“What’re you doing?” Jimmy asked.
Tom didn’t say anything until he had found the word he wanted. Then he read to Jimmy from the dictionary: “Bonfire—a large fire in an open place, for entertainment, celebration, or as a signal.” He looked up from the book. “As a signal, Jimmy,” he repeated, “—our signal to everybody now that he’s on his way, starting today. Bonfire!”
“Bonfire,” repeated Jimmy, and the way he said it and the light in his eyes gave Tom the approval he wanted. Together they turned to look at the flames, leaping brightly toward the darkening sky. “A signal to all,” Jimmy added, “—just as you said. Come on!”
Minus hats and mufflers they rushed from the shed to join George, and together they shouted, “Bonfire!” George just grinned and shook his head in approval without taking his eyes from the flames, so careful was he to see that no flying embers found their way to the sheds.
In his stall, the subject of it all sniffed the corners of his feedbox, cleaning up the last bit of oats; then he stretched his long, supple neck to the hay in the rack above him.
Bonfire was learning to be on his own.
FIRST BRIDLE
11
It didn’t take very long—only two or three days, just as Jimmy had said—before Bonfire ceased neighing for the Queen. Uncle Wilmer wrote, telling them that the mare had arrived safe and sound and “liked her old stall, all right.” He said too that he had hitched her to his wagon and had driven the Queen into town for his weekly supplies. “She’s a fast stepper, all right,” he wrote. “Lester Eberl rode in with me and he says she’s the fastest mare in Berks County. I believe it.”
“The work will do the mare a lot of good,” Jimmy said, after reading the letter.
January came, Bonfire was a yearling, and Jimmy Creech spent more and more time with him. On nice days the colt was put into the paddock to romp and play and get all the exercise he needed. When the weather turned bad, Jimmy kept him in the stall and started breaking Bonfire to bridle and harness. Each lesson was taught so slowly and patiently that Tom’s respect for Jimmy’s thoroughness knew no bounds.
“They don’t break colts better than Jimmy breaks ’em,” George said. “He talks about not havin’ patience. But he’s got all the patience in the world when it comes to schoolin’ a colt. There aren’t many left like Jimmy.”
And it was true, Tom knew. For weeks Jimmy tied Bonfire in his stall or at the paddock fence for a few minutes each day, teaching the colt to stand tied and to respect the rope holding him. Tom watched Bonfire, fearful at first that he might try to get away. But the colt hadn’t fought the rope, and Tom’s eyes had shone with pride when Jimmy said, “The work you did with him at the farm is payin’ off, Tom. Makin’ it real easy for me, it is.”
He repeated this compliment to Tom’s early work time and time again. Jimmy put a light bridle and bit on Bonfire and the colt did nothing but play with the bit while he moved about his stall. As the days went by he got so used to it he even ceased playing with it. Jimmy nodded in approval, and during February he placed the light racing harness on the colt’s back. Bonfire didn’t take to the harness as quickly as he had the bridle, but Jimmy was patient with him and within a few days the colt moved about his stall complete with bridle and harness.
And that, together with daily handling of the colt’s body, especially his feet, was all that was done during the winter months.
With the coming of spring, Bonfire shed much of his winter coat under Tom’s daily grooming. He was a tall colt, standing almost fifteen hands now, and still growing.
George remarked, “Jimmy said he was goin’ to be over sixteen hands, an’ he’s goin’ to be. He’s filling out, too.”
There was no doubt about that, for even now fine, hard muscles stood out prominently beneath his sleek red coat.
George turned to Tom while the boy pulled his brush through the black mane, which now fell halfway down Bonfire’s neck. “And you’re growin’ with him, Tom,” he said. “You’re puttin’ on weight yourself.”
Tom’s frame was gaunt no longer and there was a full, healthy look to his face. Going to the colt’s tail to brush it, he laughed and said, “It’s the hard work, George.”
“You’ve sure made things easier for us,” George admitted, taking a plug of tobacco from his pocket. “When you get our age, y’need young hands around.” Then, seeing Jimmy drive Symbol past the shed, he added, “We’ll be needin’ your help even more now with spring here. Jimmy’ll start workin’ harder now, and worryin’, too, about the season ahead of us.”
During the weeks that followed, Tom understood more and more what George had meant. For Jimmy worked tirelessly and became quieter and, at times, irritable. Symbol’s workouts were stepped up, and Tom stopped driving him on Saturdays, for Jimmy was attempting to lengthen the black horse’s stride. He changed Symbol’s shoes often and tried heavier toe weights to encourage a longer stride; but all this was of no avail, and Jimmy’s drawn face was evidence of his anxiety about the fast-approaching races.
At the same time, he spent many hours with the colt, very often leading him around the track with one hand while he drove Symbol with the other. Bonfire’s strides were low, and beautiful to watch, but even they didn’t comfort Jimmy just now.
“He couldn’t ask for more than a colt like that,” Tom said, watching Bonfire’s effortless stride behind the uneven, ponderous-gaited Symbol. “He should feel wonderful.”
“He does feel good about the colt,” George said. “But there’ll be time enough next year for Jimmy to get real excited about Bonfire. Right now he’s thinkin’ of the season comin’ up ahead of him, and wondering whether or not he can make enough money to buy feed and hay to keep us going for another year. It’s always been that way for Jimmy this time of year,” George added with concern. “Sometimes I wonder why he keeps goin’ on his own. He could have had all kinds of jobs trainin’ and racin’ for other people; then he’d have no money worries.”
“But it wouldn’t be the same to him,” Tom said quickly.
“No,” George admitted. “It wouldn’t. Jimmy wants his own horses. He wants it the way it’s always been for him. But it’s tough making a go of it these days, an’ he knows it.”
The month of May came and with it an early hot, summer sun. Even so, Jimmy Creech was reluctant to open the shed doors or to remove the heavy muffler from about his neck. It was, Tom thought, as though Jimmy didn’t want to accept the fact that the racing season was drawing near, as though he knew that Symbol wasn’t ready for it and neither was he. Tom’s knowledge of horses told him that Symbol never would be ready again, and he was convinced that Jimmy knew this as well as he. Yet Jimmy was going out with the black horse, and Tom could only hope for the best.
One Saturday morning Jimmy experienced the first stomach pains since his attack at the farm. He was in the colt’s stall with Tom, working over Bonfire’s feet, when suddenly he went down on his knees and clutched his stomach.
“Jimmy!” Tom dropped down beside him while the colt moved away, then came back to shove his soft muzzle against Jimmy’s head. Tom pushed him gently away while helping Jimmy to his feet.
“Just indigestion again. Something I ate,” Jimmy said, as they left the stall.
George came running up, took one look at Jimmy’s distorted face, then shook his head sadly at Tom. “I knew it would come,” he said, “—just like last year, same time.”
“Nothing’s come,” Jimmy mumbled, but his eyes were glazed. “I’ll be all right in a minute. It’s just uncomfortable, that’s all. I’ll need some bicarbonate of soda, George,” he added, meeting his friend’s eyes.
“You need more than that,” George answered quickly. “We tried that last season. We’re not goin’ to have another attack like that one. We’re goin’ to see Dr. Morton now—like we shoulda done last year.” George’s voice and face were adamant. He wasn’t going to listen to any objections from Jimmy.
Tom knew that Dr.
Morton was a stomach specialist in Pittsburgh, twenty-five miles away, and that George had tried without success to get Jimmy to see him months and months before.
Whether Jimmy realized that George was determined to take him to Dr. Morton, or the stomach pains were more severe than he pretended they were, Tom didn’t know; but for one or both reasons Jimmy followed his friend obediently to his car. George got behind the wheel.
“Can you stay until we get back, Tom?” George asked while starting the motor.
Tom nodded, Jimmy didn’t say anything until the car was moving, then he said, “I didn’t get to feed the colt, Tom. You do it, please.”
Again Tom nodded. He stared after the car long after it had disappeared down the road. Poor Jimmy. It was one thing on top of another. Finally Tom turned and went inside the shed.
He fed Bonfire, stood beside him while he ate, then took the colt to the paddock behind the row of sheds and turned him loose.
He was watching him go about the paddock, noticing the sun picking up the brilliant red of his coat and making it glisten. But Tom’s thoughts weren’t with the colt just now, for he was worrying about Jimmy. So he was startled when he heard a voice say, “He’s a grand-looking colt, Tom. Jimmy is proud of him, I’ll bet.”
Turning around, he saw Miss Elsie. As usual, this time of year, she wore her gray sweatshirt, faded and turned inside out, the same kind as the one Tom wore. And like him she was hatless, her brown hair cut short and bristling.
“He’s proud of him, all right,” Tom said. “But he’s sick again, Miss Elsie. George just took him in to a Pittsburgh doctor.”
“I was afraid he’d be sick again,” she said, shielding her horn-rimmed glasses from the sun the better to see Tom. “Jimmy’s getting on—and it’s too bad this had to happen, because we need men like Jimmy Creech,” she added soberly.
Together they watched the colt for a long while. He was moving swiftly about the paddock, enjoying his freedom, and his mane swept back from his red neck like a black flame.
“You like him?” Miss Elsie asked without taking her eyes from the fast-moving colt.
Tom nodded but said nothing.
“You like him?” Miss Elsie asked again.
“He’s the best,” Tom said quietly. “The very best that ever was.”
“You’re generalizing, Tom,” she said. “And I’ve always told everyone around here that Tom Messenger was good on detail, and that’s why he was going to make a fine horseman.”
Turning away from the colt, Tom saw the challenge in the woman’s gaze. He turned back to Bonfire again and said, “He’s pure-gaited. He’s got good control of action and never leaves his feet when going at top speed. He’s only a baby, but even now he never shifts or changes a beat as long as he’s out there. He’s it for Jimmy … and for George and me,” he added.
“That’s better … and more like you,” was all Miss Elsie said.
Tom was silent for some time before he asked, “Did you find a future Mr. Guy among your two-year-olds?”
“No,” Miss Elsie replied, and she tried to draw her upper lip over her prominent teeth with no success. “I don’t have him in this year’s crop.”
“You’ll sell them again—all of them?”
“I think so, Tom. I’ll know better next month.” She smiled as she added hopefully, “But maybe next year I’ll have the one I’ve been waiting for. I have a yearling up at the farm who looks as good as yours. It’s a filly, so maybe she’ll be a female Mr. Guy. She’s black except for four white stockings and a blaze.” Miss Elsie pushed herself back from the paddock fence, laughing as she said, “I call her the Princess with the four white stockings. She looks like the best I’ve ever had.”
And with all the colts Miss Elsie had bred, raised and trained, Tom never had heard her say that before. He didn’t think anyone else had, either. Miss Elsie knew horses, and she wouldn’t say anything like that unless she honestly meant it. Her black yearling filly would be something to see.
Miss Elsie was leaving when she said, “I’ll have my filly down here at the track this summer. You’ll see her.” She paused. “You are going to be here, aren’t you, Tom?”
“Yes, Miss Elsie,” Tom replied. “I’m taking care of Bonfire while Jimmy and George go out to the fairs.”
Tom watched Miss Elsie climb into her jeep and go bouncing down the road; then, after spending a few minutes more with his colt, he went into the shed to clean Bonfire’s stall and bed it down for the night. He decided he’d stay there until Jimmy and George returned.
It was almost dark when Tom saw Jimmy’s car come down the road. Jimmy was sitting beside George and Tom felt relieved to see him, for he had been afraid that Jimmy might have something seriously wrong and be hospitalized.
They left the car and as they came toward him Tom searched their faces. Jimmy grinned. “Nothing wrong with me at all,” he said.
“Don’t let him kid you,” George muttered. “He’s got an ulcer. He’s had it for years.”
“The doc said a lot of people had ’em,” Jimmy retorted. “Nothing for you to get all upset about.”
“You were the one who got upset when he told you to live a quiet life with no more excitement,” George reminded him. “That would mean giving up racing, and hopping from one fair to the next, wearing yourself out.”
“That’s silly,” Jimmy said angrily. “I might as well be dead as to give up the fairs.”
“Then you got to follow that diet he gave you and take it as easy as possible,” George returned. “And don’t get upset about anything. We’ll get along all right.”
“Who’s upset?” Jimmy shouted angrily. “I never get upset. You’re the one who gets all excited about everything.” He stalked into the shed, still bellowing.
George stayed with Tom at the door. “Sure,” he said. “I’m the one who gets upset, all right.”
“How serious is his ulcer?” Tom asked.
George spat his tobacco juice on the ground, thought a minute, then said, “The doctor wasn’t too worried about it. Says there’s a lot of people like Jimmy walking around with one and they don’t even know it.”
“What do you mean people like Jimmy?” Tom asked.
“Guys who’ve worked hard all their lives an’ have a lot of worries like Jimmy has had, ’specially the last few years. About makin’ ends meet, I mean. That and never sitting down a moment, and taking all the responsibility, thinkin’ no one else can handle a horse like he can. All those things, plus never takin’ time to eat a decent meal when we go to the fairs, all add up to ulcers—that’s what the doc said, anyway.”
“And he wanted Jimmy to quit?”
“Sure, for a season or two, anyway. Jimmy wouldn’t have any more pains if he took it easy and rested.”
“But he won’t do it.”
Shaking his bald head, George said, “No, and I guess we couldn’t expect Jimmy to give up the fairs. The doc knows that, because he’s known Jimmy from ’way back. So he gave Jimmy a long list of things he could eat and things he couldn’t eat and some medicine to take. He told Jimmy to stick to that diet or he’d have more pains which would get worse in time. An’ he made Jimmy promise he’d try hard not to get excited about anything. An’ Jimmy promised he would … that’s all there was to it, except Jimmy’s got to see him again as soon as we get back from racin’.”
“Do you think Jimmy will do all the doc made him promise to do?”
“Guess so,” George said. “Jimmy don’t like those pains … that attack he had today was pretty bad. An’ the doc scared him by telling him they could get worse than that, much worse.” George smiled, adding, “He sure made Jimmy mad when he told him no more gum chewing. That’s bad for Jimmy, the doc said. And Jimmy likes his gum as much as I like my tobacco. But Jimmy said he’d give up gum. Jimmy said he’d do a lot of things today, an’ I’m only hoping he will.” Putting his arm around Tom, he said, “Let’s get Jimmy and close up shop. It’s getting late and we all oughta
be home.”
Together they walked into the shed, each wondering what the months to come would bring for Jimmy Creech.
The few weeks before Jimmy and George left for the fairs were good in many respects. Jimmy seemed to be more relaxed and had no more attacks. School closed for the summer, and Tom was able to spend every day at the track, helping George and Jimmy even more than before. And Jimmy, surprisingly, allowed Tom to take more responsibility off his shoulders by letting him work Symbol every other day. They taught Bonfire to work on the longe, encircling them at the end of the long rope.
And finally they hitched the colt to a training cart. Bonfire felt the shafts against his sides as Jimmy turned him by pulling gently on the lines. Tom stood near the colt’s head, ready to quell any fear Bonfire might have of the cart he drew behind him. But there was no sign of fear, no fractiousness while the colt springily walked about the track, his eyes clear and large as he watched the track ahead, his ears pricked up and only shifting when Tom spoke to him. The boy was aware of Bonfire’s eagerness to step out, yet the colt did not pull and awaited Jimmy’s commands through the lines.
Tom turned from the colt to tell Jimmy, “He’s taking to it like an old-timer!”
“The Queen was like that. And he’s soft-mouthed like she was,” Jimmy called back. “But you’re just as much responsible for makin’ it this easy, Tom. You taught him early to have full confidence in us, and that’s most important of all.”
They walked around the track twice, and Bonfire never once made an attempt to pull away. Neither did he kick the two-wheeled cart he pulled so close behind. It was as though he knew that this was the beginning of his career on the track, and was eager to be on with it.
Later Jimmy told Tom, “Now until George and I get back, I want you to do just what we did today. I don’t want you to get in the cart and have him pull you yet. I don’t believe in rushin’ a colt like that. All we’re doin’ is getting him used to the cart and track. He’s only a yearling and there’ll be plenty of time later on for the real work. To get most of his exercise let him use the paddock, and work him on the longe, too, so he won’t forget what he’s learned. Take him out to graze every day, too. I want him to have plenty of grass.”