The Black Stallion's Blood Bay Colt (20 page)

Jimmy and George watched him with the colt and nodded their heads in approval. Everything was going well again, and everyone was happy. Then it happened.

The first day in December they watched the huge red-and-white horse van drive down the road and stop at the next shed. Jimmy, George and Tom saw the lettering on the van at the same time. It was such large lettering that they had no trouble reading it:

COX CLOTHING COMPANY STABLES

“Phillip Cox,” George muttered. “What's he doin' here?”

Jimmy said nothing, but when Tom turned to look at him he saw that every bit of color had been drained from his thin face. Yet Jimmy never left the doorway of their shed while the van was being unloaded and four yearlings, including the valuable Silver Knight, were taken into the shed. Jimmy's eyes blazed with anger as he watched everything.

He saw Miss Elsie and the other drivers at Coronet gather around during the unloading. He saw the long, low, blue convertible come down the row and stop behind the van. Miss Elsie went to meet the tall, middle-aged man wearing an open camel's hair coat and a brown hat. He saw Miss Elsie smile at the man and shake his hand. He said nothing when George mentioned that “Probably that guy is Phillip Cox. Looks like what you'd expect of a clothing manufacturer.”

As he watched the man take his hat off to Miss Elsie, he noticed that his hair was dark and heavy, with no trace of gray. He saw them go over to the big colt with the tossing gray head. He knew that was Silver Knight, just as George and Tom did.

The groom pulled back the fine white blanket with the red borders. The lettering across it read, “Cox Clothing Company.” Miss Elsie stepped back to get a better look at Silver Knight; then they covered the colt again and all followed him into the shed.

It was only then that Jimmy Creech spoke, and he never turned to Tom or George as he said, “Goin' home for a little while. Stomach.”

They let him go without a word, knowing that
nothing they could say would help. When his car had gone down the road, George said with more bitterness in his voice than Tom had ever heard before, “It's not enough that Phillip Cox is here. He had to go an' pick Jimmy's racing colors, too.”

Tom glanced at Jimmy Creech's worn red-and-white blanket hanging in the sun and nodded sadly.

A short while later, the blue convertible left with Mr. Cox at the wheel.

“That's the blue convertible I told you about some time ago,” George said, “—the kind Jimmy and me never knew.” Then he saw Miss Elsie walking alone toward the track. “I'll find out what it's all about,” he said, leaving Tom.

He was back in a few minutes.

“Miss Elsie said that Phil Cox's father was a friend of her father's,” George said. “He needed a place to keep his colts until he goes to Florida for training January first. He couldn't get away from his business before then.”

“He'll only be here a month, then,” Tom said thoughtfully. “Maybe it'll be all right, George. Maybe it will. A month isn't very long.”

“It depends on Jimmy,” George said. “It all depends on how he takes Cox's being here at all.”

Tom learned how very long a month can be when you begin dreading each day and the next—for thirty-one days. Jimmy seldom talked and he just withdrew into his hard, embittered shell. Tom and George pleaded with him to stay home, but he came every day as though attracted despite himself to the shed next door
with its newly painted red-and-white tack trunks, its gleaming sulkies and soft black sets of harness. Always the fine white blankets with their bold red lettering, “Cox Clothing Company,” would be hanging on the lines to air, to wave in the breeze as though to taunt Jimmy Creech still more.

Jimmy walked by Cox's shed once a day to look through the open doors and see the colts' nameplates, lettered black on golden brass, hanging above the stall doors. Yet he never said a word to anyone who worked for Phillip Cox—even to his trainer or the grooms, who were friendly and nodded to him when he walked past.

Phillip Cox seldom came to the stables and for that Tom and George were grateful.

Each morning they would stand beside the track to watch Cox's trainer work his colts, for they had been broken before arriving at Coronet. When the gray colt swept by, Jimmy would never ask Tom what he thought of him; it was as though Jimmy's whole being was now completely absorbed by his bitterness for Phillip Cox and his kind.

Jimmy's face became more haggard than Tom had ever seen it, and he lost weight until he was nothing but skin and bones. Tom didn't think Jimmy could get any thinner or look worse. But Jimmy did both, and Tom was the cause of it.

Early one morning, two weeks after the arrival of Phillip Cox, Jimmy reached the track in time to see Tom leaving the shed next door. His eyes blazed in anger, yet he said nothing to the boy and turned away from him.

“I only wanted to see Silver Knight close,” Tom called after him. “That's all I did, Jimmy!”

But after that Jimmy ignored Tom completely, and when he had anything to say to him he would direct his remarks to George. Moreover, Jimmy took over all the work with the blood bay colt, and Tom didn't drive any more. It was then, too, that Jimmy started chewing gum again and worked hard from early morning until dark. The stomach pains came again, both at the track and at home. But Jimmy kept working.

It was Saturday and the day before Christmas when Phillip Cox arrived at the track with another yearling he'd bought. A few hours later Cox and his trainer took the new dark bay colt, wearing bridle, harness and lines, but pulling no cart, onto the track.

There had been no snow and the weather was still mild, so George and Tom stood outside their shed while Jimmy sat in the tack room. They could see his face pressed hard against the closed window, watching the new colt as intently as they were.

George said, “That's the baby they've been expectin'. He hasn't had much breaking, and they're aimin' on doing it before going to Florida, I guess.”

Tom watched while Cox held the long lines behind the colt and his trainer had the bridle. Anyone could see that the dark bay was nervous and fidgety. He didn't quite know what was expected of him.

The colt stopped, refusing to go forward, and Tom said, “They shouldn't rush him. He doesn't know what it's all about yet.”

Phillip Cox snapped the whip in his hand but did not touch the colt.

George muttered, “I heard Cox say he'd worked
with a lot of colts. You'd never know it to look at him now.”

Phillip Cox snapped the whip again, but the sound of it only made the colt more nervous and he shifted uneasily without moving forward.

“Why doesn't the trainer take the lines?” Tom asked. “He ought to know how to go about it better than Cox.”

“He does,” George returned. “But Cox is his boss, an' maybe the guy don't want to lose his job.”

The dark bay colt half-reared; his trainer brought him down and started talking to him and stroking him. But Phillip Cox only snapped his whip again, and more sweat broke out on the colt's body. The trainer turned to Phillip Cox, his eyes worried, but he said nothing to his employer.

The colt reared again, higher this time, and when he came down he felt the sharp sting of the whip on his haunches. Startled, he rose again and his dark body was wet with lathered sweat.

Phillip Cox's whip was raised again to strike the colt when Tom shouted and ran toward them; behind him he could hear George's footsteps.

The colt never stopped at the height of his rearing this time; he went over backwards, his fear of the whip causing him to lose his balance. When he went down he stayed down, and felt the cut of the whip—once, twice—on his hindquarters.

Tom threw himself on Phillip Cox's back. But even as he did he felt the man being torn from his arms, and Tom landed heavily on the ground. Rolling, he turned
over quickly to find that Jimmy Creech was clawing and tearing with maniacal fury at the tall, heavy body of Phillip Cox.

There was nothing fair about Jimmy's tactics. He lunged, gouged and kicked Cox, who sought to get hold of his crazed opponent. Jimmy had him down and together they rolled on the hard ground of the track. For two or three minutes no one stopped them, and then they all moved upon the fighting mass of arms and legs. When they got them apart, both faces were bloody and torn. They pulled them away from each other and half-carried them to their sheds.

George and Tom got Jimmy into the tack room and set his battered, beaten body down on the cot. But his eyes still blazed and he made several attempts to get to his feet before lying back. After a while he opened his eyes again and found Tom watching him. He smiled grimly and nodded his head. “Did it, Tom,” he mumbled through swollen lips. “And I'd do it again. He's a—”

“He'll be all right,” George said quietly, bringing a basin of hot water. “He got no more than he gave Cox. An' Jimmy's body is hard … hard as they come.”

But a little later, Jimmy's face became agonized in pain. Quickly Tom went to him. “What hurts, Jimmy? What is it?”

The words were hard in coming, and Jimmy fought to make himself heard, “Stomach, Tom. My stomach. Doctor.”

It was then that Jimmy Creech went home to stay.

Dr. Morton told George and Tom that Jimmy wouldn't get well unless he stayed home in bed and had nursing care. Only with complete rest, strict medical treatment, and freedom from worry of all kind could he be helped; if Jimmy didn't follow instructions the ulcer would get worse.

The practical nurse Dr. Morton sent came to live in Jimmy's small, white-frame house on the outskirts of Coronet. If Jimmy wondered where they'd get the money to pay for her services, he never asked. He only sought relief from the severe and frequent pains that racked his stomach and twisted his face in agony. It wasn't until early spring that any great amount of relief came to him, it was only then that he asked about the blood bay colt.

Tom's eyes turned from the racing pictures, which were the only things that relieved the bareness of the walls of Jimmy's bachelor quarters, to look at the small, flat body beneath the bedsheets.

“Bonfire's a natural, Jimmy,” the boy said. “He has all the speed we expected from him. I brushed him a quarter in thirty-three seconds this morning.”

George moved across the room to Jimmy's bedside. “But Tom held him in all the way,” he said. “We never let him go faster than that 'cause we didn't think you'd want us to.”

“No,” Jimmy said in a weak voice, “that's fast enough for him now. I don't want to rush him. Let the speed come to him. Don't force him. It'll come.”

“I've brushed him up to a half-mile, too,” Tom said, “but without pushing him. Then I hold him down for the last half. But he wants to go, Jimmy,” he added eagerly. “He really does.”

“That's good, Tom,” Jimmy said, his eyes lightening a little. “He knows what it's all about. He's got the will to win. And that's what I was hoping for when I bred the Queen to the Black. The Queen didn't have that. The Black gave it to the colt.” He paused for a moment, resting. The nurse, a small gray-haired woman, stood near the door and watched Jimmy with concern. But Jimmy wasn't through talking.

“Keep the colt down, Tom,” he said. “Remember that … no rushing him. Go along just as you have.” Jimmy turned his head toward the doorway. “Mrs. Davis, leave us alone for a moment, please.”

The nurse nodded; but her eyes pleaded with George and Tom not to stay too long.

Jimmy waited until the door closed behind Mrs. Davis. “Where's the money coming from to pay her?” he asked.

“We got it,” George said quickly. “Don't worry
about it. I'm the business end of this outfit.” He smiled for Jimmy's benefit. “She doesn't charge much. She needed a home, an' you're givin' her that.”

“But—” Jimmy began, only to be silenced by Tom.

“When you put all our money together, it makes more than you think,” the boy said. “As George said, there's nothing to worry about.”

“But how long will it last?” Jimmy asked, his sunken eyes upon them. “How can we manage to race the colt, to pay for feed, equipment, even gas for the van?”

“I've fixed up the sulky and all the harness, everything,” George said. “We don't need to buy a thing. It's all like new.”

“And the colt will make money for us, Jimmy,” Tom said. “Once he gets going everything will be all right.”

“I hope so, Tom,” Jimmy smiled weakly; then he closed his eyes and they thought he was asleep until he said, “It's been a long time, a very long time … since I had a good one.”

Leaning over him, George said, “You'll be driving him, Jimmy. The doc said you're getting better fast. Just do everything he says an' don't worry about a thing. Then you'll be up behind the colt soon.”

“Sure, George,” Jimmy mumbled; but he didn't open his eyes.

George lifted his bald head away from Jimmy. When he and Tom left the room there were tears in their eyes.

As usual, early the next morning before school, Tom had Bonfire out on the track. The sun felt good on his
back and he knew the red colt liked it too, for Bonfire neighed repeatedly while Tom jogged him the wrong way around the track, loosening him up.

Through the lines he talked to his colt, telling him to bide his time
.
That's the way Jimmy wants it
,
he told him
.
Get your legs and body so strong and hard that no racing will ever bother them. Let the speed come slow and easy, Bonfire. We have time … all the time in the world
.

But each time Tom jogged Bonfire past the shed which Phillip Cox and his high-priced yearling had occupied, he said to himself, “It's not fair … somehow it isn't fair.” And for the first time he felt the embitterment that Jimmy Creech had lived with so very long.