The voices of the other grooms reached Danny.
“First comes Man o’ War, then all the other horses we’ve ever known,” Frank said.
“You’re sho right, man,” Buck answered.
Danny glanced up at the old groom, who had known more great horses than any of them.
A wide grin was on Buck’s toothless mouth as he went on, “I know’d Domino, Sysonby, Sweep, Ben Brush, an’ a few others like ’em. But like you say, this Man o’ War comes first.”
“We’ll never know how fast he could really run,” Frank said. “Feustel was always afraid to let him out. I guess he thought he’d go so fast he might hurt himself.”
“He sho might have, at that.”
Frank shifted his weight on the overturned bale of hay. “What do you think, Danny?” he called loudly. “You ain’t said hardly a word.”
“I think he could have gone lots faster, all right,” Danny said. “But he did everything that was asked of him and that’s what counts. He sprinted when they asked him to sprint, and went a distance when they asked for that. He carried as much weight as they could put on his back, and it didn’t stop him one bit. He ran on all kinds of tracks, slow and deep and muddy, or fast and hard-packed that were torture to any hoofs not as perfect as his. He did everything, Frank, and it’s hardly right to think of how much faster he might have run. What he did was enough.”
For a moment the others were silent after Danny’s long response. Then Frank asked, “You mean you don’t think we should even discuss it?”
“Have it any way you like,” Danny answered.
“Well, he taught me something, that horse did,” Frank went on. “You see, I always thought a horse traveled fastest by moving close to the ground, covering a lot of track without wasting too much motion. But he didn’t run that way. He ran long and up. I never seen a horse bound along like he did.”
“He sho did,” Buck agreed, nodding his gray close-cropped head. “But fo’ all his racin’, man, he’ll be know’d as the hoss that beat the clock, not his rivals.”
“Except for John P. Grier,” Frank reminded him. “Don’t ever forget the Dwyer race, Buck.”
“Jus’ that one little ol’ brush,” and the old man grinned. “He was extended, sho, but still not enough to make him go all-out. No, suh, man.”
“And don’t think for a minute he didn’t have horses of real class to beat,” Frank persisted. “Many of them would have been tops in any year but his. He made them look like cart horses, all of them, even Sir Barton.”
“He sho did, man.”
Danny couldn’t sit still any longer, so he went to Man o’ War again, pulling the black and yellow blanket up on the colt’s neck. The night was getting chilly.
How could such a horse as this ever take to settling down on a stud farm? he wondered. The confined paddocks could never take the place of the racetrack; the whinnies of mares and foals could never replace the roar from the stands. Or could they? In time Man o’ War might forget all the excitement he had left behind.
Danny stroked the colt’s head. Was it himself that he was really wondering about? Would it be enough for him to stand around and watch and wait?
The others must have been watching him, for suddenly Frank called, “You’ll miss him, won’t you, Danny-boy?”
“Miss him?” Danny turned to them, his lips open in a half-smile. “I’m not going to leave him, Frank. I’m going along.”
Frank studied the boy’s face a moment, then he turned to Buck and said solemnly, “You hear that, Buck? Danny’s going to retire too.”
The old groom grinned. “He sho is mighty young to be turned out to pasture, man. He sho is.”
Danny laughed at the men’s reference to his age. “I’ve got a lot of years on this fellow,” he said jokingly. “If he’s ready for retirement so am I.”
They laughed, too. But there was no levity in Frank’s voice when he said, “There’s a difference you’re forgettin’, Danny, a big difference. Man o’ War has broken all the records, and broken down all his competition. There’s nothin’ left for him to do but retire. You now …” He hesitated, studying the boy’s face again before going on. “Well, you’re a handy fellow with a horse and I guess you know this one as well as any man … but you still ain’t made no mark yet in life. I suspect you got a long way to go yet before you think of quitting.”
Danny’s face flamed with his mounting anger. “I’m not quitting, Frank, or retiring either. I’m going with him, that’s all. I’m going to work.”
Frank turned to Buck, and the two men exchanged knowing glances.
“Son,” the old man said, “you ain’t goin’ to make no stud groom for this heah hoss. Frank knows that, an’ so do I. No, suh.”
“But I …”
“Hold on, Danny,” Frank said quietly. “It’s not that maybe you couldn’t be his stud groom someday, if that’s what you really want to do. But look at it this way for a minute.”
He rose from the tack trunk and went over to stand beside the boy. “Things are goin’ to be pretty quiet for a while, maybe a long while. Mr. Riddle’s never bred racehorses before, so he has to start at the beginning. First, he’s got to buy a good band of broodmares. That ain’t going to be easy, even with all his money. Most people who have well-bred mares would rather keep them than sell ’em. I hear that he’s thinkin’ of buying some in Europe. But he can’t do it by himself. He’s got to look around and get someone who knows more about breeding stock than he does to help him. That’ll take time, and buying the mares and gettin’ them over here will take still longer. So what are you goin’ to do, just sit around and wait?”
“I’ll be with him,” Danny said adamantly.
“Maybe you will, and maybe not,” Frank answered patiently. “Mr. Riddle likes you for sure, but when his breeding operation does begin, I suspect it’ll be in Kentucky under the management of someone with a lot more experience than he has. Mr. Riddle may own the greatest racehorse in the world but that doesn’t mean Man o’ War can do without the best mares and the best supervision. Whoever handles Man o’ War will have his own stud groom, his own staff, believe me.”
“There’ll be a place for me,” Danny said, but a note of anxiety had crept into his eyes and voice. “I’ll get a job taking care of his colts and fillies.”
Frank smiled sympathetically. “You’ll have to wait well over a year more for that,” he said patiently. “Buck and I will be waiting for his colts and fillies, too, but meanwhile we’ll be handling horses that will be running after the records he’s set for them. It’ll be interesting, even exciting …”
“After him it could never be the same,” Danny said. “Not for me, anyway.”
Frank shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “You’re older than I thought, Danny. Maybe you’re even older than Buck an’ me here. Maybe you oughta’ retire at that.”
Buck grinned. “Yeah, man, put him out to pasture … that’s what we oughta’ do.”
The railway car became silent and only the clicking of the wheels could be heard. Danny didn’t feel very well at all, and he took solace and comfort in the nearness of Man o’ War.
The days that followed at Belmont Park were easy ones for Man o’ War, if not for those who took care of him. The big colt’s workouts were shortened and slowed, and his afternoon walks became longer. Throwing him suddenly out of training would have caused serious damage and no one was taking any chances, even now. But Danny’s duties were the same, for the stable routine was no different from what it would have been had Man o’ War’s campaign continued.
Danny knew his colt was suspicious of the long gallops rather than the bursts of speed he had been asked for before. He was anxious to run, for his leg had healed completely and there wasn’t a blemish on him. Never had Danny seen him look better. He had reached his full height of 16.2 hands and weighed a heavy 1,200 pounds. He looked like the great horse he was. Most people who saw him thought it a pity that he would race no more.
<
br /> Danny didn’t let his thoughts wander far from the business at hand, which was the unwinding of Man o’ War. That the big colt could have gone on to still greater glory in the United States and Europe was beside the point. Man o’ War was a great champion who had needed no excuses during his campaign, and his day of full retirement was drawing near.
The crowds still came to see him at the stables, and he was truly worthy of their admiration. He had no imperfections. He was the perfect horse. He had everything a great horse should have, including heart. What he might have done, had Mr. Riddle decided to go on with him, no one would ever know.
Late one afternoon Louis Feustel came up to Danny as he was letting Man o’ War graze at the end of a long shank.
The trainer’s gaze swept over the horse, and then he said, “He’s ready for the farm, Danny. I don’t think the quiet life will bother him so much now. He’s adjusted well to the light training we’ve given him.”
“He’d still like to run,” Danny said.
“He always will,” Feustel answered. “But he would have been a lot worse if we’d taken him directly to the farm from his last race. Most horses don’t like the quick change in tempo. They lose flesh and are very nervous. The time we’ve spent here letting up on him has been well spent.”
“Then it’s definite that he’s going to Glen Riddle?” Danny asked.
“For a short while,” Feustel answered. “He’ll go to Kentucky as soon as Mr. Riddle gets a broodmare band together. He has people buying some mares for him in Europe now.”
“Where will he go in Kentucky?”
“Mr. Riddle hasn’t as yet found a suitable farm to buy, so he’ll send him and the mares to Hinata Stock Farm. You know the place?”
Danny nodded. “Just six miles outside of Lexington,” he said, “at the junction of Russell Cave and Iron Works Pikes.”
“I guess so,” Feustel said, turning back to Man o’ War. “You know that country better than I do.”
Danny could have told him more about Hinata Stock Farm, for it was only a short distance from Nursery Stud, where Man o’ War had been foaled. It was close, too, to his own home, and there was a big elm tree with his initials cut in its trunk just outside the main gate. Hinata was managed by Miss Elizabeth Daingerfield, who, despite the fact that she was a woman competing in what a lot of people thought was a man’s game, had a long, distinguished record as a stock-farm manager. And John Buckner was her stud groom. He, too, was one of the best. The farm and its staff were worthy to handle a horse such as Man o’ War.
For the first time since he had left it, Danny thought of going back home. He didn’t hold much hope of getting a job at Hinata, but at home he’d be near enough to watch Man o’ War and see everything that happened.
Feustel turned to him again. “I hope he makes a great sire, Danny.”
“He will. He’ll get good colts, maybe not as great as himself but they’ll be winners.”
The trainer smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm.
“I hope you’re right. But even the best sires get more failures than winners, Danny. The mares bred to him will have as much influence on the colts as he will, maybe more, for they’re the ones who will raise and nurse the foals. A lot depends too on the kind of soil his youngsters graze on, the feed they eat, and the training that follows. Getting winners is always a long gamble, Danny.”
“He’ll still get them,” Danny persisted. “He’ll stamp them all with his great qualities. It couldn’t be any other way, not with him.”
Feustel placed a hand on the boy’s shoulders. “Okay, Danny,” he said. “I’ll listen to you. I haven’t forgotten how much you saw in Man o’ War as a yearling.”
The trainer turned his gaze toward the nearby barns. “Now that he’s going I’m giving you another colt to tend. I think we have some good ones this year, and they’re all ready for their first lessons.”
Danny shook his head. “I don’t want another horse, Mr. Feustel,” he said. “I’m going home, too.”
The trainer was still for a moment, then he said quietly, “I guess I knew you might say that. But think it over a little more, Danny. Give me your decision tomorrow.”
The Big Gamble
30
That night Danny lay in the darkness of the tack room without trying to sleep. He listened to the night noises and the deep breathing of the men in the other cots. He listened to the quiet movement of Man o’ War in the adjacent stall.
It was all decided. He was going home. He did not need to think it over, as Feustel had suggested. If he couldn’t get a job at Hinata Stock Farm during the months to come, he would still be near Man o’ War.
He turned over on his cot, still not wanting to sleep even though he had made up his mind. Somehow he kept recalling Frank’s words on the train:
“Man o’ War has broken all the records, and broken down all his competition. There’s nothin’ left for him to do but retire. You now … you still ain’t made no mark yet in life … you got a long way to go yet before you think of quitting.”
And old Buck had said, “He sho is mighty young to be turned out to pasture, man. He sho is.”
Danny turned back on his other side. Just as he’d told them, he wasn’t quitting. He just didn’t want any part of the racetrack anymore with Man o’ War gone. It could never be the same without him. So, instead, he’d watch Man o’ War become a famous sire.
“You’ll have to wait well over a year more for his colts and fillies to come along,” Frank had pointed out.
Danny shifted his weight again and the cot creaked beneath him. He tried to shut out their words of friendly advice. He’d be busy. There’d be lots of things to do besides watching other people handle Man o’ War and just waiting around for the foals to come. Maybe … sure, maybe he’d even go back to school. It would be hard finishing after the two years he’d been away. He’d be kept busy, real busy.
Danny closed his eyes. That idea appealed to him more than anything else. He’d be studying hard and yet be close enough to Man o’ War to watch what went on. He’d sure feel funny back in school, two years older than all the others in his class and bigger, lots bigger. He must weigh about 150 pounds now and was growing some every day, it seemed. There was no telling how big he’d get to be.
He opened his eyes. If he weighed about 150 pounds, that was just twelve pounds more than Man o’ War had carried in winning the Potomac Handicap. He closed his eyes quickly, startled by the thought he had let enter his mind.
Minutes passed, and his throat became so tight he couldn’t swallow. He must be crazy even to think of it. His heart kept pounding until, finally, he had to swing his long legs from the cot and sit up. He couldn’t be seriously considering it. Yet he was. Why not? What had he to lose? He had waited a long, long time. But Man o’ War, what about him? He might get hurt. Not if he kept him at a slow gallop, he decided. All he wanted was to ride him, just once.
He pulled on his coveralls without awakening the others, then stole across the room where the bridle usually hung. Even though he couldn’t see anything in the darkness, his hands had no trouble finding it or the saddle. Carrying both, he quietly opened the door and went outside.
The night was pitch-dark with a heavy overcast that blotted out the stars. He had only to be careful about the stable’s night watchman seeing him. Everyone else was asleep. He tiptoed to the door of the next stall. The watchman would be in his office at the far end of the row and might even be asleep. Strict vigilance of Man o’ War had ended with the match race.
Danny opened the stall door and Man o’ War whinnied.
“Shh,” Danny said quietly as he slipped inside.
Quickly he put the bridle on his colt, drawing the forelock beneath the black and yellow browband. The light saddle went on next, and Danny was ready for the lightning shift of the big body when he tightened the girth. But, actually, he had less trouble than when Feustel saddled Man o’ War.
Man o’ War snorted. Danny hushed hi
m again, speaking quietly with his hands, the language both of them knew best of all. He knew he was breaking every rule in the book. If anyone saw him, he would be fired immediately. But it didn’t matter now.
Outside, he looked each way, up and down the shed row. Again the big colt snorted, his eyes bright and ears pricked. The night wind swelled his nostrils and fanned his mane and tail.
Danny walked beside him, keeping one hand on the bridle, the other on the colt’s neck. “Shh,” he kept repeating.
He led Man o’ War into the wind, heading for the open gap in the big track. He wasn’t going to take any chances of hurting his colt. He wouldn’t ride more than a mile at a slow gallop, just enough to remember forever that he had ridden Man o’ War!
The stands loomed in the distance, a hovering bulk of steel and concrete and emptiness. Beneath his hands he felt Man o’ War begin to quiver. Even without the tumult of a crowd or the music of a band, he was becoming excited. It seemed to Danny that Man o’ War sensed the quickening of his heart as he stepped on the track rail and mounted him.
“Easy, Red, easy,” Danny kept repeating, but there was no easiness in his body as he let his weight come to rest in the saddle.
Man o’ War shifted beneath him, his movement lightning swift and carrying him onto the track. Danny was ready for him. He had carefully watched other riders move with Man o’ War in this very same situation.
“Easy, Red, easy,” he said again, and although he tried to keep the anxiety from his voice, he knew it was there for the colt to hear. He took up on the reins. Not too tight, he reminded himself. Don’t fight him or you’re lost. But take hold or he’ll get away from you. There, that’s better.
He was riding Man o’ War! He was moving him down the track, feeling the Herculean strength beneath him and wondering, oh wondering, if he could control it. The world had never looked so beautiful. No other night had ever held such suspense.