The clear call of the bugle sounded above the noise of the crowd, silencing the stands. Blankets were whipped off the two-year-olds and they stood naked and eager beneath the bright lights. The black filly with the four white stockings left her stall with Miss Elsie holding the lines and walking behind the sulky; the gray colt came next with Ray O’Neil holding the lines and Phillip Cox leading Silver Knight to the paddock gate. Then the other colts followed, until it was Bonfire’s turn to go.
George took him by the bridle, while Tom and Uncle Wilmer walked behind.
“You ain’t got a thing to worry about,” Uncle Wilmer told the boy. “You got all the colt there is, all right.”
Tom said nothing.
“And you remember you’re wearin’ Jimmy’s silks,” Uncle Wilmer went on. “They seen more races than all these other silks put together. They’ll give you all the luck you need, all right.”
The red-coated marshal sat astride his horse, awaiting all racers to reach the track for the post parade. Impatiently he beckoned George to hurry up his colt. But George didn’t take Bonfire out of his slow walk.
At the gate, a paddock guard stopped George and told Tom to get into the sulky seat.
“You an’ Bonfire do all you can, Tom,” George said. “We don’t expect any more.”
Tom drove Bonfire onto the track, and joined the post parade.
Ahead, all along the line, silks shrieked their colors beneath the brazen lights. To Tom’s left was a black mass of people. He turned from them to watch the red hindquarters working smoothly between his outstretched legs, and to talk to his colt—to quiet him and himself.
The announcer’s voice came over the public-address system.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” He waited until the crowd hushed. “The horses are now parading for the Two-Year-Old American Championship Race. Number one is the world’s record holder, Princess Guy … a black filly by Mr. Guy out of Little Mary.… ”
Tom looked in the direction of the announcer’s booth, surprised that the raceway officials were taking a few extra minutes to give the background of each horse.
“… Princess Guy set her record of two o three at the Reading Fair this week; she is being driven by her owner, Miss Elsie Topper of Coronet, Pennsylvania, the foremost woman driver in the country.
“Number two is Silver Knight, holder of this raceway’s track record for two-year-olds of two o four. He is a gray colt, owned by the Phillip Cox Clothing Company of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and is being driven by the leading driver of all night raceways, Ray O’Neil. Silver Knight is sired by Volomite and out of …”
But whatever the announcer had left to say about Silver Knight was drowned out by the cheering supporters of the gray colt.
Tom turned to them, and saw Phillip Cox rise to his feet from his box near the finish line. He waved his hand to those behind, accepting their cheers for his colt, then he sat down again.
Finally Bonfire passed the announcer’s booth.
“Number ten, who will trail the field at the start, is Bonfire, a blood bay colt, sired by the Black and out of Volo Queen. Bonfire is owned by Jimmy Creech of Coronet, Pennsylvania, and is being driven by Tom Messenger.”
That was all the announcer had to say, but it was enough to cause Phillip Cox to stand again, this time looking directly at Bonfire and Tom Messenger as they passed opposite his box. There was recognition in his eyes; now he well remembered Coronet and Jimmy Creech.
Ray O’Neil turned in his sulky seat, as did Frank Lunceford, to look behind at Bonfire and Tom. They too now remembered Jimmy Creech.
“The field will take two warm-up scores, then go behind the mobile starting gate,” the announcer said.
Nervously, Tom turned Bonfire to go down the stretch for their first score. The colt snorted; then bolted. Quickly Tom’s hands moved down the lines; there was a shortening of stride as Bonfire obeyed Tom’s hands. Angry with himself, Tom settled back in his seat and never looked at the crowd again. This was no more than another fair race, despite the people, lights and glitter. What won at the fairs would win here. But he must give Bonfire his chance. He must make no mistake.
All the way down the stretch. Tom saw and heard only his colt. And when he stopped to turn him back again, he knew that he and Bonfire were ready together.
He was taking the colt past the paddock gate when he saw the commotion there. The guard was struggling with someone, who finally evaded his arms. It was George, and he was halfway to Tom when the guard caught up with him again. But George waved the yellow paper he held in his hand and shouted to Tom, “Jimmy is all right! He’s okay, Tom!”
Tom only had time to wave his hand to indicate he had heard before the guard pulled George away from the track.
All the way back past the grandstand, Tom thought of Jimmy Creech. He’d be a well man now! He’d be himself again!
But the moment Tom turned Bonfire down the track for his second warm-up he forgot Jimmy Creech, forgot everything but the muscles sliding beneath the red coat in front of him.
Back at the mobile starting gate awaiting them at the head of the homestretch, Tom brought Bonfire alongside Princess Guy. He turned to Miss Elsie to smile at her, but the woman never looked at him. She continued her low humming to the black filly. Miss Elsie had word for no one now but Princess Guy. Neither did the gazes of the other drivers waver from their colts. They were ready for the race.
The white limousine was drawn up at the far side of the track and the wings of its gate were closed, allowing the field to go by. When all had passed, the starter motioned his driver to pull out to the center of the track and to open the wings of the gate.
Tom took Bonfire a little farther back than the others, for he was to follow them. Turning the colt around, he saw that the others were all in position and going toward the mobile gate. Nine horses stretched far across the track as they moved down to the barrier. Tom took Bonfire over to the rail, close behind Miss Elsie.
Slowly the limousine started moving and the horses followed the gate.
“Easy! Easy!” the starter called to the field. “Slow down! You’re all coming too fast!”
And they were, Tom saw. All the horses in the line ahead were pushing their noses close to the gate. Each driver was anxious to get away. They were going to fight for the lead—all of them!
Bonfire sensed the eagerness of horses and drivers, and his pace quickened. Tom slowed him down; there was no place for them to go—not yet.
The limousine ahead moved a little faster, and Tom kept Bonfire’s head close to the orange-and-blue silks Miss Elsie wore.
“Mr. Lunceford, keep your position!” the starter called.
Tom glanced at heavy-set, chubby-faced Frank Lunceford and knew that he was even more eager than the others to get his golden chestnut colt, Victory Boy, away first from his number 5 position. Lunceford had moved closer to the driver on his left, forcing the others to move more toward Miss Elsie and the rail. But Miss Elsie ignored the spinning wheels of Ray O’Neil’s sulky on her right and didn’t give way an inch; she was in a good spot, bringing her black filly down just a few short feet from the rail.
Tom knew that no one would beat Miss Elsie to the turn, for no horse in the fast-moving line could match Princess Guy’s speedy break—none except, perhaps, Silver Knight. The gray colt might stay with the filly. In a few seconds now he’d know.
Princess Guy and Silver Knight.
Tom was certain it was these two Bonfire would have to beat. So he forgot about Lunceford and the rest of the field. He’d go along with the black filly at the break and she’d lead him out in front. Just follow Miss Elsie. Just follow Miss Elsie.
Like a tremendous and powerful incoming wave, the line of horses increased their speed behind the fast-moving gate. The grandstand spectators rose to their feet at the rushing pound of hoofs. As a team the country’s top two-year-olds swept beneath the lights of the starting line.
“GO!” shouted the starter.
&nbs
p; To the shriek of the drivers, Tom let Bonfire go behind Miss Elsie. Strides quickened like unleashed springs and still in one line they went for the first turn. No colt gave way, and Tom knew from his vantage point behind that never would there be another fight like this for a first turn. Every driver in the field had decided to make a desperate bid to obtain the lead at the beginning of this race.
Tom’s heart stilled during the fight for the turn. He could do nothing but keep Bonfire’s nose close to Miss Elsie’s back, hoping desperately that her black filly would reach the turn first … for he would then be directly behind her, and ready to make his move for the lead.
Suddenly there was a break in the long line across the track and the drivers drove their horses closer to the rail. Only Silver Knight and Frank Lunceford’s chestnut colt came on to match strides with Princess Guy; the others moved over toward Tom.
Sweeping into the turn, Princess Guy, Silver Knight and Victory Boy strode as a team, stride for stride, wheel to wheel.
Tom kept his position directly behind Miss Elsie, but racing alongside Bonfire now were three other colts. And behind them came the third tier of the last three horses.
There was no slackening of stride by any colt in the race. They were making one constant bid, and Tom knew this speed was much too fast for so early in the race. But no driver slowed his colt. Spinning wheels were but inches away from one another. O’Neil and Lunceford were trying to force Miss Elsie closer to the rail to save themselves ground going around the turn. But she held firm. The drivers on Tom’s right were forcing him, too. But he held his position right behind Miss Elsie.
Coming off the turn, they entered the backstretch. Princess Guy was moving effortlessly, her hoofs hardly touching the ground in her graceful flight. Tom knew she was flying, for Bonfire was moving faster than ever to keep up with her. Surely the filly would now pull away from the heavy-footed gray colt and the long-limbed chestnut who strode beside her! If the black filly would pull away just a short distance, he’d go along with her to come out from the rail when he was past the gray and chestnut colts, then make his bid with Bonfire to pass Princess Guy.
But it didn’t happen that way at all. For down the backstretch Silver Knight and Victory Boy matched the filly’s long, sweeping stride. No horse or driver gave way—not even those racing alongside Tom.
They went into the back turn in the very same positions and still fighting. Once more, spinning wheels glistened ever closer as drivers moved over on each other trying to save ground going around the turn. Miss Elsie held. Tom held.
And at this point in the race, Tom knew two things for certain. One was that he and Miss Elsie had an advantage in that they were close to the rail and taking the shortest route around the track. Two, something had to give soon, for no colts of this age could travel so fast for so long. The killing pace would tell on the colts very soon, and he wasn’t even certain that Bonfire had the necessary reserve. Never before had he called upon the colt for a supreme effort; yet very shortly he would ask Bonfire and the colt would give his answer.
Frank Lunceford went for his whip, coming off the back turn. He made a last desperate effort to get around Silver Knight and Princess Guy. But Victory Boy failed utterly before the ever-quickening strides of the black filly and gray colt, and the golden chestnut began falling back as the field swept down the homestretch for the first time.
Racing by the standing, crazed people in the grandstand, Miss Elsie opened up her black filly another notch, and now she actually seemed to fly. But Silver Knight had more speed as well, and when Ray O’Neil called for it, the gray colt surged forward with Princess Guy.
Tom’s hands moved on the lines as he too called for more speed. And at the same time he heard the drivers on his right calling to their colts—and some went for their whips.
Bonfire’s muscles gleamed beneath his sweated body, and he responded quickly to Tom’s call for more speed. Tom knew then that his colt had no equal. He could feel the power—reserve power—flooding the lines he held. And it was good, knowing there was more to come!
The blood bay colt went forward with Princess Guy and Silver Knight, leaving the others gradually behind.
As they swept past the judge’s booth, Tom heard the announcer call to the crowd, “Time for the half, one minute flat!” Never had two-year-olds raced so fast.
Miss Elsie was taking Princess Guy along at a killing pace and only two were left of the field of ten to challenge her.
Once more they went into the first turn and Miss Elsie sought to kill off the ponderous gray colt racing alongside by again increasing the filly’s speed. Princess Guy leveled out as though she had wings. Tom wondered how much more speed this black filly had. When would she reach her limit? He touched the lines again to keep Bonfire directly behind Miss Elsie.
But Miss Elsie did not kill off the big gray colt on the turn, for he too had more speed and surged forward with the filly. Tom saw Ray O’Neil glance back at him as they went into the backstretch. He hoped it meant that O’Neil was worried, that Silver Knight had reached his utmost speed. He wanted Silver Knight to fall back, then he’d take Bonfire ahead and on to challenge Princess Guy.
It was getting time to make his move, even if Silver Knight didn’t fall back and he had to take Bonfire around the gray colt. Somewhere along this stretch he’d make his move. He got ready for it.
Bonfire’s nose was still close to Miss Elsie’s head, and Tom knew she realized it was the blood bay colt—for he’d been there since the start of the race. Suddenly Miss Elsie began moving away from Bonfire! Seemingly there had been no increase of length or rapidity in the black filly’s strides. But Tom knew she was going faster or she wouldn’t be pulling away! Miss Elsie was going all out!
Tom called upon Bonfire for more speed and again came the quick response from the powerful, splendid muscles in front of him. The blood bay colt pushed his nose close to Miss Elsie’s head again. But then the break came—the one for which Tom had been waiting. Silver Knight started falling back, inches at first, then several feet. Just a little more room and Tom knew he’d be able to get Bonfire between Miss Elsie’s sulky and the slowing Silver Knight.
The gray colt came back to race alongside Bonfire, and Ray O’Neil was sitting alongside Tom while Miss Elsie and her black filly raced alone in front. Tom waited for Silver Knight to drop back a little more, just a few more feet.
But the gray colt stopped losing ground. Stride for stride he raced Bonfire. Startled, Tom glanced at the man alongside him, then quickly he turned to Miss Elsie’s back again. If Silver Knight wasn’t going to drop any farther back, Miss Elsie had to move ahead. Otherwise he and Bonfire were in a pocket!
But Miss Elsie didn’t increase the speed of her black filly. Frantically, Tom watched the backstretch poles sweep by, and then they were going into the last turn. He had to get Bonfire out of this pocket!
He let Bonfire push his head closer to Miss Elsie. She must feel his breath! She must know! She did. Miss Elsie knew Bonfire was directly behind her and in a pocket. She had glanced back once to see the gray colt and Ray O’Neil alongside the colt behind her. And she knew that the colt was Bonfire. She was afraid, not of Silver Knight but of the blood bay colt! She was going to keep him there all around the turn, down the homestretch—right to the finish!
He had to get Bonfire out. “But not now!” he cautioned himself. “Wait until we come off this turn. The only thing I can do is to drop behind O’Neil and then come around him and go after Miss Elsie. It’s all I can do. And there won’t be much time.”
Tom heard the yell of the crowd as they came off the turn. The homestretch was ahead of them! He touched the lines, but this time it was to ask his colt to slow down, to watch Silver Knight and Ray O’Neil slide by … and then to come around in a last desperate rush to catch them before the finish line. He didn’t think there’d be time to catch Miss Elsie and her black filly. He had failed his colt, George, and Jimmy Creech.
He touched
the lines again, but still there was no response from Bonfire. The blood bay colt wasn’t going to slow down! He knew this was the stretch drive! Everything he had learned from them, his every instinct, told him that this was the homestretch. Jimmy Creech had wanted a colt with gameness and the will to win. Bonfire was fighting to be let out and it would cost him the race.
For only by slowing down could Tom get him out of this pocket. Bonfire was pushing his head over Miss Elsie’s when it happened. The heavy-footed Silver Knight faltered for the first time, picked up stride, then half-stumbled.
Quickly Tom turned to him, knowing the hard, fast race had told on those large feet. Silver Knight picked up his stride again, then faltered once more. This time it cost him the ground between Miss Elsie and Bonfire.
Miss Elsie glanced behind at the faltering gray colt; then she saw Bonfire’s head come between them and she went for her whip. The blood bay colt was coming through the “hole” with less than a hundred yards to go!
Tom’s hands moved quickly as he called for every last bit of speed from Bonfire. He felt the colt gather himself just as he had for every sprint at the fairs—and this in spite of the long, hard race behind him. Tom felt himself picked up and hurled forward; the colt’s tail cut his face like the sharp lash of a whip, yet Tom never felt the pain. He couldn’t see ahead, but it didn’t matter; he knew the track was clear. Above the finish line was the long string of lights. And many yards before he and Bonfire passed beneath their brilliance, they had swept by the beaten black filly, Princess Guy.
Those who saw Bonfire create a new world’s record of 1:59 at Roosevelt Raceway that night described the blinding speed of this blood bay colt no differently from the farmers and the small-town folk of the fairs who had seen Bonfire.
“His sprint is something that sets you afire,” they said. “You see him gather himself, then suddenly it happens and you find yourself being picked up and hurled along with him, even though you’re away up in the grandstand. But it’s hard to explain exactly what happens to him and to you, when he goes. You have to see him yourself.”