The old man’s gaze turned to the other yearlings in pasture. “I’m mighty glad this crop is a large, strong bunch. They better be. Worst winter we ever had an’ now it’s the worst spring. I don’t like this kind of weather. Maybe it’s not so cold as other springs, but it’s too cloudy and too rainy. They ain’t gettin’ as much sunshine as they need. Most of ’em still ain’t got rid of their winter hair. I don’t like it at all. Weather plays an important part in what to expect from yearlings. Wet and chilly weather ain’t good for mares an’ foals neither. It ain’t even good for breeding. It ain’t good for nothin’.”
The foul weather that spring didn’t let up. But in spite of it, life at Nursery Stud went on as usual. The yearlings were turned out every day it didn’t rain, as were the broodmares with their young suckling foals in other pastures. Mahubah was one of these. She had long since forgotten her red colt, for now by her side ran his little brother and within her was still another foal by Fair Play. The cross that Major Belmont so strongly believed in was well on its way! But to what destiny? No one knew, and few actually cared. This experiment was the creation of a man far away from the scene, one who at the moment had little interest in horses and racing.
The First World War was at its height and horse racing in many states had been curtailed and even halted. Only a small field of eight Thoroughbreds went to the post in the forty-fourth running of the Kentucky Derby on May 11, 1918, at Churchill Downs, and the winner was Exterminator. The classic race was of little interest to the nation, for the end of the war seemed far away and there was terror in the air and under the sea.
Yet the days grew longer at Nursery Stud and warmer, too. The yearlings stayed out all night, as did the broodmares and their suckling foals, all grazing or sleeping beneath the moon and the rustling wind. It was peaceful and quiet at Nursery Stud, with only the inclement weather to fear.
“It’s still too wet,” the old foreman said. “ ’Tain’t no good for man or beast. No good will come of it.”
But it was more than the weather that suddenly brought turmoil to Nursery Stud and saddened the hearts of all who were left.
“Mrs. Kane’s heard news from the Major,” one groom came running with the news. “He’s quittin’ racin’. He’s sellin’ everything but the breedin’ stock. He’s keepin’ the broodmares and stallions but the rest are all goin’, every last one of ’em!”
Danny listened to the startling news. I’m still staying with my colt, he promised himself. I’m staying with him no matter what happens.
Dark Days
7
Later that day Danny found Mrs. Kane watching the yearling fillies. “Is it true?” he asked. “Major Belmont is selling them?”
She nodded, the letter from Major Belmont still in her hand. “He feels the war may go on for years and years and that there is no hope of racing them under his own colors. He will keep five fillies for breeding and …” She paused, her eyes turning to the boy and offering a slight smile, “your colt, Danny,” she added. “We told him Man o’ War was the best yearling we had and he decided to keep him.”
Danny managed to keep from shouting his joy. It wouldn’t be right to show how happy he was, with Mrs. Kane and all the others so downcast over the prospective sale of so many fine horses.
“Will he send the others to the Yearling Sales?” he asked finally.
“No, he is reluctant to break them up and will sell them as a group for $60,000.”
“Will he get such a price?”
“Even for these war years it is a bargain,” she said quietly. “They are twenty of the finest-bred yearlings in the country. But if he doesn’t get his price he will take less to keep them together.”
“And the horses in training, will they be sold too?” Danny asked.
Mrs. Kane nodded.
“Then only Man o’ War will be left to carry Major Belmont’s colors,” Danny said thoughtfully. “He’ll win for him, Mrs. Kane.”
“Perhaps,” she said, smiling faintly. “I hope so, Danny. But very often what looks sensational on paper turns out to be mediocre.”
“But he’s not on paper anymore,” Danny reminded her. “He’s …”
“… a fine colt,” she finished for him. “That is all any of us think now. He should make a good racehorse and we have high hopes for him.”
“No more than that?” Danny asked quietly.
“I would not be honest if I said yes,” she answered.
Danny turned away. “I think he’s going to be the greatest horse there is,” he said. “Maybe even the greatest there ever was.”
The days rolled by and the inclement weather continued. With it came a terror almost as bad as the war itself. An influenza epidemic swept the United States and it did not pass lightly over Nursery Stud. Nor did it restrict itself to people. One by one the horses came down with the dreaded disease. Most of them recovered but a few died. Fearfully, Danny watched his colt for any signs of illness.
During this time, too, many visitors came to Nursery Stud, looking over the yearlings that were for sale. There were no buyers, and the price tag for the lot began to drop.
“They all missin’ a chance of a lifetime, that’s what they is,” an old groom said.
“No one wants sick horses an’ that’s what they see,” another added.
“Even if our colts weren’t sick they wouldn’t see them for nothin’,” another remarked. “They too used to seein’ big fat sales yearlings, they is. Ours might be thin but they be hard, too, an’ strong … or else they be dead right now.”
“You’re right, man,” the first agreed. “You sho can see what kind of bone skeleton our colts have. You sho can.”
Then one summer morning the strongest colt of them all got sick. As Man o’ War lay in his stall, the veterinarian said, “He’s the last to get it, and the last to get over it, we hope.”
“He’ll get over it,” Danny said. “I’ll make sure he does.”
From that morning on, night and day, Danny stayed with Man o’ War, ministering to his colt and following the directions of the veterinarian as no other groom might have done. His main concern lay in taking every precaution to see that the influenza was not followed by bronchial pneumonia, for if that happened the chances of death were very great.
The big colt’s fever lasted forty-eight hours, and his breathing was hard and irregular. Danny kept him covered with a light blanket and made sure the stall was dry and clean, well ventilated but free of drafts. The old men, watching outside the big stall, left the boy and colt alone most of the time, knowing that Danny was doing everything that could be done for Man o’ War.
The veterinarian injected his vaccines but he knew, too, that the best of them were far from being one hundred percent effective. If complications followed, they were in for serious trouble. They could only stand by and wait, hoping Man o’ War was strong enough to throw off the virus.
The high fever subsided on the third day and the colt’s breathing became normal again. “I believe he’s going to be all right, Danny,” the veterinarian told the boy. “But keep your eye on him. Any disease of the lungs and respiratory system is most serious with a racehorse. All too often his wind is affected, and he’s through racing.”
Danny nodded and cared for his colt more diligently than ever. He didn’t want Man o’ War finished with racing before he had even set foot on a track! He fed him carefully when he showed an interest in food again, giving him small amounts of fresh green food and hot mashes. And when the weather was warm, he made sure the box stall had plenty of sunlight and fresh air. He groomed him thoroughly, hand-rubbing the underparts of his chest and abdomen. And he cleaned and disinfected the stall to make sure all germs were gone.
Finally the day came when Man o’ War could be turned out to pasture again. He was kept in a separate field where he wouldn’t be injured by the other colts. He raced along the fence, not as fast as before his illness, but with the same fire and determination.
??
?His wind is not broken,” Danny told Mrs. Kane. “He’ll be as strong as ever in a short while. You’ll see.”
Mrs. Kane watched the colt for a long time. “After all you’ve done for him, what I have to say comes hard, Danny,” she said finally.
Danny looked at her but she averted her eyes.
“I’ve had another letter from Major Belmont,” she went on. “He’s decided not to keep this colt after all.”
“Not keep him?” Danny repeated.
She nodded.
“But why, Mrs. Kane? Why’d he change his mind?”
Shrugging her shoulders, Mrs. Kane said, “It’s not for me to question his decisions, Danny. Perhaps he didn’t want others to think he was keeping the best for himself while selling the rest of his young stock. Or perhaps he’s had a change of heart about this colt. It’s the war, Danny, think of it that way. There will be other colts for you to care for, many others, when it ends.”
“No,” Danny said, “there’s only one colt for me, ever.” Sick at heart, he turned and walked away.
During the days that followed, it was with far different eyes that Danny watched the prospective buyers of yearlings come to Nursery Stud. He was fearful yet determined to prevent the sale of Man o’ War in every way possible.
One morning he watched the yearling colts at play in pasture. Only Man o’ War was being kept in a separate paddock, for the others were well recovered from their illness and were full of life. Danny knew how much the colt wanted to join the others, but Man o’ War would have to wait until he was strong again and ready for hard play.
Down by the barns a car drew up and Mrs. Kane, accompanied by two men, got out. They came over to the fence near Danny and began discussing the yearlings.
Danny moved back into the shade cast by a big tree. He wanted to close his eyes and hold his breath until they’d gone. The group moved closer to him and he heard Mrs. Kane say, “Our price for these and the fillies I showed you is $42,000, Mr. Feustel. The Major is anxious to sell them as a group. You will find no better buy in the country.”
The small, easygoing man beside her said, “After the epidemic it’s remarkable that they look as well as they do.”
Mrs. Kane nodded. “They may not be as fat as sales yearlings,” she said quietly, “but they’re strong. They had to be or they would not have survived.”
Danny was glad to see that the man was showing no exceptional enthusiasm for the colts in the field. On the contrary, he seemed very cool and detached from the whole scene.
“They are a bargain,” Mrs. Kane repeated. “If Mr. Riddle is anxious to organize a racing stable he can get no better start than by buying them.”
The man glanced at his companion. “What do you think, Mike?” he asked.
The other shrugged his shoulders. “Who can say what is a bargain and what isn’t?” he said. “Besides, Mr. Riddle isn’t necessarily interested in bargains. He wants the choicest he can get.
The two men moved along the fence on the pretense of getting closer to the yearlings. They stopped near Danny and he heard the one named Feustel whisper, “Then we agree there’s not $42,000 worth in the whole lot?”
The other nodded. “We’ll tell Mr. Riddle that even at that price they’re not a good buy. There are too many we’d have no use for.”
Danny breathed easier and kept still as the men moved back and stopped beside Mrs. Kane.
“You worked with Fair Play when he was racing,” Mrs. Kane said to Feustel. “You should be most interested in his colts, and there are several included in this group.”
“Oh, I am,” the man said. “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I’m here. I liked Fair Play a lot.”
A sharp neigh reached them and all eyes turned to the lone red colt watching the other yearlings. Danny felt his stomach drop. If only Man o’ War had kept still!
Mrs. Kane said, “There’s a fine Fair Play colt. The Major had intended keeping him for himself but changed his mind. He’s included in the group for sale.”
Mr. Feustel nodded. “He’s a big-boned colt, all right, but still not well. He’s so thin he looks ridiculous for the size of him.”
“He was the last to become sick,” Mrs. Kane said. “He will recover rapidly. His dam is Mahubah.”
The man nodded thoughtfully. “I saddled Mahubah for Major Belmont years ago. She was a pretty good racer.” He paused before going on. “No, Mrs. Kane, I’m afraid I can’t advise Mr. Riddle to buy the whole group. Sorry.”
“He could get no better start in racing,” Mrs. Kane said again. “I cannot stress that too strongly.”
The man shrugged his shoulders, smiling to himself. “Perhaps so. Perhaps not. Only time will tell who is right.”
During the weeks that followed, it seemed that Louis Feustel’s opinion of the Nursery Stud yearlings was shared by other well-known horsemen throughout the country. The price for the entire group dropped to a reported $30,000 with no takers.
Danny’s joy knew no bounds. Then, on the 24th of June, Major Belmont cabled instructions from France that all the yearlings, including Man o’ War, were to be sent to the public sales at Saratoga, New York. There each horse would be sold individually, bringing what he could under the auction hammer. For Danny, too, it meant leaving Nursery Stud for good. He wasn’t going to be left behind. Wherever Man o’ War went, he would follow.
“Look Him Over”
8
During the second week of August the twenty-one yearlings from Nursery Stud were sent to Saratoga, New York, to be sold at auction. Along with them went their caretakers, and one of them was Danny. He had been given his first real job, if only a temporary one. He was to help with the care of Man o’ War until the colt was sold to his new owner.
Danny said little during the long train ride from Kentucky, dreading the hour to come when Man o’ War would be his no longer. Someway, somehow, he must find a way not to lose his colt … so he listened to the talk of the grooms, getting an inkling as to what to expect at Saratoga.
“I been here once before,” the old groom in charge of Fair Gain said, “an’ I saw a lady ridin’ a gold bicycle with wheels jus’ glowin’ with diamonds. An’ that same day I saw the biggest rug in the whole wide world. It was so big it came in on two flat cars an’ they took it to this hotel where the finest, mos’ elegant people in the world were stay in’.”
Danny steadied Man o’ War as the boxcar swayed over a rough stretch of track. Wealthy people would be bidding on the yearling colts, people who could afford to pay almost any price for a horse they wanted.
Turning to the old man, Danny said, “But maybe it won’t be the same this year. There’s a war going on.”
“Maybe so, Danny. Saratoga won’t be like it was, that’s for sure. But you’ll see some high-steppin’ carriage horses on the streets. An’ they’ll be wearin’ harness trimmed in gold an’ silver with coachmen dressed in fancy clothes. You’ll see.”
“The big money is there, Danny,” the caretaker in charge of the brown colt Richelieu said, “war or no war. Everybody goes to Saratoga this time of year for the races and the sales. They’ll all be there, the biggest trainers, the biggest owners. An’ their money will be spent buyin’ colts, if for nothin’ else.”
Danny turned back to Man o’ War and ran a soft rag over the rough, sunburned coat. Suddenly he stopped his grooming. Maybe it would be far better if he didn’t have Man o’ War sleek and polished and ready for the sales ring. Then maybe the prospective buyers would see only his faults—his lack of weight, his slight coarseness, his head a bit too high and forelegs forked a little too wide. Man o’ War would look thin and hungry compared to the other sales yearlings at Saratoga. Maybe no one would buy him and they could go back home together!
Danny decided that from that moment on he would do as little currying, rubbing, and polishing as possible.
The weather was fine and warm when they arrived at Saratoga. It was midafternoon and the races were already under way. Danny caught a
glimpse of the crowded stands, resplendent with military uniforms and women’s silken gowns and parasols. He could even smell the ladies’ perfume mixed with the scent of horses.
The men from Nursery Stud unloaded in the area reserved for the sales yearlings. A news photographer was there to take pictures; otherwise the area was quiet and empty of visitors. Not until the following morning would the benches beneath the trees be filled with people ready to pass judgment and appraise the yearlings soon to go into the sales ring.
Danny put Man o’ War into his assigned stall. The big colt was quiet and unaware of all the excitement in store for him. The boy ran a hand over him, roughing up the sunburned coat still more. For a short while longer Man o’ War would be completely his own. He didn’t look forward to the next day at all.
Morning came sooner than Danny would have liked. It began at five o’clock with the racehorses going to the track for training. But the Nursery Stud area remained comparatively quiet. Fair Gain was stabled next to Man o’ War, and his old groom told Danny, “The clock runs people here same as anyplace else. Maybe even more so. From now till eight o’clock people jus’ hang over the rail or sit in the clubhouse watchin’ horses work. When that’s done, they come over here an’ look at yearlings. The afternoons they spend at the races, an’ night finds em buyin’ yearlings they might have liked in the mornin’. That’s the way it’ll go, Danny, right through Saturday. Then we’ll be free with no more colts to tend.”
“Maybe,” Danny said hopefully.
The old man raised his gray head to look at the boy. “No maybes about it, Danny. That’s the way it’ll happen, ’xactly.”
“But maybe they won’t like our colts,” Danny persisted.
The old man laughed. “They be a skinny bunch sho ’nough, but they’ll sell.”
“But I heard that people buy only fat sales yearlings.”