, Alec!” Henry roared. “Put that chain over his nose.”

Alec ignored Henry’s order while the Black pawed the ground and snorted with impatience. All eyes were on him. They saw his strength and beauty even in defeat. He did not know that victory had been snatched from him.

“Mario was lucky,” a columnist said. “He got off with a busted arm.”

“His helmet saved him from more serious injury,” another added. “The Black clipped him good.”

“Yeah, he’s lucky, but he won’t be riding in the Empire State Handicap next Saturday … no more than Alec will.”

Henry continued washing the Black and paid no attention to the newsmen. His hands swept the stallion’s glistening body in long strokes along the back, neck, sides and rump. He worked fast, splashing water intentionally over everybody.

The photographers stepped back, covering the lens of their cameras. One said chidingly, well aware of Henry’s attitude toward girl jockeys and annoyed by the old trainer’s tactics, “The scoop has it that Mel Miller’s thinking of putting Becky Moore up on Sun Dancer next Saturday. She might win it all. How does that sit with you, Henry? I mean, a girl winning a $100,000 handicap which could have been yours.”

Henry continued his work, ignoring that question as he had the others. He changed water often, barking orders when Deb didn’t have the pails ready fast enough for him or when Alec allowed the Black too much freedom. Finally, he put the stallion’s long tail in
a pail and sloshed it around in the water, then whisked it in the air, once more splashing the faces, the clothes, the cameras of the newsmen. They stepped back again, not liking it and resenting Henry’s hostile, uncooperative attitude.

Alec didn’t blame them. Henry was taking the Black’s disqualification as a personal affront. Or was it that of all the trainers at Aqueduct Henry disliked Mel Miller the most and the suggestion that Miller might win the $100,000 race with a girl rider was more than Henry could bear, especially at this moment of defeat.

Alec looked down the shed row where Miller’s victory party was already in progress. While the popular trainer had not won first money, he’d pocketed well over $12,000 for Brush Fire’s second place. Even more reason for celebration was that he’d beaten the Black, officially if not by having the faster horse.

The caterer’s truck had just arrived and there was enough champagne and food for everyone in the area. Miller did not restrict his parties to his stable alone.
All
caretakers, riders and trainers in the area were invited. He endeared himself to everyone, including the press; in fact, he was as popular with them as with horsemen. He was affable, courteous and cooperative, remaining calm when besieged by newsmen and doing his best to fulfill their requests. He was, Alec admitted, a far different person from Henry.

The Black’s dripping body had the ripple of fine silk as Henry removed most of the water with long sweeps of the curved scraper. The splendid play of his muscles was evidence of the skillful care and training given him, and Henry, despite his shortcomings, had
played an important part in bringing the Black to his finest shape. No one could be perfect, Alec decided. Everyone had to take the bad with the good. Each had to live with another’s faults as well as his own. The most important thing was to have respect for the other person. He thought of Pam, for she would have said something like that. He wondered if she was on her way to the stable area. She had promised to see him after the race, but her visit wasn’t going to make things any easier. It wasn’t as he’d planned at all.

Alec saw Mel Miller leave the party and walk toward them. It was not something Alec had expected or cared to see. Miller, with all his courtesy, was blunt, even brazen, in his conversations with Henry. He’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could beat the Black if the weights were right. Worse still in Henry’s eyes, Miller had been the first trainer in the New York area to break the sex bar, boosting Becky Moore into the saddle six months ago.

Now he strode toward them, slim, too tall ever to have been a jockey, handsome and very confident. He looked like a young man very much in charge of the responsibilities to which he had set his hand. And well he should, Alec decided, for he had been very successful patching up sick horses, after buying them cheap, and making winners out of them. He had come a long way in just a few years of training, and now had an active public stable, thanks to his zeal and skill.

Miller ignored Henry and directed his invitation to the newsmen. “Come on over, boys,” he said good-naturedly, “the party’s on.”

The newsmen were well aware of the friction between the two trainers and, in their own interests, they encouraged it now.

“Is it true you’re putting Becky Moore up on Sun Dancer Saturday?” a reporter asked.

“Sure. I like the way she rides, and she’s the best investment I have after Mario.” He glanced at the Black, then added jovially, “We’ll win it.”

“You mean with the Black out of the race you don’t expect any trouble?” the reporter asked.

“That’s what I mean, but even if he was in, he’s not unbeatable. Like today,” Miller added quietly.

Henry remained silent. Finished with the scraper, he used a clean sponge and, squeezing it dry, went all over the Black again.

“Too many trainers believe what you fellows are writing about the Black,” Miller said wisely. “I’m not one of them. I don’t scare easily. Something can always happen to the big horse. Or maybe Alec here is losing what he had for so long. Good racing calls for good riding. A little bit of luck can have a big bearing on what happens. Give me an inch and I’ll take a mile. Give me a chance at the purse and I’ll make it a horse race.”

The newsmen were enjoying the remarks of this cocky young man. Once again he was writing their stories for them.

“Did Sun Dancer come out of his gallop okay?” one of the reporters asked.

“Absolutely. Not a scratch on him. If he hadn’t stumbled …”

Miller looked at Henry but the old trainer had his
back to him. He went on, “… well, the weights were right today and I’d been holding Sun Dancer in reserve for this race. It would have been a horse race.”

Henry finished his work and said quietly, “Walk him, Alec. Better if you do it than Deb. Cool him out carefully, now. Just a few swallows of water slowly, and warm it up some … don’t want it cold. Off with him now.”

Without a word to anyone else, Henry turned abruptly and went to the tack room, closing the door behind him.

After walking the Black dry, Alec took him to his stall. He ran a hand down the stallion’s left foreleg and found it cold to the touch as it should have been. Lifting the leg he looked at the foot. There was a wafer-thin piece of leather beneath the shoe that kept the dirt and sand from working its way into a sore spot which had given him trouble in the past.

The Black could use a rest, if only for a short while, and now that they had Black Sand in the stable, Alec decided to ask Henry to send the champion home for a while, to give him a change of scene, if nothing else. He had been tight today, too tight, and much too difficult to handle.

Taking a pair of small tongs from his pocket, Alec went over the raised foot, closing the jaws of the instrument on different parts. The Black never flinched. There was no sign of sensitivity or anything wrong.

“His feet are cleaner than mine,” a voice said from the doorway.

Alec turned so quickly that he lost his balance and sat in the straw. “Hey,” he said, realizing Pam must
have been watching him for a long time. Her head rested comfortably on her arms as she leaned over the half-door.

Before he could warn her not to come inside, she’d opened the door and the Black had gone forward, his head bent and neck arched. Fearful that he would bite her, Alec jumped to his feet and went after him.

He saw immediately that he had nothing to fear. Even the Black seemed to sense Pam’s trust and love of all animals. As if to honor her trust, he strutted for her, dancing on all four legs and waving his mane in the air, displaying all the delicacy of his marvelous balance. Finally, he stood still, very collected and proud, his great eyes flashing.

“Oh, Alec,” she said in quiet awe, “he’s so handsome, more handsome than I ever dreamed. Just as you said, you have to be this close to him to
know
.” She tossed her hair back. “I know it isn’t for his beauty and pretty ways that you love him, Alec, but see the crimson flower in his eyes!”

Alec moved to her side to find out what she meant. With Pam here, he thought, he must be prepared to see many new things. The Black’s eyes were shining with a red glow that had terrified many people in the past. Pam saw it as a crimson flower.

“It didn’t work out very well today,” Alec said. “You chose the wrong day to come. I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t help what happened.”

“But it happened anyway. I’ve been set down for ten days.”

“You mean you can’t ride?”

“Not in a race.”

“You can use the rest,” she said, laughing. “You look lots more tired than he does.”

“I rode Black Sand for Henry this morning,” he said, wanting to change the subject from himself.

“Did he like him?”

“Very much. But the colt didn’t go for me like he does for you. He’s used to you.”

“Does Henry know I’m here?”

“I told him you were taking the day off to watch the race. He didn’t expect you to come backside.”

“Why not?”

Alec shrugged his shoulders. “He figured you’d be too scared of him, I guess.”

“That’s crazy. I’m not scared of anybody.”

“Henry doesn’t know that,” Alec said. “Did you see the colt?”

“Yes, I stopped there first. He looks happy.”

“Not as happy as he’d be at the farm, maybe, but he’s adjusting.”

“I think he likes all the activity,” she said, looking outside at the crowd gathered around Mel Miller’s stable. “That’s a wild party going on over there.”

A slim figure in blue jeans and a blue work shirt walked past, followed closely by a huge dog.

“That’s Becky Moore,” Alec said, “the girl who rode Brush Fire.”

“Who’s her companion?”

“I don’t know his name. I never got close enough to him to find out. He’s her bodyguard, sleeps with one eye open, they say, for protection.”

“I wouldn’t think she’d need it.”

“That’s catty,” Alec said.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I meant that she looks like she can take care of herself.”

“She should,” Alec admitted. “She’s been around a long time, but always with her dog.”

“So she trusts nobody.”

“Nobody.”

Alec and Pam left the Black’s stall and walked toward the closed tack room. “You’re sure you want to meet Henry now?” he asked.

“Why not?” she said, laughing. “I’m crazy enough to trust
everybody
.”

“He’s not in one of his best moods.”

“That’s okay,” she said.

Reaching the tack room, Alec opened the door and found Henry sitting in the chair, his face brooding, an unread newspaper on his lap.