“I’m glad I stuck on him,” Alec said. “Y’know, Henry, we’ve never seen that horse run his fastest yet. I just couldn’t seem to breathe that time.”
“Takes courage to ride him, kid,” Henry answered. “I’m pretty proud of you, but let’s try getting you to your feet. Better for you if you can walk around.”
Alec swayed a little as Henry and Jake lifted him up, but gradually the earth stopped turning around and his brain cleared. He breathed in the night air deeply.
Jim Neville came up. “Kid,” he said, “I’ve seen a lot of riding in my day, but never any to equal that!” Jim then turned to Henry. “You were right, Mr. Dailey—he is the fastest horse we’ve ever seen. I can hardly believe what I saw with my own eyes but”—Jim held the face of a stopwatch up in front of Henry—“I can’t deny this!” Then he turned brusquely to Joe Russo. “And now, Joe, we both have a deadline to make, so let’s get going.”
“Right, Jim.”
“Come around again—anytime you want,” Henry urged, “and we’ll let you see the grandest animal on four feet run without even charging admission.”
Jim Neville’s eyes twinkled. “A lot of people are going to see that horse in action if I have anything to say about it!” he said.
Alec felt the earth whirl around him again. “Honest, Jim,” he said, “do you think we could?”
“I’m not promising anything, kid,” replied Jim, “but I’m going to start something or I miss my guess. Take a look at my column tomorrow. And now we do have to get going. Come on, Joe.”
“I’ll go along with you and let you out,” said Jake.
After they had gone, Henry put his arm through Alec’s and they walked back and forth until the blood once again was circulating through the boy’s legs. “I feel okay now, Henry,” he said.
They climbed into the truck. Alec looked back through the small window, and saw the stallion peering anxiously at him. “Yep, Mister,” he said, “that was quite a ride!”
“Well, Alec,” Henry said, “I hope that whatever Jim Neville is going to do gets us in that race.”
“You’re not hoping any more than I am.”
The next day was Saturday. Alec rushed over to the barn immediately after breakfast. Henry always had a morning paper and probably he was already reading Jim Neville’s column.
Sure enough, he was sitting outside reading as Alec camp up. “What’s he say?” the boy asked anxiously.
Henry grinned as he handed him the paper. “Read it for yourself.”
Alec’s eyes swept over the headline—WHO IS THE MYSTERY HORSE THAT CAN BEAT BOTH CYCLONE AND SUN RAIDER? “Yes, I know,” Jim Neville wrote. “I’m the guy that said there wasn’t a horse in the world that could beat that rarin’ red bundle of dynamite—Cyclone. Not even Sun Raider. Yep, and I’m the guy that wrote to Messrs. Volence and Hurst, owners of these thoroughbreds, suggesting the coming match between their horses on the twenty-sixth of June—just two weeks off.
“This race in my mind—and I suppose in the minds of the whole American public—was to settle one thing: To see which horse was the fastest in the country! Both Cyclone and Sun Raider had beaten everything they had met on the track, and it was only natural then that they should meet to settle this question of track supremacy.
“But now, in my mind, this race will no longer prove who’s the fastest horse on four legs, because I’ve seen a horse that can beat both of them. This is something I have to get off my chest, because you racing fans are going to crown the winner of Chicago’s match race as the world’s fastest horse—and it isn’t true. There is still another horse—a great horse, who can beat either one of them.
“It’s only fair to tell you that this horse has never raced on a track, and perhaps never will—because he lacks the necessary registration papers. And now I find that I’m coming to the end of my column, so I’ll close with just this reminder that while you folks are acclaiming the winner of the coming Cyclone–Sun Raider race as today’s champion, I know of a horse—a mystery horse that’s right here in New York—who could probably make both of them eat his dust!”
“Say, that is starting something,” said Alec.
“You said it, son; he’ll have everybody on his neck before this day is out!”
“He didn’t come right out and suggest that the Black run in the match race, though, Henry,” Alec said.
“No—but he’s left the door wide open and you can bet somebody will suggest it.”
“Gee, I hope it works, Henry. Just think, the Black against Cyclone and Sun Raider. Boy! What a race!”
“You said it!” Henry agreed. Then he paused for a minute. “Say, Alec, wonder if we did get the Black in the race—how do you think your folks would take it? About you ridin’, I mean.”
Alec’s eyes met Henry’s. “They just gotta let me ride, Henry. They’ll understand, I’m sure, especially after we tell them how I’ve been riding the Black at Belmont. Funny thing, Henry—Mother decided last night that she’s going to Chicago middle of next week to visit my aunt for a couple of weeks. She’ll be there at the same time as the match race!”
“Whew,” said Henry, “that’s somethin’!”
“Mother isn’t interested in races; she probably won’t even go to see it! You know, Henry, as long as we don’t even know yet whether the Black is going to be in the race, I won’t even mention it to Mother. If the Black does get in—I’ll talk it all over with Dad; he’ll understand.”
“Hope so,” answered Henry.
When Alec looked over the evening papers that night, he saw that Henry certainly was right about everybody’s jumping on Jim Neville’s neck. The sports pages were filled with articles ridiculing Jim’s “insane idea” that there was a horse in America—yes, right here in New York—that could beat the two champions!
Because Jim Neville’s column was carried in papers from coast to coast, and because he was one of the foremost sports authorities in the country, his articles on the mystery horse aroused more and more curiosity with every day that passed. And in spite of the criticism that he was getting, Jim wouldn’t let the public forget about his mystery horse. Each day in his column he would carry a paragraph about him. Each night on his network sports program, he would again mention him.
One sports writer wrote, “Only a figure as well-known as Jim Neville could have created such a hullabaloo as is now going on over the merits of a mystery horse that Neville claims can beat both Sun Raider and Cyclone!”
A week passed and the small snowball that Jim had started rolling continued to gain momentum. “Who is this mystery horse?” the racing public wanted to know. Jim’s only reply was that he had promised to keep his name a secret, but that he could get him at a moment’s notice.
He called Henry and Alec on the telephone. “Don’t run him at Belmont any more,” he told them. “This is getting bigger than I had even hoped it would. We’ll have the Black in that race yet!”
Another week passed. Alec’s mother left to visit her sister in Chicago. The match race was only one week off.
Alec felt a little discouraged as he made his way toward the barn early one morning to give the Black a workout before he went to school. Time was growing short—if they only had another two weeks …
He met Tony coming out of the barn with Napoleon.
“Hello, young fella,” he said. “Ah, thees is da life.” He pounded his short, stocky arms against his chest and breathed in the early morning air.
“Yeah,” Alec said. “Sure is, Tony.”
Tony backed Napoleon into his wagon and started harnessing him up. “What’s-a da matter, young fella? You look kinda down in da dumps.”
“I’m all right, Tony,” Alec answered. “Guess I was just thinking.”
“Too much-a thinkin’ doesn’t do nobody good,” Tony said wisely as he climbed into the seat.
“Guess you’re right, Tony. See you later.”
“You betcha,” came the reply.
Alec led the B
lack out of his stall and went over him with a soft cloth. Then he snapped the long lead rope on his halter and led him out into the early morning sunshine. The stallion ran around the boy, kicking his heels high into the air. Then he came closer and playfully tried to nip Alec. “Feeling pretty good this morning, aren’t you?” Alec asked.
A few minutes later he threw the saddle on him and rode him into the field. Somehow he always felt different when he was astride the Black. It was like being in a world all his own. Forgotten were his problems, the city around him—it was like flying in the clouds.
A half-hour later he slipped down from the stallion’s back and led him back into the barn. He had just finished feeding him when Henry came in. “I’m almost late for school, Henry,” Alec said. “Would you mind giving him the once-over with the cloth—?” He stopped as he saw a wide grin on Henry’s face.
“Sure,” Henry said, “but read this before you go, lad!” He handed Alec the morning paper.
Alec turned quickly to Jim Neville’s column. His heart seemed to stop when he read the headline: MYSTERY HORSE TO RUN IN CHICAGO MATCH RACE. He swelled all up inside, and for a minute he couldn’t see the paper—then it became clear again.
“Yesterday,” Jim Neville wrote, “I received one of the most sporting letters that I have ever had the pleasure to receive. It was from Mr. E. L. Hurst, owner of Cyclone. His letter was short and to the point. He suggested that since the match race to be held in Chicago next week is just for the good of racing and the proceeds are all going to charity, he saw no reason why my mystery horse should not run against his horse and Sun Raider. Mr. Hurst said that he sincerely believed that Cyclone had never been pushed as fast as he could go, and there was no horse on earth that he feared. If the owner of the mystery horse believed that his horse could beat Cyclone, he would not object to his trying as long as it was also satisfactory to Mr. C. T. Volence, owner of Sun Raider.
“As soon as I received Mr. Hurst’s letter, I phoned Mr. Volence in Los Angeles and read it to him. I asked him if he felt the same way about it, and he said, ‘Yes, definitely.’ He went on to say that, with the country talking so much about this mystery horse, it would save them running another match race next month. ‘Might as well kill two birds with one stone—’ he said, ‘Cyclone and Neville’s Folly!’
“Neville’s Folly, heh, Mr. Volence—just wait’ll you see him in action!” the article finished.
Alec looked up from the paper at Henry. Slowly a grin spread over his face. Instead of feeling delirious with excitement as he had expected, he felt cool and composed.
“He’s in, Henry,” he said. “He’s in!” The man and the boy looked at each other, and then turned and walked toward the stallion, who had stuck his black head out the stall door and was looking at them curiously.
PREPARATION
16
Alec never knew how he got through the rest of that day in school. All that he could think of was that a week from today he’d be racing the Black against Cyclone and Sun Raider! Somehow, he still couldn’t believe that all this was happening to him—Alec Ramsay.
That night after dinner, he walked into the living room where his father was reading. He sat down in a chair and nervously turned the pages of a magazine. His father looked up from his paper.
“Received a letter from Mother today, Alec. She’s getting a big kick out of Chicago and seeing your aunt again. Says if everything is okay here, she’ll stay three weeks. That all right with you?”
“Sure, Dad.” Alec smiled. “You’re a good cook!”
His father laughed. “Exams at school will be starting pretty soon now, won’t they, son?”
“Monday.”
His father lit his pipe and then picked up the paper again. He turned to the sports section. “Ready for ’em?” he asked.
“Guess so.”
The room became silent. Alec turned more pages of his magazine, and then looked up at his father whose face was hidden behind the spread newspaper. Thick smoke curled upward toward the ceiling. Alec cleared his throat and was just about to speak when his father’s voice broke the silence.
“All anybody can read in the sports section these days is news about that horse race out in Chicago next Saturday. Wonder who the devil this mystery horse is that Jim Neville’s got into the race?”
Alec’s pulses raced. “Dad—”
“Yes, son?”
“Dad, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You see—”
His father once again let the paper fall on his lap and looked at him.
Alec couldn’t keep his voice from faltering. “The mystery horse—the mystery horse,” he stammered, “is the Black.”
His father looked at his son in amazement. The room was still. “You mean, Alec, that the Black is the horse everyone’s been talking about—he’s the mystery horse?”
“That’s right, Dad.” Alec rose from his chair and went to the window; he drew the curtain to the side and then let it fall again.
“But who’s going to ride him in a race like that?” Mr. Ramsay asked.
Alec tried to swallow, but nothing seemed to go down. “I am,” he answered softly.
The doorbell rang. “I’ll answer it, Dad,” Alec said with relief. He knew it would be Henry answering his signal from the window.
Henry came in and removed his old brown hat. He gave Alec a knowing glance. “Evening, Mr. Ramsay,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Hello, Henry,” Alec’s father answered. “Glad you’re here. You must be in on this, too. Now tell me what the devil’s been going on between you two and the Black? I had a hunch something was up but I never dreamed it was anything as stupendous as this!”
“It’s quite a long story,” Henry said. Then for the next half-hour he told about the training of the Black, and Alec’s midnight rides at Belmont. Alec watched his father as he listened intently to Henry. How would he take it—he loved horses himself, but would he let him ride? It was a good thing Mom wasn’t here!
When Henry finished, his father turned to him. “Leave us alone a few minutes, will you, Alec, please?”
Alec nodded and climbed the stairs to his room. Henry looked at Mr. Ramsay. “You’ve got to let him ride in that race,” he said. “His heart and soul are wrapped up in it! Alec isn’t the same boy that you sent to India last summer. You know that as well as I do. But he’s a better man for it!”
“But, Henry, it’s such a dangerous race for him to go into—and on that wild horse!”
“Not any more dangerous than what he’s faced many times since that boat went down in the ocean. I’ve grown to know your boy pretty well within the last few months, and I can honestly say that he’s different from any of us. He’s found something that we never will, because we’ll never go through the experiences that he’s had to.” Henry paused a few seconds. “Besides,” he continued, “I’d be mighty proud to have a boy that could ride that black stallion—something, I’m certain, no one else in the world can do!”
Mr. Ramsay rose and walked across the room. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes; then he walked toward the stairs. “Okay, Henry,” he said. “I’ll tell Alec he can ride!”
Jim Neville telephoned Henry the next day to tell him that everything was all set for the Black. The shipping charges to Chicago for the three horses would be taken care of from the proceeds of the race, as would all the rest of the charges to and from the track. Cyclone and Sun Raider were leaving Monday or Tuesday, so they could get in a couple of workouts before the race.
Henry couldn’t tell him when the Black would be ready to leave; he had to ask Alec first.
“Whatever you do,” Jim said, “don’t run him over at Belmont any more. I’m trying to keep the mystery horse’s identity a secret, because if it ever got out you’d be swarmed with reporters and it would only make the last few days all the more hectic. The Black is going to have enough excitement as it is!” Jim paused. “You’re sure he’s in good condition, Henry?” he asked.
“Boy, I’ve gone way out on a limb with him. Got to wondering whether I’d been dreaming about that night—that’s why I keep looking at this stopwatch in my desk drawer; it’s the only thing that restores my confidence.”
Henry laughed. “Sure,” he said, “he’s in tiptop shape!”
A few minutes after he had hung up, Alec came into the barn.
“Jim just called,” Henry said. “Everything’s all set for shipping the Black and stabling him out there—not going to be any expenses at all!” Henry looked out at the stallion in the field. “When can we shove off, Alec? Cyclone and Sun Raider are leaving tomorrow at the latest; that means they’ll have a few days to get accustomed to the track.”
“Just got through talking with Dad again,” answered Alec. “He’s letting me ride under one condition—that I stay until I finish my exams.”
“How long is that?”
“I start ’em tomorrow and have my last one Thursday morning.”
“Whew! And the race is Saturday,” said Henry.
“Yes, and Dad insists we go out there by train. He called the station and found out there’s a train that leaves Thursday afternoon that’ll get us into Chicago early Friday morning. It’s the only fair thing to do, Henry, and he has been swell about the whole thing.”
“You’re right, son. And that isn’t so bad—gets us there a day ahead of time. Maybe it’s just as well we aren’t getting there too early, seeing it’s the Black we’re racin’.”
Alec laid down his pen. There, his last exam was over! He blotted his paper carefully and looked up at the clock. Almost noon. He’d have to hurry if they were going to make the three o’clock train. He handed his paper to the teacher and walked out of the room.
In the hall he met Whiff and Bill. “How was it?” Bill asked.
“Not so bad,” Alec replied, going right ahead. They fell into step with him.
“What’s the hurry?” Whiff asked.