“Have to get home—some work to do,” Alec answered. There was going to be plenty of work before they got the Black on the train.
“How’re you comin’ with the Black?” Whiff asked.
“Okay. Why don’t you guys come around any more?”
“No, thanks,” Whiff answered. “Not any more of that horse for me—he looks too dangerous!”
“Me, either,” agreed Bill. “Talkin’ about horses, how’d you like to be ridin’ in that big race—day after tomorrow?”
Alec shrugged his shoulders.
“Should be a corker!” Bill went on. “Wonder who the mystery horse is going to turn out to be?”
“Probably some ham-and-egger,” chirped up Whiff. “Cyclone will walk away with it.”
“Not with Sun Raider in the race,” Bill said. “Who do you think’s going to win, Alec?”
Alec smiled. “Well, the only one you fellows leave me is the mystery horse—so I guess I’ll take him.”
“You’re stuck,” Bill laughed.
“We’ll see,” grinned Alec. He turned as he went out the door. “So long, fellas,” he said.
“So long.”
When he reached home, he found his father waiting for him. They didn’t talk about the race while eating lunch. Then they went over to the barn. Alec wasn’t nervous. Instead he was calm and eager to match the Black’s speed against Cyclone and Sun Raider.
In front of the barn Alec saw Henry and Jim Neville. Both of them were going to Chicago with Alec and the Black. Then there was Joe Russo and another man with a camera. Just to the side of them stood a large horse van. Alec and his father greeted the small group.
“Everything all set, Alec?” Henry asked.
“I suppose you took that exam in your stride today,” Jim Neville kidded.
“Hope so,” Alec answered. But his thoughts were turning forward. He nodded toward the van. “Guess we’re going to the train in style, heh, Henry?”
“Sure!” Henry said. “And we’re going out to Chicago in style, too. Jim tells me we have our own private car waiting for us at the station!”
“No!” Alec exclaimed.
“Yep. Isn’t that so, Jim?”
“Yes,” Jim replied. “Cyclone and Sun Raider got out to Chicago in special cars; there’s no reason why the Black shouldn’t. Besides, a lot of people are coming from far and wide to see these three horses, so they have to be at their best.”
“That’s fine with me,” Alec said.
“Look what Jim gave us,” Henry said. He held out a heavy, black horse blanket with a white border around it and white letters in the middle spelling THE BLACK.
“Gee, Jim, that’s great,” Alec said.
“Can’t let ’em have anything on the Black.” Jim smiled.
The stallion whinnied when Alec entered the barn. Alec took a soft cloth and wiped it over his large body. “Well, fella,” he said, “we’re off to the races.” Henry tossed him the new blanket and Alec snapped it around the stallion. “There,” he said proudly, “that’ll keep you nice and warm.”
“Sure makes him look like the real stuff,” Henry said.
“He is the real stuff.” Alec stroked the stallion’s neck.
Then he led him out of the barn. The Black reared when he saw the small crowd. Then he lifted his legs high and stepped gingerly in a circle.
“Let us take some pictures for the paper, will you, Alec?” Joe Russo asked.
“Sure,” Alec answered. “Come on, Henry, you get into it, too.”
Ten minutes passed while the photographer snapped pictures. Even Alec’s father got into them. “Hope you’ll be able to use these photos,” Alec smiled, “after Saturday.”
The Black reared again as the boy started to lead him up into the van. He neighed loudly and his head turned toward the barn; his ears pricked forward and his eyes shifted from Alec to the barn.
“What’s the matter, fella?” Alec asked.
“I know,” Henry said. “Every time we’ve put him into the truck, he’s had Napoleon with him. Now he’s wondering where he is!”
“You’re right!” Alec said. “But we just have to get him in anyway. Come on, Black.” But the stallion reared again, and when he came down he pushed his head into Alec’s chest, shoving him back toward the barn.
“Napoleon isn’t in there, fella,” Alec said. “He’s out working with Tony.” But the Black only pushed harder.
Fifteen minutes later Alec was still trying to get him into the van. “I’m afraid it’s no use,” he said. “When he gets his mind set on something, nobody’s going to change it!”
Jim Neville glanced at his watch. “Getting late,” he warned. “If we don’t start within a few minutes, we’ll never make the train—and there isn’t another until tomorrow!”
“Black,” Alec pleaded, “come on!” But the stallion only pranced around him, his nostrils quivering and his eyes looking for Napoleon. Suddenly his ears pricked forward. From far down the street came a familiar voice, “Apples, carrots, string beans, potatoes, cabbages, peas.”
“It’s Tony and Napoleon,” Alec exclaimed. “They’re on our street!”
“I’ll get ’em,” yelled Henry as he made a dash for the gate.
A few minutes later Napoleon loped down the street at his fastest trot. Tony and Henry sat in the seat of the wagon gripping the sides desperately as Napoleon dashed into the driveway.
The Black neighed loudly; his head turned toward them. Napoleon’s old legs made the gravel fly. He rushed to the Black and shoved his nose up at him.
Tony and Henry jumped off the seat. “Dio mio,” exclaimed Tony, “what’s-a da matta with heem?”
Henry told Tony how they had taken Napoleon with them when they trained the Black at Belmont and how now the Black was going to run in the big match race in Chicago. “And now, Tony,” Henry finished, “we can’t get him in the van because we’re not taking Napoleon.”
Jim Neville spoke up. “Tony,” he said, “would it be all right with you if we took Napoleon with us to the race?”
Alec began to feel more hopeful. “Do you think we could, Jim?” he asked.
“Sure, if Tony’ll let us. There’s plenty of room on the train, and we’re sure to find a stable for him out there. What do you say, Tony? We’ll have him back to you by Sunday night, or Monday at the latest. And to make everything square, we’ll pay you for Napoleon’s time!”
Tony looked at Napoleon standing with his head beside the Black’s. He was silent a minute; then his dark face creased into a grin. “Sure,” he said, “why not? But no money, thanks please. He’s been-a da good horse for fifteen years—now he’s gonna have da vacation.”
“Atta boy, Tony,” Alec said. “It’s going to mean a lot to the Black—and to us, too.”
“You betcha,” Tony said proudly, as he put a caressing hand on Napoleon’s neck.
“And now,” said Jim Neville, “let’s get going.”
Henry led Napoleon up into the van and Alec followed with the Black. He was as docile now as he had been difficult before.
A few minutes later they rolled down the driveway. Alec sat between Henry and Jim. They waved to the small group standing beside the barn.
“Good luck,” yelled Joe Russo.
“Be careful, son,” his father called. “And put everything you’ve got into it!”
“Take-a da good care of my Napoleon,” Tony shouted.
Then they went through the gate.
“We’re off,” said Henry.
CHICAGO
17
It was two-thirty by Jim’s watch when they drove into the freight yards. “Just in time,” he said.
Trucks laden with freight for the trains pulled into the yards, their horns blowing. Men’s shouts rang through the afternoon air. Henry brought the van to a stop. “I’ll find out where we’re to go,” Jim said. “Wait here.”
Alec looked back through the window. He could see the heads of the Black and Napoleon. The
stallion was pawing at the floor. “Guess the noise and the ride’s made him kinda nervous, Henry,” he said.
“Yeah, we’ll have to watch him. Wouldn’t want him to get too excited just before the race.”
A few minutes later Jim returned. “Our car’s down at the end,” he said. Henry put the truck in gear and moved in and out of the crowded yards. Jim pointed to a car. “That’s the one.”
“I can back right up to the door,” Henry said as he turned the wheel. “He’ll hardly know he’s getting into it.”
When Henry brought the van to a stop, Jim and Alec jumped out. They climbed into the train and Henry followed them. “Say, this is swell!” Alec said as he looked around him. A box stall was at one end and three cots were in front of it.
“Not a bad layout,” agreed Henry. “The Black won’t mind this so much.”
“We haven’t a stall for Napoleon, though,” Jim said.
“We can put him right outside the Black’s,” Henry said, “and move our cots down this way.”
After they’d moved the cots and Henry had bedded down the stallion’s stall with straw, Alec went to get the Black.
He opened the rear of the van and walked in beside him. The Black moved nervously. “Hello, fella.” Alec stroked his neck. Napoleon pushed his face toward him and Alec rubbed his nose too. “You’re both going on a long ride now,” he said. He grasped the Black’s halter and backed him into the stall. The horse stretched his neck high into the air and his leg continued to paw the straw. “There, Boy,” Alec said. “Take it easy, now.”
“Don’t bring Napoleon in yet,” Henry said. “I’ll need more straw if we’re going to bed him down and make him comfortable. I’ll go see if I can’t get some.”
“I’ll go along with you, Henry,” Jim said. “I have to make arrangements to get this van back.”
As soon as they had gone, Alec went inside the van and dragged Henry’s large trunk into the car. He opened it and took out Henry’s blazing green shirt and jockey cap. Saturday he’d be wearing them! The same things even to the faded number 3 that Henry had worn when he and Chang won the Kentucky Derby! Alec’s throat tightened as he laid them carefully back into the trunk.
A short time later, Henry returned with a bale of straw. He spread it in front of the Black’s stall. “Okay to bring Napoleon in now,” he said. Napoleon’s ears pricked forward when he saw the Black. He shoved his nose toward him.
Jim climbed into the car. “Everything’s set,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later the train whistle blew.
“Chicago, here we come,” Alec shouted.
He tossed on his cot that night. The clattering of the wheels on the iron rails kept him awake. He heard the Black moving restlessly around in his stall. Alec rose and made his way quietly over to him. Henry’s and Jim’s deep breathing told him that they were both sound asleep. Napoleon, too, was sleeping.
The Black whinnied when he saw the boy. “Shh, fella.” Alec rubbed the stallion’s head.
The train rocked a little, and the Black shied. “Not any worse than a boat, though, is it?” Alec asked. The Black shook his head. For fifteen minutes Alec stayed with him. Then he gave a final pat. “Gotta try and get some sleep now, fella—we both need it.”
He went back to his cot and lay down. He dozed off. He was dreaming of the coming race. Then he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He had to quit thinking. He must get some sleep. He tried to concentrate on the rhythmic beat of the wheels on the rails. They seemed to say, “Chicago—Chicago—Chicago—” Alec dropped off to sleep.
The next thing he knew, Henry was shaking him. Both he and Jim were already dressed. “We’re almost there,” Henry said.
Alec pulled on his clothes sleepily.
“How do you feel, kid?” Jim asked.
“All right,” answered Alec.
“We’re entering the city limits now,” Henry said.
“How far is the track from the station?” Alec asked.
Jim looked at his watch. “About a forty-five-minute ride,” he said. “It’s five-thirty now; if the van I hired is waiting for us, we’ll be at the track by six-thirty at the latest.”
“Let’s hope it’s there,” Henry said. “It’ll be better if we can get to the track before any people start roaming around.”
The train pulled into the freight yards. Alec snapped the Black’s new blanket around him. Henry took care of Napoleon. As the train slowed down, Jim pushed the door of the car open. Trucks clattered beside the train. “Bad as New York,” Henry said.
“I’ll see if I can find our van,” Jim said, jumping off the train as it came to a stop.
The Black moved uneasily and Alec held him tighter. Henry moved Napoleon over closer to him. The stallion’s startled eyes gazed nervously out the open door, then quieted as Napoleon shoved his head toward him.
A van moved alongside the car. Then they heard Jim’s voice. “Back it up to the door,” he directed the driver.
A few minutes later Alec led the Black into the van, followed by Henry and Napoleon.
The early morning streets were deserted, and they made good time to the track. They passed the huge stands and then pulled into the gate entrance near the stables.
The gatekeeper hailed them. “What do you want?” he asked.
Jim spoke up. “I’m Jim Neville,” he said. “We’ve a horse here—for the race tomorrow.”
“The mystery horse, heh?” The gatekeeper smiled. “We’ve been waiting for him!” He swung the gate open. “Take any stall you want in Barn H,” he yelled at them. “Just don’t get too close to Sun Raider and Cyclone. Still,” he chuckled, “perhaps you’d better get close to ’em now—’cause you won’t tomorrow! Haw.”
“Humorous sort of a guy, isn’t he?” Jim said.
“He’ll change his tune,” said Henry.
Alec peered back through the window at the Black. The stallion’s head was still shoved toward Napoleon’s.
Fifteen minutes later, they had the Black in his new quarters. They put Napoleon in the empty stall next to him. The track seemed deserted in the early morning stillness.
“Guess no visitors are allowed,” Alec said.
“Cyclone and Sun Raider must be up the barn a ways,” Henry answered. “The men in their stables will be around, soon as they hear we’ve arrived.”
“And you won’t be able to keep the newspaper men out of here today,” reminded Jim.
“We’ve got to keep them away from the Black, or there’s no telling what will happen,” Henry said.
Alec and Henry then busied themselves around the barn making the stallion and Napoleon comfortable while Jim went to see Cyclone and Sun Raider. Sponges, cloths, brushes were unpacked.
Henry looked up and saw a crowd of men making their way toward them. “Here they come,” he said to Alec.
Henry walked out of the stall to meet them, leaving Alec with the Black. He saw the group was composed of reporters and stable hands as Jim had warned. “Morning,” Henry greeted them.
“We’ve come to see the wonder horse,” one man said, laughing.
“You mean the mystery horse,” another corrected him.
“There he is,” Henry said, pointing to the Black, whose excited eyes gazed at them.
Alec stroked his head. “Take it easy, fella,” he said.
Some of the men started coming closer.
“You’ll have to keep away from his stall,” Henry said, stopping them. “He’s excitable and we want to keep him quiet.”
“Temperamental, heh?” a reporter sneered.
Henry’s Irish temper started rising. “No more cracks,” he said. “If you don’t like it where you’re standing, I’ll throw you out of here!”
The men saw that Henry meant it, and they kept away from the short, stocky figure.
After a few minutes, they broke up. “Maybe he won’t be so cocky after tomorrow,” said a stable hand.
“Don’t know how he got in this race, a
nyway!” said another.
A short while later Jim came back. “Sun Raider and Cyclone look like they’re in good condition,” he said. “Why don’t you two go over and see them? I’ll keep an eye on the Black.”
“Guess we will,” said Henry. “Come on, Alec.”
First they went to Cyclone’s stables. There was a crowd in front, and Henry and Alec mingled with it without being recognized. Cyclone was led out of his stall so the photographers could take pictures of him.
He was a big horse—almost as big as the Black! His coat shone a bright red in the morning sun. He moved gracefully around in a circle. His head was larger than the Black’s, and his eyes didn’t have that tense, savage look.
“You can tell he’s Kentucky born and bred,” Henry whispered. “He’s built for speed all the way.”
Alec nodded. “He sure is streamlined,” he said.
They watched while the photographers took shots of him. Then they went up the line toward Sun Raider’s stable. They saw him as he was coming in off the track. Alec gasped—he was just about as big and powerful-looking as the Black! His coat was chestnut gold. His head was small and his neck rose in a crest like the Black’s.
“Gee,” Alec said, “he almost looks like the Black.”
“Yeah,” whispered Henry. “He might prove to be the one we’ll have to beat. But we can’t forget Cyclone,” he said as he jerked his head backwards. “That horse has never been pushed to his top speed; he runs only fast enough to win.”
“They’re both going to be tough to beat,” Alec said.
“The fastest in the world—take my word for it,” Henry said. “But we knew what we were getting into.”
“I still think the Black can beat them,” Alec said.
THE MATCH RACE
18
The day of the big race! The eyes of the nation turned upon Chicago. All morning long trains, buses, autos and planes roared into the city discharging thousands of passengers bound for the track.
A carnival spirit swept over the city. Everything was closed for the day, and everywhere one question was asked, “Who will win—Cyclone or Sun Raider?”
“How’re you doin’, Charlie?” asked a motorcycle cop of a policeman who was directing traffic at one of Chicago’s busiest corners, as he pulled up beside him.