“You mean a classic colt?” Mrs. Riddle asked, her eyes on the trainer.
“Yes, ma’am,” Feustel answered. “Golden Broom can turn on the speed and keep going, I think.”
Man o’ War tossed his head as the water from Danny’s sponge reached his flared nostrils. The boy wiped them clean of sweat and dirt while the colt’s tongue sought to catch the dripping water.
“Hold still,” Danny said, more to comfort his colt than to reprimand him.
Man o’ War stood quietly, his great eyes sweeping the group that had formed a ring around him. He was getting used to all the activity in the stable area, Danny decided, just as he was to the hustle and bustle of the racetrack. Man o’ War was learning stable manners, which were as important as track manners. He was ignoring the throng just as he did the whinnies of the stabled mares and the calls of other young stallions.
“Well,” Mr. Riddle said, “we can be certain of nothing at this stage of the game.”
The group was breaking up, and Louis Feustel followed Mr. Riddle toward the barn. “No,” he agreed, “but we can sure hope.”
Danny finished washing Man o’ War. It looked as though he alone was certain that when the distance of the speed trials was lengthened, his colt would show his heels to Golden Broom without any trouble at all.
However, a few days later Danny, too, was resigned to hoping they had the top colt on the grounds. Man o’ War and Golden Broom raced a quarter of a mile, a furlong farther than the first trial, with the same result as before. At the end of the race there were several lengths of daylight between the two colts and Golden Broom could have gone on.
“We’ll catch him when they race another furlong farther,” he said convincingly.
But they didn’t. The following week the two colts were raced over a still longer distance, three furlongs, and Golden Broom was again the winner. His margin of victory was narrower than in the two earlier speed trials, but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was the faster colt at this stage of training.
“Don’t look so discouraged, Danny,” Louis Feustel told the boy the next day. “I still think we have the better colt, and he’ll prove it when it comes to racing next spring.”
Danny said, “Sure.” But at that moment he recalled too vividly the way Golden Broom had come billowing down the stretch in front of Man o’ War to be certain of anything. Golden Broom had come into his own, and there’d be trouble ahead for everybody in the spring, including Man o’ War at his very best.
Spotlight
14
Louis Feustel banged a boot heel against the tack trunk on which he sat. Then he stood up and went to the stall door to look inside at Man o’ War.
“A colt doesn’t usually mature as fast as he’s doing,” the trainer told Danny. “He fouled himself up in the trials. He’s so big he got in his own way.”
Danny remained seated on an overturned water pail. He scuffed his feet in the dirt and said, “He’ll grow even more during the winter. Maybe he’ll get too big for his own good.”
“They don’t come that big, Danny,” Feustel answered without taking his eyes from the colt. “The bigger he is, the longer his stride will be.”
“He’s eating twelve quarts a day and looking for more,” Danny said thoughtfully.
“But he’s still bolting it down. Next time you feed him put a bit in his mouth. That’ll slow him up.”
Danny nodded. “He’ll still be rattling his empty feed tub before any of the others.”
Feustel started to leave. “If he loves to run like he loves to eat we’re all right, Danny.” He paused, turning back to the stall again. “His heart’s got to be as big as the rest of him. That’s more important than anything else. Nothing can make up for the lack of it, no world of speed, nothing. If he’s got heart, we’re in. If he hasn’t, we’ve got just another fast horse.”
Winter came to Glen Riddle Farm, and with the snow and cold all the yearlings were held to slow gallops. They continued going to the track every morning under saddle, for Louis Feustel believed that young horses grew and developed more rapidly under a program of regulated exercise.
“They’re also apt to forget everything they’ve learned if we turn them out to run as they please,” he told Danny. “Light work is best for them now.”
Danny found that while the winter months were a time for his colt to rest, be cared for, and fattened, he himself was in some ways busier than ever. People were constantly coming to the stall to examine Man o’ War. The big colt was tested for parasites and treated. His legs were checked thoroughly to make sure nothing had popped during his daily gallops through the mud and snow. His teeth were checked and sharp edges filed off; those that had to come out were pulled.
Danny didn’t like to go to the dentist himself, and every time the man came around with the big file in his hand, he cringed.
“You’re worse than your colt,” the horse dentist said, waving the file in the boy’s face. “A bad tooth can cause a horse a lot of discomfort. It can make him pull on one rein, fight the bit, and make for other trouble.”
“Sure,” Danny said agreeably but without enthusiasm. Proper care of the teeth was necessary, he knew. Just like everything else that was being done to make certain there would be no interruption later on when his colt would be subjected to more intensive training. “Go ahead,” he added, turning away so that at least he wouldn’t have to look at the rasping file.
He was learning lots about the care of horses these long winter months, he decided. His colt’s stall was as clean as any other in the big stable. No one ever had to worry about where to step or put down a knee while examining Man o’ War. Like everything else, there were certain tricks to mucking out a stall and saving clean straw. He had listened and learned a lot from Frank and the older grooms. The better he treated Man o’ War, the faster his colt might run.
Take the matter of grooming Man o’ War. There was a lot more to it than he had ever thought. First, he used a rub-rag, cleaning Red’s head gently but not too rapidly. He went behind the ears and under the halter, then moved on to the neck, chest, and shoulders before whisking off the stall dust from the back. Then he went down the thighs to the legs, holding the hind leg a few inches above the hock in order to deflect the leg if the colt tried to kick him. As well as Man o’ War knew him, there was always the possibility of being kicked, for every horse was apt to act on impulse.
The big colt objected more to the stiff brush that Danny used when he finished with the rub-rag. So the boy went very carefully over the head, cleaning the roots of the foretop well, and talking to the colt as he worked. He was extra careful when he brushed the legs and under the flanks and thighs. The skin about the heels was very tender so he took every precaution to avoid irritating it. When he was satisfied that he had his colt clean, he went over him again with a soft brush until Man o’ War was shining as he wanted him to shine.
Only then would he use the comb, running it carefully through the colt’s mane and tail until he had the hair free and flowing. His greatest pride was that he could use a comb without pulling out a single hair!
There were days for play too. At least once a week Louis Feustel would order the colt to be turned loose in the big paddock with Major Treat. Danny would watch them from his seat on the fence, glorying in the length of his colt’s strides as he played in the winter sun. Man o’ War was so robust and full of fun that often he would rear and kick out at Major Treat. But the old gelding was far too wise to be caught napping by the frisky colt.
“It’s a good thing he doesn’t have shoes on,” Danny said to another groom who had stopped to watch.
The other nodded in full agreement as Major Treat narrowly avoided being kicked. “He’s fast with his hoofs. It’s a good thing for all of us that Feustel keeps his colts unshod. We’d all be carrying hoofmarks the rest of our lives. My colt’s as bad as this one.”
“They’re all pretty free with their feet,” Danny admitted.
&n
bsp; “Feustel will keep them barefoot as long as possible,” the other groom went on. “Then when he sees their feet showing signs of wear, he usually shoes them only in front. With their hind feet bare they’re not so apt to grab their front feet and cut up the coronary band pretty bad.”
On January 1, 1919, all the yearlings in the big stable celebrated their second birthday. It didn’t matter that all of them had some months to go before they were actually two years of age. Officially, in the eyes of the Thoroughbred Racing Association, they were two-year-olds, grown up and old enough to begin their racing careers the following spring.
The only festivities about the stable were extra carrots for the youngsters and a day of rest. Danny remained with his colt most of the day, thinking of another date, March 19, almost two years before, when he had seen Mahubah give birth to Man o’ War. They had come a long way since then, but to him the most important thing of all was that he was still beside his colt.
He groomed Man o’ War perhaps more lovingly than ever that morning. It was warm for the first day of the new year, so when he had finished with the soft brush, he dampened a sponge and went over the colt again. He cleaned out the flared nostrils and sponged around the eyes and in back of the ears. He went up and over the turn of the mane, and then over the rest of the big body.
When Danny had finished he stepped back, admiring his horse and his work. Man o’ War would have been the envy of the big stable if anyone had been around to see him. But it didn’t really matter that they were alone. He loved his horse so much that it was enough of a thrill just to see the rich sheen of color come out of his coat.
Man o’ War was gaining in strength and size with every day that passed. He hadn’t had a sick moment since the time of the flu and had never missed an oat. Danny had checked his feed tub after every meal to make sure, for when a colt backed off his feed it meant trouble.
He hadn’t developed any bad stable habits, either, as some of the other youngsters had done. The worst were the cribbers, Danny decided, those who took hold of some part of their stall while inhaling and swallowing deep drafts of air with a grunting sound. He hadn’t let his colt even see any of the cribbers, for that’s how the habit seemed to get started—just from watching others!
Danny said to Man o’ War, “Imagine, swallowing air just for the fun of it!” The colt stood quietly beside him. Man o’ War was the best-mannered colt on the grounds. It was only when he was taken outside his stall that he wanted to break loose and stretch out, his tail fanning the wind. And then, Danny thought, it’s all right. That’s the way it should be.
Man o’ War’s gallops were kept to a mile and a half during January and February. He went to the track every day except on those days when the track was frozen and dangerously slippery. Snow didn’t keep him in his stall and he loved galloping in it, sending it flying in his wake.
Watching him, Feustel told Danny, “Snow is good for a horse’s feet and legs. Even galloping in the mud is okay unless a cold rain is falling at the same time. Getting their bellies wet won’t hurt them any. But getting their bellies and backs wet at the same time is liable to cause trouble.”
By the first of March work started in earnest for all the two-year-olds. Danny, along with everyone else, crossed his fingers in anticipation of the spring races to come. He watched his colt’s gallops lengthened to three miles, then the breezes came. First Louis Feustel had him run a quarter mile at a good clip, then the distance was extended to three furlongs until, finally, the big colt was going a half mile in long, wonderful strides.
Danny saw Feustel stop his watch at fifty-five seconds, good time for a two-year-old under a tight hold! He’s coming along, Danny told himself hopefully. He’s coming along fast.
But the boy knew that Man o’ War still had much to learn about racing before he faced the starter. Like all the other colts, he was skittish and nervous on the track. If a piece of paper blew across his path he would shy quickly, almost unseating Gordon.
“He’ll get over that soon,” Feustel told him. “A couple of months from now he’ll be running straight and true despite anything that happens.”
“I hope so,” Danny answered. “He’s going to hear a lot of noise and excitement coming down the stretch.”
So he waited patiently but with some concern as March passed and Man o’ War’s work was stepped up still more. His colt continued to rear skyward every time he was saddled and mounted. But everyone had come to expect this token battle from Man o’ War. He’d always be something of a rebel, and it didn’t matter very much so long as he didn’t carry it too far.
The weather became warmer and Man o’ War shed his winter hair. His coat was a fiery red bronze, becoming ever sleeker as the weeks passed. Danny noted that Louis Feustel was watching the big colt more carefully, too. Every lightning move Man o’ War made was as dramatic as his glistening body. Those who had looked upon him as just another fast youngster, whose early speed was showing some promise, began to sit up and take greater notice.
“Maybe we’ve got a prize package in this colt,” the trainer told Danny one night early in May. “We’re moving the stable to Havre de Grace racetrack in a few days, but I don’t plan to start him there. I’m going slowly with him, more slowly than with any of the others. I don’t want to make any mistakes, just in case …”
Havre de Grace was only a short distance from the training farm, and the following week the Riddle and Jeffords stables moved there. The mere sight of the large number of horses preparing for the spring races sent quivers through Danny’s body. He thought of what might be in store for his colt. He tried to quell his excitement, knowing that it would not have a good effect on Man o’ War. But his horse was as excited as he.
“Take it easy,” he told Man o’ War, his words of caution meant for himself as much as for his colt. “We’re not even going to race here.”
Feustel ordered slow workouts, but Clyde Gordon had his hands full keeping down the colt’s speed. Despite everything the trainer and rider could do, Man o’ War was beginning to move into the spotlight.
“They still don’t know what I’ve got in store for them,” the trainer said one morning. “He’s fairly hard and ready for more speed if I ask it of him. A few fast moves and he’ll be ready to race. But I don’t want to ask him for it too soon. First we’ve got to teach him to break from the barrier. He has to learn to get away faster.”
“He’ll learn, Boss,” Danny said. “It may take a little time but he’ll learn.”
“We’ll find out,” Feustel said, “starting tomorrow morning.
The next day Danny had Man o’ War rubbed and brushed until his coat gleamed like polished copper. He held the big colt while Gordon mounted. When the man was up and settled in his seat Feustel said, “Danny, take the Major out with him this morning. Go as far as the barrier. Leave him there.”
Eagerly Danny saddled the old gelding and mounted, taking hold of the lead shank to Man o’ War’s bridle. He heard Feustel tell Gordon, “I’ll have a pair of colts with you at the barrier. They’re fast, so try to break him with them and come out together. He ought to remember his yearling trials and break straight.”
They rode toward the track, the sun golden in the east, the mist rising from the river beyond the backstretch. Danny felt the enchantment of the early morning and the mounting excitement of the big colt beside him. Man o’ War was fresh and eager to run.
“Take a good hold on him, Clyde,” he said cautiously.
“I know. He’s up against the bit even now, walking. No one’s ever goin’ to have to drive this colt, Danny. He’ll do everything with his whole heart, every single minute.” The man took another wrap of the reins about his hands.
They kept to the outside rail going up the track. A short distance away was the elastic barrier with a set of four young horses behind it. Suddenly the barrier snapped up, sending the colts away. Danny recognized one of them as Golden Broom, whose pistonlike legs had driven him from the flat-footed
start like a catapult. He watched as the golden colt flashed by, lengthening his lead more and more.
“We’ll never get off like him,” Danny told Gordon, “but we’ll catch him in the end.”
“Maybe,” the rider shrugged, “if we don’t run out of ground first.” His gaze turned back to the barrier. “There’s time enough for that later on.”
The two colts that Feustel had sent with them were already at the barrier. Man o’ War’s body broke out in a sweat as he approached it, and Danny wondered if the elastic webbing would upset him. Except for that, the standing start would be no different from his fall speed trials.
Don’t hurry him, he wanted to say to Gordon, but he kept his mouth shut. His advice wouldn’t be welcome now. Gordon had enough to do. It took strong hands to control Man o’ War.
Behind the barrier Danny removed the lead shank, and Gordon walked Man o’ War up to the barrier beside the two other colts. Danny watched him anxiously. His colt was nervous and sniffing what to him must seem an awesome contraption. Suddenly Man o’ War reared and twisted away from the barrier.
Clyde Gordon had a difficult time staying in the saddle. He grabbed everything he could in order to stay on as the big colt tried to unseat him. Finally the man regained his balance and his strong hands had Man o’ War under control again. Once more he walked the colt up to the barrier.
“That’s it,” Danny mumbled to himself. “Let him get used to it. He’s got brains. He’ll learn what it’s for.”
The two other colts were quiet and in position. The starter stood just inside the rail watching Man o’ War, waiting for him to settle down before snapping up the barrier.
Man o’ War bolted, trying to break through the elastic webbing. Gordon pulled hard, turning him around. Again the colt reared, twisting and trying to unseat his rider.
“Easy, Red! Easy!” Danny called. He watched Gordon regain control again, turning Man o’ War back. Danny knew how suspicious his colt was of the webbing. But he had to get used to it. What Man o’ War learned now would affect his whole racing career. Those who were handling him had a big horse. They had to do it right.