The Black Stallion Legend (2 page)

Alec jogged off the infield, heading for the jockeys’ room and the warm whirlpool bath that awaited him.

Later that afternoon, with the horses in the paddock for the running of the Merry Christmas Handicap, the public address announcer gave the final weight changes for the race, concluding with “number eight, Pam’s Song, three pounds over.”

Henry Dailey tightened the cinch about the filly’s girth and growled at Alec Ramsay. “You coulda made 110.”

“I couldn’t,” Alec said. “I sweated off all I could.”

“Three pounds less would have made a big difference in this race,” the trainer retorted.

“I’m sorry,” the jockey said. “I did the best I could.” Alec didn’t like to be scolded by his old friend but there wasn’t much he could do about it—except to understand the reasons for Henry’s tirade. It wouldn’t have been different with another trainer. Weights were assigned by the track handicapper in an attempt to bring all the horses in a race down to the finish line together. They were an important part of the game and
despite a jockey’s ability to ride, a trainer looked elsewhere when a rider could not make the assigned weight for his horse.

Once upon a time, Alec had thought that success was having the money to buy what he wanted, including horses, and the freedom to enjoy them. But it wasn’t. He had learned that to be successful in business called for a lot of self-denial, whether one was talking about personal comfort or self-interest. He had to do what was expected of him.

Henry straightened after making certain the saddle was secure, and turned to Alec. He studied the face of the young man in the black-and-white-checkered racing silks. “You know what to do,” he said. It was not a question and only required Alec’s confirmation of what was expected of him in the race.

“I know,” Alec said quietly. “I’m just afraid she won’t like the track today. Despite the cold it’s soft in spots and she’ll slide.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Henry said. “She’ll do okay. She’s going to be Aqueduct’s horse of the winter.”

“If you say so.”

Henry didn’t like the way Alec said it, or the way he looked. Alec’s face was thin, good-looking, unlined and set off by prominent, even teeth that flashed whenever he smiled, which wasn’t too often these days. The same thing went for his eyes, blue and usually laughing; but lately the skin was stretched drum-tight across his cheekbones, making his eyes seem sunken and piercing. He looked tired, despite his healthy body.

The old trainer smiled suddenly and put his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “I didn’t mean to
get sore about your weight,” he said kindly. “Maybe we lost some advantage over the rest of the field, but we can still whip ’em.”

Alec knew Henry wasn’t apologizing but appeasing him, comforting him so he would ride this race as he should and bring the filly home a winner. Winning a big stake race was important to Henry and, of course, to Hopeful Farm. The better their horses raced, the more money their yearlings would bring at the sales, where prices were already setting records.

For Alec, what mattered was not the size or importance of a race or the price yearlings got at auction, but bringing home a winner. His biggest thrill was winning races where he never thought he had a chance. And, contrary to Henry’s expectations of the filly, Alec thought this race might be tough to win. He might not succeed but he’d been beaten before in big races.

Alec raised a leg and Henry boosted him into the saddle. He stroked the filly’s neck, quieting her.

Pam’s Song was tall, already over sixteen hands, and still a little ungainly for her size. She jumped and played a little, enjoying the snow, as Henry led her about the walking ring with the other horses in the field of eight going to the post.

They’d soon find out if Pam’s Song liked to run in bad weather, Alec decided. Today’s race was something of a proving ground for her. A little over three months ago she had been a nonentity in the Hopeful Farm Stable, a good-looking sort of big, lazy filly, one of many at the farm, promising but not proven. Then they had raced her conservatively in three races where the competition had not been tough, and she had
won all of them. This was to be her first major race on a cold and very windy day, which Henry thought to her liking.

Alec kept stroking the filly’s neck, telling her to settle down, that the time for play was over. She’d acted the same way on the track that morning when he had loosened her up. It was a good sign to Alec, for a horse had to enjoy life, the same as a person. If a horse wasn’t happy, he wouldn’t run for you. So maybe Henry was right. Maybe Pam’s Song would be Aqueduct’s horse of the winter. At any rate, Henry wasn’t going to send her south for the winter or, for that matter, even out of New York City.

Alec looked at the seven other horses in the paddock walking ring. Six of them were the very best of those who had stayed north during the winter, and the remaining one had come up from Florida just for this race. Her name was Delta Belle and she was the favorite, carrying the heaviest weight in the field at 118 pounds. She had been one of the top two-year-olds racing last year and had won her first three races at Gulfstream Park in Florida. Delta Belle was being ridden by her regular jockey, Eduardo Gomez, who didn’t look too happy with the day’s weather after having spent several months in the sunny southland.

Henry said, “You got two choices, Alec. If she breaks sharp, go on with her. If she doesn’t, just let her settle down and get her clear.”

Alec met Henry’s gaze, eyes that still held the fire and gusto of youth despite the mass of wrinkles that crisscrossed the old man’s face. Henry looked like what he was, one of the nicest and best-liked trainers ever to
saddle a horse. To others he appeared calm, patient and kind. But Alec knew otherwise. Henry was hypersensitive, a bundle of nervous energy and a perfectionist. Nothing was ever done quite the way
he
wanted, the way only
he
could do it. And Henry did everything but ride. That morning he had gone nonstop despite the cold, applying bandages, walking the filly back from the track, even taking her away from Alec to cool her out.

There was no changing Henry, Alec knew, but the old professional, who was his closest friend, could make mistakes the same as the rest of them.

Henry left them at the track and Alec rode Pam’s Song in her eighth position to the post. He knew he had a real nice horse under him and Henry had done a good job training her—but he didn’t have Henry’s complete confidence that she was ready for the kind of competition she faced today. He hoped he was wrong. It would be easier to get along with Henry if Pam’s Song kept the old man’s adrenaline flowing during the winter months.

The filly shifted quickly beneath him and he had trouble keeping his seat as she slid in the snow. She was too eager, as always. Just as she was used to doing things her own way; that was why Alec found it hard to rate her speed during a race. She had a mind of her own. Alec knew that was why he had named her Pam’s Song, for she was a lot like his beloved Pam.

Don’t think of Pam now
, he reminded himself,
not now
.

Alec had been successful recently in getting the filly to race the way he wanted—sometimes anyway. He
didn’t know what she’d be like today. With her blazing speed, there was no doubt she’d be first out of the gate and she’d fight him if he tried to take her back.

His fingers were cold and stiff and painful as he knotted the reins. He wiped off his goggles and adjusted them more securely about his helmet. The snow had stopped falling but the gale-force wind almost swept him out of the saddle. He ignored the wind as he did the pain in his fingers, knowing it was no different for the other riders. He kept his mind on his horse and the race to be run.

Behind the starting gate, an assistant starter took hold of Pam’s Song’s bridle and, lifting his rubber-booted legs heavily out of the slop, led her into the number 8 starting stall.

Pam’s Song banged against the sides of her starting stall and Alec spoke to her softly, telling her to be patient. They were in the far outside stall; it was better, Alec knew, than being close to the rail where he might be pinned against it. With this kind of track he needed all the room he could get.

The race was being started from the six-furlong pole on the far side of the track. Across the snow-piled infield Alec could see the stands, now jammed with thousands of fans despite a day that was close to being a snow disaster. While few cars were getting through on the Long Island expressways, trains had brought the crowd to Aqueduct. It was these fans who made New York the most important center of racing in America. How New York fared not only affected racing as a whole but also influenced breeding and the sale prices of yearlings, of broodmares, of stallion shares and breeding. That’s why Henry was interested in staying
there and racing. It was the place to be, bad weather or not.

Alec steadied Pam’s Song. Within a few seconds he’d have a lot of decisions to make, and he’d have to make them quickly in a race as short as six furlongs. If he hesitated, he’d lose the race. He had to avoid jams. He had to sense what was going to happen
before
it happened.

“Easy, girl, easy,” he said softly as Pam’s Song twisted in her stall, upsetting his balance as well as her own. “Easy.”

Henry thought Pam’s Song was easy to race but Alec knew different. No one knows a horse better than the person sitting on his back. No horse stayed the same from day to day any more than people did. You had to ride them as you found them that day. A horse might stop running for you one day and go the distance the next. Pam’s Song had class and ability, but she needed good hands and patience, and if everything didn’t go just right for her, she might not do her best.

“Run for me today, baby,” he whispered in the filly’s ear. “Run for me.”

Suddenly Delta Belle in the next stall broke through the grilled door, delaying the start. She ran only a short distance before a red-coated outrider caught her bridle and brought her back. Alec studied her every movement; judging other horses was as important as knowing his own.

Delta Belle was a walloper in size—a rich, dark bay, almost black in color. She looked more like a colt than a filly, a truly big horse with wonderful leverage of the
hind legs, even at the slow trot with which she came back to the starting gate. To Alec this meant enormous propulsion when she did run. The rest of her body, too, gave the impression of power. She was not a showy horse but very plain with a large Roman nose, curved and protruding. Her shoulders were well laid back and her limbs, unlike those of his own mount who was still developing, were in proper proportion to her great size. This horse, the favorite in the race, would give trouble to any three-year-old in the country, including the colts.

Alec stroked his filly’s neck. She had lost her skittishness and was quiet, maybe too quiet. “Wake up, girl,” he said. “Don’t go to sleep on me now.”

Delta Belle was being led into her stall and Alec studied her rider, Eduardo Gomez, whom he knew only by reputation. Gomez was no different from most of the other young riders who had come up from racing in countries south of the United States. Gomez was Panamanian, just eighteen and very hungry to win races. He rode Delta Belle into her starting stall, his long black hair hanging from beneath his protective helmet.

Gomez caught Alec watching him and grinned. “She not happy with this weather,” he said. “Me too. We win. We go.”

Alec smiled back but said nothing. He studied Gomez’s face for some indication of what the other jockey planned to do. But there was nothing to see in the Panamanian’s face, just dark skin, high cheekbones, sunken eyes, making him look ravaged and hungry despite his incredible success this year riding.
No doubt that the lean, poverty-stricken years behind him had left their mark and would always remain a part of him.

There was a loud thump, then lots of yelling, as another horse broke through the gate. But once again an alert outrider was there to head the horse off and bring her back.

Pam’s Song banged impatiently against the sides of her stall, and Alec said, “Too bad, but we have to wait a little longer. Easy, girl.” He hoped she was listening to him.

It was the number 4 horse coming back, Iron Flight, an iron-gray filly, her coat gleaming with obvious good health. She’d come up from the Maryland tracks, where she’d won her last five starts and was the second favorite in the race. She was small but solidly built, and had gotten into the race with 114 pounds, four less than Delta Belle. Alec knew she’d be a hard one to beat.

It made no difference to Alec, as it did to Henry, that a girl rode Iron Flight. Henry had little use for women at the racetrack, even as grooms. That was why he’d been glad to see Pam go.

Don’t think of Pam now
, Alec cautioned himself again.

But his eyes followed the girl in Iron Flight’s saddle, knowing Liz Smith could ride with the best of the men. He had seen her race a few times in New York but she rode mostly at the Maryland and Delaware tracks, where she got more mounts. She’d waited a long time for this particular horse, for as she’d told Alec earlier, “I’ve hoped all along to get a two-year-old with class
and ride him all the way through his career.” She was doing it with this filly, having lost only one race on Iron Flight last year at two, and going undefeated this year at three. But this was the first time she was meeting a horse of Delta Belle’s quality.

Or my filly
, Alec reminded himself. He stroked Pam’s Song’s neck. His mount was being good, very good; only another minute or so now and they’d be off.

Alec watched Liz Smith as she rode past him to go back into the gate. He saw the wisp of blonde hair hanging from beneath her red-checkered helmet with the green pompon, then the flashing blue eyes as she removed her goggles to readjust them. She was small-boned, fragile-looking, but Alec was aware of her strength, as he had been of Pam’s. Everything about this girl’s appearance reminded him of Pam and he felt his great loneliness and the emptiness that went with it. But he’d be with Pam soon, he reminded himself, very soon.