The Black Stallion's Courage (23 page)

As the other two horses lengthened their strides the Black shook his head furiously. Alec realized that his last tug on the reins had shattered whatever patience the stallion had left. Angered and frustrated by the prolonged restraint the Black suddenly bolted out of control! Instead of going after the others he swerved sharply, twisting his head and body to free himself of rein and bit and hands!

Alec swung with his horse, trying to stay in the saddle. The Black came down hard and the force of it sent his rider onto the stallion's neck, his hands seeking a hold in the black mane. For the first time the reins were loose.

The Black bolted again and Alec lurched with him, going forward then backward into the saddle. There he
stayed while the Black set out after the others, running free as he'd wanted to do all along.

Many lengths beyond, Robinson was rocking wildly on Eclipse. The thick-bodied colt surged past Casey, taking the rail and the lead. Mike Costello had no alternative but to follow the vigorous pace being forced upon him. He let Casey out several notches for he couldn't allow the colt to draw too far away, not with only 116 pounds on his back.

Now the Black, too, was in full flight, his head stretched out and nostrils snorting as if he were overjoyed by his newly won freedom. Alec took up the reins but made no attempt to shorten them. The distance between them and the hard-running leaders began to close. Alec knew that Eclipse would be kept in a sustained drive until the very end. There'd be no short bursts of speed, no chance to rest in between and make the Black's heavy burden easier to bear in that final eighth of a mile. But what was happening to them was happening to Casey and Mike as well. They had no alternative now but to go after Eclipse. They had to catch the flying colt to beat him.

Alec urged the Black on with his voice but the rest of him was deathly still—still and forward, where 146 pounds would be the easiest to take.

In a way he, too, was glad the waiting was over, regardless of what it might cost in the end. He watched the gap close, narrowing more and more with each of the Black's strides. This race was not like any other race. This was not simply a case of one horse finishing in front of other horses. This was one to remember as long as there were horses and racing. The two leaders
were going faster and faster, and now the Black gained upon them by inches rather than feet.

Three in a row, one behind the other, they swept into the sharp far turn. Their riders knew that the backstretch run at top speed had done damage to them all. And there was still a half-mile to go.

Eclipse's strides were steady but they did not come quite so effortlessly as before. Casey followed doggedly with much of his speed and stamina wrung out of him. The Black drew a little closer to them but it was like a man pulling himself up a rope with only his hands. The pace and weight were beginning to tell on him too.

Alec moved the Black nearer to the rail, the shortest path available to the wire. He took up on the reins a little, trying to check their speed to give his horse a short rest before entering that long, heartrending stretch.

The black stallion shook his head vigorously at the slight pull on the reins. There would be no resting the Black, Alec realized. His horse was going all-out to the finish because that was the kind of heart he had.

But Eclipse and Casey were not lacking in heart either. Like the champions they were there was no slackening of stride as they came off the turn with still more than a quarter of a mile to go. They were displaying speed and stamina and now came the final test of courage!

Alec stopped talking to the Black, knowing nothing he could say would help his horse catch the others. He remained very still and sat forward and low in the saddle, trying only to ease the Black's heavy burden. Now with every stride the weight became greater. Alec felt
the extra leaden pounds in his horse's every movement. No longer was the Black running without pain.

The great stands loomed to the right of the track and there was less than a quarter of a mile to go. Eclipse was not yet a spent horse and his sustained drive continued through the stretch while the spectators roared. But their calls were not for him—they were for Casey, who drew laboriously up to Eclipse's flanks. Behind them the Black was skimming the rail and slowly eating away at the margin they held over him.

At the last furlong pole with two hundred and twenty yards to go Eclipse looked the winner to the frenzied crowd. Casey and the Black were cutting his lead down inch by inch but the ground was running out on them! There wasn't time to
inch up
on the flying leader. The crowd knew Eclipse would have been a beaten horse at level weights but this was a handicap and the horses were coming down to the wire three in a row!

Alec swung the Black from the rail without loss of stride. The shortest path to the wire was no longer the fastest with Eclipse and Casey running there. He took his horse to the outside, knowing it cost him several of the bitterly fought inches the Black had earned. But the path to the wire was clear before them and the Black surged forward again, his breath and strides coming hard. Air as well as ground was running out on him. He inched forward as did Casey until the finish wire shone bright in the eyes of all three horses and their riders.

They were so closely bunched that they could have been covered by a large rug. Among all the tumultuous thousands who watched, only one person remained
quiet. He was an old man with sparse white hair who held his hat in his hands to keep them from shaking. He watched Casey and Eclipse racing head to head, nose to nose. He was aware of the oncoming black stallion, whose rider sat so still, asking nothing because his horse was giving everything. He knew further that the Black's final drive was not to be denied, that his determination to get up with the others was as unyielding as the result of this race was unalterable. Suddenly he, too, screamed at the top of his voice!

Alec felt the quick gathering of the Black's body. Then came a tremendous surge and his horse was alongside Casey and Eclipse! Another jump and the Black's head went to the front while above them flashed the finish wire!

“Pshaw!” said the old man in the stands. “If I'd given him another pound, I would have had it.”

The Black knew the race was over, for his long strides slowed heavily without Alec's bidding. He went all the way to the turn and around it before finally coming to a halt. He stood in the center of the track, his eyes on the infield's soft green grass rather than the roaring stands beyond.

Finally, at Alec's request, he turned and went back. There was no doubt that he was terribly tired, for he moved at a very slow pace. Yet his breathing was regular and came without effort. To the thousands awaiting him he probably looked disinterested, as if he'd just finished a routine work. Alec knew differently. It had taken every bit of the Black's great heart and courage to win this race.

Gently stroking his horse, Alec could feel the multitude of blood vessels, tiny under normal circumstances but now raised and bulging beneath his wet hands. He would have liked to help the Black by dismounting, but according to the rules he wasn't allowed
to until he was given permission by the judges. With dismay he looked ahead at the jammed throng awaiting them at the winner's circle.

“I'll get you out of there soon,” he promised his horse. “You've done plenty just winning this one.”

The news photographers overflowed the winner's enclosure and began taking pictures while Alec and the Black were still on the track. Henry came forward and took hold of the stallion's bridle. Amid all the noise and confusion the trainer said nothing but his eyes spoke eloquently for him as he looked with wondrous pride upon horse and rider.

Alec called, “He's real tired, Henry. Let's make this short.”

A moment later they were within the circle and Alec overheard Mike Costello say into the television and radio microphones, “ 'Tis no excuse we have today but the Black.”

More pictures were being taken and Alec looked hopefully toward the judges' stand for permission to dismount. Not until the tired Black struck out at the photographers did the signal come for Alec to dismount. Gratefully he slid off his horse and unsaddled him. Carrying his tack, he stepped onto the scales in the enclosure.

“One hundred forty-six pounds. Check,” said the Clerk. Only then was the Brooklyn Handicap officially over and the news of the Black's winning flashed around the world.

Now the crowd pressed closer and Alec tried to return to his horse. Television crews stopped him and over their heads he saw the Black strike out with his
hind legs again, making room for himself. Henry held the reins with one hand and with the other accepted a silver dish from a dignified-looking mayor who kept a wary eye on the Black during the brief ceremony.

The television interviewer put his arm around Alec, pulling him into camera range. “Alec. Alec Ramsay,” he said, with great flourish. “Congratulations on a great victory! Now, you're one of the few riders who can come back with a winner and tell us something about him. How'd it feel to be coming down that stretch? We've never seen a more relentless drive than he put on during that last eighth of a mile. It seemed to us that the Black was undaunted, that he would have worn the others down at any cost! Did you feel it too?”

Alec nodded while looking anxiously at the Black. “I knew he'd overtake them but I wasn't sure he'd catch them in time,” he said.

“What a finish it was! You know, of course, that Eclipse and Casey finished in a dead heat?”

Alec nodded. “They were nose to nose when we jumped by. It was a great job of handicapping, although no one knew it until now.”

“It'll go down as the most
sensational
finish, the most
famous
, the most
remembered
of all races!” the interviewer said grandly.

Alec started to leave but the man grabbed his arm. “Just one thing more, Alec, please. What's ahead of you now?”

“Offhand I'd say building a new barn,” Alec answered, smiling. “And just as fireproof as we can make it.”

“Yes, yes, we know about that,” the interviewer
said impatiently, “but what about racing the Black again?”

Alec said, “You'd better ask Henry.” As he went toward his horse the interviewer, complete with microphone and cables and camera, followed in his wake.

Alec took the Black from Henry. “I'll get him out of here while you take care of this guy,” he said. As Alec was carefully leading the Black from the enclosure he heard the high shrill voice of the television man.

“Henry, Henry Dailey! Congratulations on the training of a great horse! But a great horse can be a problem sometimes. He runs out of competition unless you accept new challenges such as the big international races in foreign countries—England's
Ascot Gold Cup
, France's
Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe
, Italy's—”

“Now whatya know!” Henry exclaimed. “That's not such a bad idea at that. Why, we might even get a break in the weights! But right now I've got a horse to cool off. So long, everybody!”

The screen on television sets throughout the country showed Henry Dailey running through the crowd after Alec Ramsay and the Black. The viewers, as well as those left standing in the winner's circle, would have liked to see his face. If they had seen it, they might have been able to tell how serious he was about racing the Black abroad. As the interviewer had said,
there should always be new challenges ahead, even for the Black
.

W
ALTER
F
ARLEY'S
love of horses began when he was a small boy living in Syracuse, New York, and continued when his family moved to New York City. Unlike most city children, he was able to fulfill this love through an uncle who was a professional horseman. Young Walter spent much of his time with this uncle, learning about the different kinds of horse training and the people associated with each.

Walter Farley began to write his first book,
The Black Stallion
, when he was in high school. He finished it and had it published in 1941 while he was still an undergraduate at Columbia University. The appearance of
The Black Stallion
brought such an enthusiastic response from young readers that Mr. Farley went on to create more stories about the Black, and about other horses as well. In his life he wrote a total of thirty-four titles. His books have been enormously popular in the United States and have been published in twenty-one foreign countries.

Mr. Farley and his wife, Rosemary, had four children—Pam, Alice, Steve and Tim—whom they raised on a farm in Pennsylvania and in a beach house in Florida. Horses, dogs and cats were always part of the household. In 1968 Pam Farley was killed in a car crash in Europe at the age of twenty. Mr. Farley memorialized her free spirit and love of horses in
The Black Stallion and the Girl
, and expressed his abiding grief in
The Black Stallion Legend
.

In 1989 Mr. Farley was honored by his hometown library in Venice, Florida, which established the Walter Farley Literary Landmark in its children's wing. Mr. Farley died in October 1989, shortly before publication of
The Young Black Stallion
, the twenty-first book in the Black Stallion series.

THE ORIGINAL STORY ABOUT
ALEC AND THE BLACK