The Black Stallion's Filly (24 page)

Henry said, “Yes, I guess it's time.”

“Have you got someone to take Napoleon across when you bring the filly?”

Henry nodded.

Alec let his hand trail off Black Minx's muzzle. “I'll see you in the paddock, then.”

“In the paddock,” Henry repeated.

Alec saw nothing, heard nothing, as he walked toward the track entrance. He was alone. He'd cross the track, the infield, and then go through the underpass to come up near the paddock and jockey quarters in back of the grandstand. The policemen let him through the gate, and he hurried across the track, seeing only the ambulance that was parked at the gate, the one thing he hadn't wanted to see. To forget it he looked beyond to the moving mass of humanity in the infield and stands. Then he lowered his eyes again and kept walking. Soon he and the filly would be on the track. Soon the waiting would be over.

Thirty minutes before post time Alec stepped from the official scales and started for the paddock. He stopped on the balcony of the jockey quarters and looked below at the multitude of faces behind the grandstand and clubhouse. All who could get close enough were jammed against the open shed that housed the paddock. The colts and
his filly
were in their paddock stalls, waiting for the call to the post.

Alec carried Black Minx's saddle. It had gone on the scales with him, making up the 121 pounds she'd be carrying on her back as against 126 pounds for the colts. A filly was permitted to carry five pounds less than the colts. Even that wouldn't help her much. Fillies couldn't race a mile and a quarter against colts in the spring of their third year. Fillies didn't win the Derby … 
only one had won it
.

He started down the stairs in all-black silks and highly polished black boots that shone in the sun's rays. The only thing white on him was the number 5 high on
his right shoulder. Other riders moved along near him, but he paid them no attention. Nothing mattered now but the black filly.

Protected from the surging crowd by a high wire-mesh fence, Alec walked with the others through the paddock. In the center of the rectangular building, there were two rows of stalls, built back to back. It was quiet here compared to the world just on the other side of the fence.

Alec passed Olympus, Eclipse, Rampart and Silver Jet without looking at them. He touched old Napoleon's nose as he circled him and went to the filly in her paddock stall.

Henry took the light saddle from him without a word, and gently put it on top of the saddle cloth that also carried the number 5. As he tightened it, Black Minx moved uneasily beneath the binding girth strap.

Alec glanced quickly about the covered shed. Only the mud horse My Time had been scratched from the race. Break-up, another “mudder,” would go in spite of the fast track, making a field of nine.

The television cameras were on a platform at one end of the paddock, and even now were carrying the Kentucky Derby preliminaries to a waiting nation. Alec knew that his mother and father would be watching and waiting for a glimpse of him on the screen. He turned back to the filly. She was beginning to act up a little. Her calmness was gone. She
knew
now, as they did.

Henry stood quietly beside the filly, stroking her, talking to her. But never did he say a word to Alec. His instructions, if any, would come later on the way to the post.

A bell sounded, and the paddock judge called, “Riders up!”

It had come. It was here. Alec moved to the side of the filly. He raised his knee to Henry's cupped hand. Henry tried to grin at him, failed completely, and nodded instead.

As Alec sat in the saddle, his head began to reel. He leaned forward, bringing the blood to his head. He shook it, and heard Henry ask anxiously, “You all right, Alec?”

“Derby jitters,” he replied, sitting back in his saddle. “It'll go away now, I think. When we move, it'll go away.”

Henry's face was white. “I know,” he said. “I didn't eat anything.” As if that explained it all.

The colts were beginning to move about the paddock. Number 1, Olympus … number 2, Eclipse … number 3, Rampart. Silver Jet was taken from the adjacent stall, wearing number 4. Then it was the filly's turn.

Henry mounted Napoleon and led Black Minx out of the stall. Slowly they followed Silver Jet. Behind them came Golden Vanity, Break-up, Lone Hope and, last in the paddock parade, Wintertime, number 9.

The huge crowd pressed closer to the fence, shouting nothings and calling to the jockeys. Alec straightened in his saddle, moving his shoulders to relieve his tension. But his stomach and head were all right. The waiting had ended.

It was the filly who was upset now. She pushed hard against Napoleon in her excitement. The old gray
plodded along, his big body rebuffing her jolts, never giving an inch. But Black Minx was no more restless than the colts. All had their stable ponies and trainers beside them. No owner was taking a chance of anything happening to his Derby horse between the paddock and the post.

“There's Golden Vanity!”
someone shouted outside the confines of the paddock fence.
“Number six.”
He began singing “California Here I Come,” and for the chorus was joined by hundreds of other voices.

“Here we go, Silver Jet! Ride him, Seymour! Bring that gray ghost home!”

“Oh, you Eclipse you!” a girl cried. “Oh, you Robinson!”

“Today's the day, Wintertime!”

“Ram home, Rampart!”

“There's Henry's goat! Hey, Alec! Move that billy-goat today!”

“Filly-goat, you mean!”

“Break it up, Break-up!”

“You're my Lone Hope!”

On and on the calls came as the horses circled the paddock shed; the noise ended only when the bugle sounded the call to the post. Most of those in the crowd moved at once, surging beneath the stands to the track, where they would witness the great race.

Alec pulled down his cap more securely about the protective fiber liner beneath it. This was an instinctive movement. He was not thinking of Wednesday's accident. All he was conscious of now was the filly. All that mattered was the race ahead of them. His face was still grim, but a new and comforting calmness flowed
through his body. It had come just as it always came when the waiting was over.

They left the covered paddock to walk for a moment in the sun. They went down a fenced runway toward the tunnel which would take them beneath the great stands and to the track. People pressed close to the runway fence, still shouting. But Alec no longer heard them. His eyes remained straight ahead, blinking a little in the bright sunlight. Before they entered the tunnel his gaze swept to the names of previous Kentucky Derby winners lettered along the back of the great stands above.

Henry led the filly into the darkness of the underpass. Just beyond, the sun shone on the track. Eight colts and a filly were going out there. Whose name would be added to that long list? Alec wondered. Which horse would meet the supreme test to come and emerge a champion in this year's Kentucky Derby?

They were coming out of the tunnel now. Olympus, number 1, stepped onto a track turned by the bright sun into the color of flowing gold. And with his strides the band directly across from them began playing “My Old Kentucky Home.”

More than a hundred thousand spectators were on their feet yet strangely silent while the strains of the song wafted lingeringly through the still air. The melody was played as the horses filed onto the track, their bodies sleek and beautiful, their riders colorful in bright silks. The crowds in the great stands and center-field remained quiet, watching the horses, listening to the old and beloved tune.

Alec understood the silence. He felt the music
move into his heart, felt it stiffen his spine and prickle the back of his neck. How long ago had he first heard it? In school certainly. Maybe before that from his mother. It was joy. It was sorrow. It was the story of the old South. Long ago he had accepted it as these. Yet even as a child he had thought of barns and foals, of Kentucky and bluegrass and horses. It meant the Derby too. He knew there were tears in his eyes but he didn't care. It was nothing to be ashamed of.

The melody ended and the multitude came to life. The horses turned to the right, to file down the track before a thunderous acclamation. They passed the winner's circle, going beyond and passing the finish line of the Derby. They went as far as the first turn, and then came back up the stretch again—that long, hard boulevard over which they would speed twice before the race ended.

The starting gate was far up the track at the head of the homestretch. They went toward it, still in file, still parading before the stands. Olympus walked directly behind the red-coated, black-capped marshal in the lead.

Eclipse was next, walking quietly and staying close to his stable pony. Ted Robinson was having no trouble with the burly colt. The jockey's maroon-and-white silk-clad body hardly moved in the saddle.

Rampart was quiet too, but Silver Jet was prancing and his black-hooded head was stretched out, demanding more rein from Dan Seymour. In his red-and-black silks the jockey stood in his stirrups and kept a tight rein on his gray mount.

Black Minx tried to get away from Henry and
stepped out of line, but Henry moved Napoleon still closer to keep her under control.

Behind them Golden Vanity reared, almost unseating Nino Nella. The crowd shrieked. His trainer got him down and back in line. The Derby favorite walked quickly, his great body impressive and startling in its beauty, and already shining with sweat.

The others in the field—Break-up, Lone Hope and the red-hooded Wintertime—stayed in line. Except for constant prancing and pushing against their lead ponies, they made no fuss.

The parade ended in the middle of the stretch, and the horses were allowed to step out of line. Some went off in a canter, and others in a trot, but all headed toward the starting gate at the head of the stretch.

Henry kept the filly close to him and, without turning to Alec, gave his instructions. “Keep her back, not too far, if you can help it. If she gets a clear path in front she'll run herself out. I don't think you'll have trouble keeping her back. Golden Vanity is sure to be out front, and maybe Silver Jet with him. The pace will be fast, too fast, I think. So if you can stay behind some other colts do it until the mile post anyway, then get her clear and let her go. She should be able to go the last quarter. The race will be decided there, particularly the last furlong. Watch Eclipse. He's made to go the full distance.”

Alec said, “I understand. You want me to keep her back in the field and not worry about the pace up front until the mile post. Is that it?”

Henry nodded. The starting gate was just ahead. He'd be leaving the track soon and turning the filly over to the starter's ground crew.

Alec said, “Golden Vanity might run so far out in front none of us will be able to catch him.”

Henry turned in his saddle for the first time to meet Alec's gaze. “If he can hold the rest of you off in that last quarter he'll deserve to win. A horse is game to come from behind but it requires greater gameness, greater courage for a horse to race in front and still repel the challenges he'll surely get in this stretch run. If Golden Vanity can do it, he'll be a champion and a worthy one. That's all, Alec. Here's good luck to both of you.” They were in back of the gate. Henry tried to grin but raised his hand instead. He let go of the filly and rode away with the others.

Over the loudspeakers came the announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen, the horses have reached the starting gate.”

We're alone now. Just you and me, girl. Just the two of us
.

He took her halfway around the back turn, farther from the gate than any of the other colts.
They'll wait for us. It'll mean less time to spend inside
. But finally he turned her back. She whinnied and struck out a foreleg either in play or eagerness, and he thought of the Black at home. She'd never pulled that trick before while in stride. A little of
him
coming out in her.

He kept the bit from her, but her mouth was always reaching for it. He heard the roar of planes flying overhead but never looked at the sky. But above her
tossing head he saw the tiers on the roof of the great stands; they were crowded with cameras, even now focused on the horses as they entered the gate.

Wintertime and Lone Hope were still outside their stalls, along with the filly. The rest were inside the gate and waiting. There was a handler for each horse still outside, and one man called, “Hurry up that filly, Ramsay.”

The starter, standing on his platform just ahead and to the left of the gate, said, “Don't have him rush her, Milton. No hurry. We've got time. Bring her up slowly, Ramsay. And Watts, you ride Wintertime up slowly too.” The starter was making an attempt to be indifferent to the importance of this race. But his sagging grim face betrayed the softness of his voice and his patient instructions. He knew there could be no slips in this start.

The filly's handler took her by the bridle. He looked up at Alec and said, “Shucks, what's the Derby but another hoss race.” His face was just as white as the starter's.

She went into her stall without making any fuss. Alec was surprised, even disappointed, that she'd walked so readily inside. He hadn't counted on it. They'd have to spend a few minutes now waiting for Wintertime and Lone Hope to come into the gate. The door behind was shut and the stall quarters were close. The handlers were moving about the framework of the gate, helping riders to keep control of their flighty mounts.

“Nino Nella,” the starter called from his platform.
“Keep your colt's head up. Help him, Kelley.” Golden Vanity was twisting in his stall.