The Black Stallion Challenged by Walter Farley Read Free Book Online

finished the mile still floating along with his ears pricked. He responded to Alec’s hands soon after crossing the finish line, as if he knew he had completed the course.
    Alec let him go another furlong before turning him around. He saw Henry walking toward them, brushing off his clothes as if he had fallen in the dirt. The straw hat was in his hand, and Alec recalled the glimpse he’d had of Henry waving it as they had swept past.
    Henry took hold of the Black’s bridle without a word and led the horse off the track, past the men huddled together who were watching them. “You didn’t have to do it,” he said angrily to Alec when they were on their way back to the barn.
    “Do what?”
    “Do 1:37 for the mile, a whole ten seconds faster than I told you to go.”
    “I had no idea.”
    “You should!” Henry bellowed. “You’re supposed to be a top jockey. You’re supposed to be able to do more than just sit there.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    The old man grunted fiercely. He hadn’t looked at Alec since he had taken hold of the Black’s bridle. Nor did he do so now. Back at the barn he removed his straw hat and began to wash down the Black in angry silence.
    Alec tried again. “I know it was my fault.”
    “It was,” Henry said.
    “I really kept a hold on him all the time.”
    “Just enough to let him know you were up there, that’s all,” the old man said. “You just let him set his own pace, figuring he’d get the job done all by himself, I suppose.”
    “He likes to go his own way,” Alec said sheepishly. “He doesn’t like to have me take too much hold.”
    “That’s always a good excuse for poor riding and judgment,” Henry said. “I don’t go for it. Never did. No horse should be allowed to run a race as
he
sees it.”
    “But I worked at it,” Alec said in his own defense. “He had me puffing.”
    Henry snorted. “It was just a gallop for you. I watched you every second with the glasses.”
    “Maybe it was the grass that made it seem he was going slower than he was,” Alec suggested lamely. “He liked it better than I thought he would.”
    Henry picked up the left forefoot, examining it closely.
    “At least,” Alec went on hurriedly, “this work ought to prove to you that he’s sound enough to race.”
    Henry put down the foot and continued washing down the muscular black horse.
    “You were worried about his foot, Henry,” Alec tried again. “So now you ought to feel lots better than you did.”
    The Black was nippy and full of life. The fast workout had done him a world of good.
    Henry said, “It was the first time you ever did anything as bad as that to me, Alec.”
    “It wasn’t intentional,” Alec persisted.
    “You just sat there,” the old man repeated.
    “I never took him over a grass course before,” Alec said. “I didn’t know. He seemed to be moving so effortlessly.”
    “He was,” Henry said. “But you still should have known how fast he was going. If you can’t rate him, no one can, and we might as well go home. I tell you again that no horse can win races running them
his
way. He needs guidance, and that means
rating
by his rider. Maybe you’re forgetting some of the things you had to learn the hard way. Maybe it’s time we started doing our homework again.”
    “If you say so, Henry,” Alec said quietly, knowing now what was ahead of him. There would be lessons on riding tactics every night along with blackboard drills. There would be patrol movies to review and races to watch. It might turn out to be a long, hard winter after all.

T HE R OLL OF T HUNDER  …
4
    The Associated Press sent the following story to its member newspapers throughout the United States:
    The Black, looking stronger and possibly better than ever, was given his first mile speed drill over Hialeah’s soft turf course this morning in preparation for his defense of the Handicap Championship Crown. The mighty stallion handled the grass with ease, demonstrating that any footing