Feustel nodded in agreement. “But he’s still too thin for his size. He eats too fast, like he does everything else. Give him his head and he’ll overdo, in his feedbox or on the track. He needs restraint.”
Danny watched Man o’ War finally stop playing and settle down with Major Treat under a big tree. “The Major quiets him down a lot,” he said. He felt jealousy of the old hunter surge within him and tried to quell it. He understood the reasons for it. Man o’ War had become increasingly dependent upon Major Treat, who was now stabled next to him. The colt was impatient, even unhappy, when his friend wasn’t around.
“Yes,” Feustel agreed. “He’s helped us a lot.”
Suddenly Man o’ War broke into a run, sending the earth flying behind him. They watched him awhile, then Feustel said, “He’s fast approaching the point where he can be set down and really tried.”
“Have you any idea what he can do?” Danny asked, glad of the opportunity to discuss Man o’ War’s speed compared to that of the other yearlings in the stable.
Feustel shrugged his shoulders. “It’s difficult to tell, Danny, over the short distances we’ve been going. His reach is tremendous, I know. And I even suspect we might have something, but I’m not sure by any means. We’ll know more as he goes along.”
Once again Danny resigned himself to waiting and the days passed slowly for him. He rode Major Treat to the track every morning and, along with Man o’ War, learned the first lessons of racing. Sometimes Louis Feustel had him take Major Treat in front of Man o’ War so that the big colt would learn to get a little dirt in his face without ducking out or refusing to run when it hit him. At other times they ran close together, changing positions frequently from inside to outside. Gradually, distance and speed were increased until Man o’ War was jumping away quickly from Major Treat, his fastest moves sandwiched in between slow breezes. Soon, Danny knew, it would be time for a speed trial, when his colt would be running against a horse much faster than Major Treat.
“Jeffords’s Golden Broom is the colt Feustel will try him against,” a groom said late one night when the air outside was crisp with the first frost.
Moving closer to the small coal stove, Danny answered, “We’ll beat him.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Dan.”
“Red’s the fastest colt in the barns,” Danny asserted confidently.
“Sure, so is mine,” the other groom said. “Every colt we rub is the fastest.”
“I’m serious,” Danny said.
“So am I,” replied the other.
“No yearling around here takes such big strides as mine,” Danny went on. “Golden Broom won’t even be near him.”
“Maybe Golden Broom will be too far in front, that’s why,” the other groom said, laughing. Then more seriously he went on, “That Jeffords colt gets away faster than any I’ve ever seen. He’s got trappy, lightning strokes.”
“Red will catch him,” Danny said.
“Maybe so,” the other agreed. “I hope so, anyway. We don’t want no Jeffords colt beatin’ any of ours.”
Another groom moved closer to the stove for warmth. “If mine was as quick on his feet as he is with his teeth, he’d dash ’em all to death,” he said. “Never did see an ol’ divil so fast in the mouth. He turns on yo’ quick as the blink of an eyeball.”
They laughed and the second groom said, “I like ’em with dash, any kind of dash. Sort of breaks up the peace an’ quiet ’round here this time of year.”
“The speed trials will wake yo’ up.”
“You, too!”
“Me, too,” the other agreed. “An’ everybody else around here, jus’ everybody.”
Early the next morning Louis Feustel told Danny, “We’re pairing him off with Golden Broom today. Get him ready.”
When the boy remained stone still, Feustel smiled and said, “C’mon, Danny, don’t take this so seriously. The only reason for a speed trial is to give the colt some idea of what his job is.”
“Then why is everybody taking this one so seriously?” Danny asked, going to Man o’ War.
“Just natural rivalry between two stables,” the trainer answered. “But the result won’t be as important as they think. Some yearling colts that can’t run a bit in the fall beat the tar out of the fast ones when the races come along. It’s what a colt does in the spring that really counts.”
Danny slipped the bridle over Man o’ War’s head. “Are the Jeffordses and the Riddles here?”
“Sure, they wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Feustel said.
Then it was important, Danny decided. Despite Louis Feustel’s statement that the result of the speed trial was not important, everybody wanted to win. They’d all be picking their colts to win, and he was no different. Man o’ War just had to beat Golden Broom!
The Trials
13
In the gray light of dawn Danny stood at Man o’ War’s head as Clyde Gordon mounted. The big colt had put up his usual battle over being saddled but now seemed to be resigned to control. He tugged on Danny’s lead shank as if he were impatient to get to the training track, and paid no attention to the nickers of the stabled horses or the calls of their grooms.
Feustel nodded and said, “Okay, Danny, take him away.”
There’d be no Major Treat alongside Man o’ War this morning to keep him in line. Man o’ War was on his own and ready to be tried against a colt as fast as, or maybe even faster than, himself.
Danny brought him to a stop at the gap in the track rail, waiting for Feustel and the others to join them. Golden Broom was already on the track; his trainer, Mike Daly, was talking to the exercise boy riding him. For a moment Danny studied the colt from whom so much was expected by the Jeffords stable.
There was no doubt that Golden Broom looked as if he’d be able to give his boy a ride that few jockeys were privileged to take at that hour of the day. The colt appeared small but actually wasn’t. He had a lot more muscle than was noticeable at first glance. He was built to go a distance as well as for speed. But most people weren’t aware of that. They’d been so carried away by his ability to get away fast, his white-stockinged feet churning the track like the wheels of a locomotive, that most of them hadn’t looked him over closely enough.
Danny’s hand moved down the deep, well-sloped shoulders of his own colt. “But you’re faster than he is,” he told Man o’ War, “and you’ll get him in the end.” The smooth, short coat beneath his hand was as soft as glossy satin and just as smooth. There was not a smudge on Man o’ War, not a hair out of place. He was as slick as Danny could make him and ready to go!
The boy glanced again at Golden Broom. The first rays of the morning sun shone on his light-chestnut coat. Here, too, was gold that glistened, Danny had to admit. The speed trial would be something to watch.
Feustel came up and placed a hand on Man o’ War’s strong, level back. “Remember this is just a trial,” he cautioned Gordon. “Don’t try to steal the best of the break. Let them come out together, keep them head and head, then ask them to race down to the wire.”
“You’d better speak to Daly then,” Gordon said, glancing at Golden Broom’s trainer. “You know our colt’s too awkward and long-legged to get away as fast as that other colt, Louis. You know it as well as I do.”
A moment later Danny removed the lead shank from Man o’ War and Clyde Gordon rode him onto the track. Danny moved over to the rail to watch. The Riddles and the Jeffordses were a short distance away from him, their eyes too on the colts. Everything was very chummy, Danny thought, with no one attaching any importance to the coming trial. But each and every one in the two stables, including the women, expected to see a sensational workout.
Danny watched the colts intently as they moved up the track together. Despite Feustel’s instructions and, Danny supposed, Mike Daly’s, neither rider would attempt to keep his colt head and head with the other. This was a race, regardless of what anyone said! They were out to beat each other. No one would ha
ve had it any other way. This was the first test of speed between the two top colts at the training track. What they showed here in action, training, and speed would give an indication of what lay ahead during the spring racing season.
For a few moments the two chestnut colts, one light gold, the other a fiery red, strode beside each other. Golden Broom was on the outside, his body short and close-coupled, every movement one of marvelous control. He made Man o’ War appear bigger and more awkward than he actually was.
A groom from the Jeffords stable said to Danny, “Now all the yakking ’round here will stop. We’ll know who’s got the top colt. You ain’t got a chance of beating us, kid.”
Danny wanted no arguments now, but he couldn’t help saying, “A good big one can beat a good small one any day.”
The other groom laughed. “You’re talkin’ through your hat,” he said. “Stick around the tracks long enough and you won’t be so impressed by the height and heft of a horse.”
Danny turned back to the track. The two colts were nearing the starting pole, which was only an eighth of a mile from the finish line. The trial would require nothing more from Man o’ War and Golden Broom than a short burst of speed from a standing start. Hardly worth getting excited about, Danny decided, and yet he knew his heart was pumping as fast as anyone else’s.
“You see, I figure it this way,” the other groom went on, refusing to let the matter drop. “A good-muscled, medium-sized horse can beat a good big one because he ain’t got so much of his own weight to carry around. An’ it’s been proved there ain’t enough difference in lung capacity to matter.”
Danny kept quiet. It wasn’t just his colt’s size he’d meant. Man o’ War had a big heart that matched his big frame. He wanted to win. That was the most important thing of all.
Golden Broom swung around, showing his hind heels to Man o’ War. The big colt jumped, and for a moment Clyde Gordon had his hands full. Then he had Man o’ War under control but the colt was in a sweat. Gordon took up more rein.
Danny muttered anxiously, “Hold on to him, Clyde. Hold on to him.”
More than anyone else Danny knew what was going on within Man o’ War. His colt’s every movement at the starting pole convinced him that he would extend himself as he never had done in pasture. He was trembling with eagerness to pull free of Gordon’s tight hold on his mouth. His ears were pricked and his eyes were on Golden Broom standing next to him. It wasn’t the first time he’d been worked with a horse alongside. But he knew this wasn’t Major Treat, this was different!
Danny watched Clyde Gordon lean forward and whisper something in the big colt’s ear. There was no doubt that he was trying to calm Man o’ War. Danny felt the growing uneasiness in his own stomach. “Easy now. Easy,” he mumbled, wishing he could help.
Man o’ War tossed his head and swerved, trying to unseat his rider. But Gordon stayed in the saddle, his hands and seat firm. He got the big colt straightened out again and facing down the track toward the finish line.
Golden Broom had become excited over Man o’ War’s antics. He sidestepped nervously, his rider standing in the stirrup irons and trying to calm him down. The rider’s face was very grim and set. He liked his mount’s eagerness but he didn’t want him to go to pieces before the trial started. Worse still, he didn’t want him hit by the big, awkward colt alongside.
The man who was to start them waited patiently for the two colts to straighten out and stand still. He had all the respect in the world for the little men in the saddles. It was not easy to control young racehorses; they were much too confident in their newly discovered strength and determined in most cases to have their own way. Moreover, flat-footed breaking wasn’t easy for a colt to learn. It would be even more difficult next spring when an elastic barrier was stretched across the track before them. But he needn’t think of that now, he decided. His job this morning was simply to do his best to get them off together.
Man o’ War reared, twisting and turning, trying to unseat his rider again. He came down without hurting himself or Clyde Gordon. His red body was shining with sweat. For a few seconds he was still, his head up and straight. Golden Broom was still, too.
“Go!” called the starter. The speed trial was on!
Golden Broom broke fast, just as Danny had expected, his short, powerful legs driving into the soft dirt and sending him flying along. Never had Danny seen a colt whirl and get away from a standing start at such blazing speed. Man o’ War was slow in getting away, more than a length behind before he seemed to untangle his long legs and start to move.
“C’mon, Red! C’mon,” Danny shouted at the top of his lungs, not caring who heard him just so long as there was a chance of his words reaching his colt!
Both riders were sitting very still and well balanced in their saddles, allowing their mounts to settle into racing stride. Yet faster and faster moved Golden Broom, as if no force on earth could have stopped him! Man o’ War was hard against the bit too, but he was losing ground to the other, whose short strides were coming with ever-amazing swiftness.
When they had raced no more than one hundred feet from the barrier, Golden Broom had opened two lengths of daylight between himself and Man o’ War. The golden colt hugged the rail, his body low, his legs flying. Behind him Man o’ War began to unwind his long legs and then he began sweeping over the track with enormous leaps.
“Now!” Danny shouted. “Get him, Red!” He saw Clyde Gordon begin to move his body in rhythm with the big colt’s strides. The rider was pushing Man o’ War. It was the race everyone had expected!
They came charging down the stretch. Golden Broom’s strides never faltered; his speed never lessened. Now everyone around Danny was shouting, urging the colt of his choice to win this very special race. But their voices were lost in the sound of the onrushing hoofs.
Man o’ War responded to Gordon’s urging, slowly at first, then faster and faster. But it was plain to Danny that his colt would have to work for every inch he gained on Golden Broom. The smaller colt was surging toward the finish line relentlessly, his head up and small ears pricked forward, his tail billowing like a cloak. He was continuing to pull away from Man o’ War!
Danny bit his lip until he tasted the blood in his mouth. The golden colt was being asked for more speed and was really turning it on! Danny held his breath as the two flying bodies whipped by him with Golden Broom a good three lengths in front at the finish and looking as if he could have made it more had the race been longer. The speed trial had ended almost before it began.
Danny watched the two riders pull up their colts gradually prior to galloping out another quarter of a mile before coming to a stop. Man o’ War was giving Gordon a fight, but the colt couldn’t beat the hard hold on his mouth. Slowly his strides shortened. Golden Broom was still in front, his light-chestnut body hugging the rail as he swept into the turn. Man o’ War went wide, his large frame and long legs carrying him almost to the center of the track.
Danny continued watching until they came to a stop on the far side of the track. Then he left the rail and walked slowly toward the gap in the fence, the lead shank in his hand. The trial had proved nothing, he tried to convince himself. Nothing except that Golden Broom could get away from the barrier faster than any other horse on the grounds. Besides, Feustel had said these speed trials weren’t very important.
He stood next to the trainer, waiting for Man o’ War to return. He didn’t look at Feustel, keeping his eyes on the colts coming back at a jog. Both of them were still full of run and under a tight hold.
Golden Broom arrived first. Danny was surprised at the bitterness he felt toward the colt. He watched Mike Daly and others in the Jeffords stable go forward to meet him. The colt was tossing his handsome head continually while his body shifted nervously from one side to the other.
Danny left off gazing at Golden Broom, but only a few seconds later he turned and looked at him again. Anyone would look twice at this colt, he decided, no matter how he felt abo
ut the results of the trial. Everything about Golden Broom was so finely balanced. Also, every movement was so elastic, and his manner so arrogant and proud. This colt would probably never admit defeat.
But he could be overeager, too, Danny told himself. He could use up most of his energy in a race. If he does, we’ll get him at the end.
Man o’ War was closer now, his great eyes sweeping the crowd, his body sleek with sweat. Danny hoped that Man o’ War was looking for him.
Louis Feustel went forward accompanied by Mr. Riddle, and Danny heard the trainer say, “I’m not worrying. Did you see how our colt was going at the end? Give us a longer distance and we’ll outrun Golden Broom.”
“I believe you’re right, Louis,” Mr. Riddle answered. “At least we’ll know a lot more when they move up a bit.”
Danny followed them across the sun-baked track. Reaching Man o’ War, he snapped the lead shank on him and said softly, “I’m proud of you, Red. You gave a good account of yourself. The next time you’ll get him.” There wasn’t a scratch on the colt, only sweat and dirt that could be washed off easily.
Back at the barn Danny stripped Man o’ War and washed him while listening to the comments of those most concerned with his training.
“I’m certain Golden Broom will fold early once we go any kind of a distance against him,” George Conway, the stable manager, said.
“I don’t think so at all,” Louis Feustel disagreed quietly.
Surprised at his trainer’s remark, Mr. Riddle said, “But you mentioned only a few moments ago that you were pleased with the way Man o’ War was going at the end, that you felt we’d outrun Golden Broom over a longer distance.”
“I meant every word of it,” Feustel answered. “But George thinks Golden Broom will fold an’ I don’t. I believe it’s going to be simply a matter of our colt running faster once he gets in high gear. The Jeffords colt has substance. He looks to me like he’s far more than a sprinter and will be able to go a distance.”