The Black Stallion and the Girl Page 7

  Walking across the lower lobby, Alec found himself comparing Becky Moore with Pam. Both loved horses but they were at the opposite ends of the pole in every other way. He’d known Becky for the two years she’d been working around the track. She was shy and modest almost to the point of embarrassment. None of the men ever got mad at Becky; in fact, no one had really thought of her as a girl until she’d applied for her jockey’s license and was racing.

  That was the way Becky had wanted it, Alec decided. Quietly, unobtrusively she had worked her way through the ranks until one afternoon she appeared on a race horse as a girl jockey. It had been as simple as that, but very well planned and executed. No friction between male and female, no problems, no outspokenness. She’d been there and yet not there, all the while very ambitious, knowing where she was going and having her sights set on big-time racing.

  Everything Pam stood for was not for Becky. While Pam concealed nothing about herself or her motives, Becky by her shyness and gentleness concealed a hardness that would be fierce in open competition and catch most male jockeys unprepared. Becky would do all right today and any other day, Alec decided.

  Arriving at a closed door on the far side of the lobby, Alec showed his horseman’s pass to a track policeman and went inside.

  Within the confines of the vast grandstand it was quiet, almost peaceful, compared to the commotion that was going on in the four tiers of stands overhead. Alec walked down a long corridor, passing rooms and offices and not stopping until he reached the Jockeys’ Room. Since he wasn’t racing, he wasn’t allowed inside, but he stood in the open doorway.

  “Hey, Alec,” one rider called to him. “We’ve got a girl-driver on our hands today.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Becky’s no girl,” another said. “She’s a tomboy. Did ya ever see her in a dress?”

  “No, but she’s still a girl, and she rides like a girl,” the first jockey answered. “Got good hands but no arms. All she can do is sit there and steer. Isn’t that right, Alec?”

  “Steering a horse is pretty important,” Alec said.

  “Yeah, but it takes arm strength to handle a horse in tight quarters.”

  “And let’s see her con a horse to run when he doesn’t want to run,” another rider said.

  “When the day comes I can’t ride better than a girl, I’ll quit,” the first jockey said.

  “Me too,” a veteran agreed. “I’ve been ridin’ fifteen years and I learn something new every day, so what do I have to worry about a girl for? Don’t get me wrong,” he added. “I like Becky. Everybody likes Becky.”

  “If everybody likes Becky,” another rider quipped, “what’s she afraid of? Why does she have the big dog in her car? A signal from her and he’d eat you alive.”

  “She may be a tomboy, but she’s still a girl,” someone said. “She must feel safer having him around.”

  “Anyway,” the first jockey said, turning back to Alec, “these girl jocks aren’t for real. Right, Alec? They’re just a box office attraction, a bonanza. It won’t last. Sooner or later the novelty of seeing girl jocks on the card will wear off and that will be the last of them.”

  “It could be,” Alec said.

  “Meanwhile, God bless them and keep them safe,” someone in the back said.

  “And us too,” another said. “Women drivers make me nervous. They cause pileups.”

  Alec continued down the corridor, heading for the elevator that would take him to the press section, where he knew he’d find Henry. It afforded the best view of the track and the trainer always watched the races from there.

  Alec thought of what the jockeys had said. It was true that added danger was involved when girls rode against men—not that girl riders weren’t as capable as men in handling their horses, but women jockeys could upset the style and strategy of male riders. Most men would think twice, as he would, before doing anything that might endanger the life of a girl. But in racing you couldn’t afford to think twice. If you did, you might get killed yourself. Steel-shod hoofs made a pretty sound on a track but not on a guy’s head.

  What the male jockeys hadn’t mentioned, though Alec knew it was very much on their minds, was the fact that girl riders threatened their earning power. They feared a greatly reduced income if girl jockeys successfully invaded their ranks. Many of the men were married and it was not easy for them to support their families on what they made. They had to pay out a twenty per cent commission to their agents plus Guild dues and valet, travel and equipment expenses. It was not all roses, this being a professional jockey.

  Apprentice riders, which included all the girls racing at this time, were allowed ten pounds below the weight assigned to their mount until they had ridden five winners; then they were allowed seven pounds to an additional thirty winners. Since weight was the name of the game, good apprentices were always in demand, and a trainer would use any girl rider he thought capable of handling his horses. That would put a lot of little men off horses.

  Reaching the elevator, Alec greeted the newsmen gathered there. When the car arrived he went to the back, grateful for all the talk and activity that had kept him from thinking of his forthcoming confrontation with Henry. He didn’t intend to change his mind about Pam’s staying at Hopeful Farm, regardless of Henry’s wrath.

  Quickly, the elevator rose to the topmost tier of the great stands, the height of a ten-story building. Alec followed the others out, walked down a corridor to the front of the stands and entered the press section.

  There was nothing within the large room to obstruct the view of the track and infield below, but Alec’s eyes did not go to the vastness of open space before him. Instead, his gaze passed over the men milling around the room, waiting for the call to the post for the first race of the day. He saw Henry, standing in a far corner, all by himself.

  Alec moved past the clicking typewriters and Teletype machines, wondering what the outcome of this meeting would be. Had it actually come to making a choice between Henry and Pam? He couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it.

  MAN TO MAN

  11

  Henry turned away when he saw Alec. He looked out the window, his strong beaky nose prominent against the sky.

  “Hi,” Alec said.

  Henry turned back and studied Alec with a patient and reserved air. “How’d things go at the farm?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Alec said. “The two-year-olds look great, especially Black Sand.”

  Henry waited for an explanation as to what had been done about the girl. When it was not forthcoming, he asked, “Did you let her go?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Henry spread his nostrils and filled his huge chest with fresh air coming through the open window. His eyes did not waver from Alec’s, yet they disclosed his astonishment at this break between them.

  “Why not?” Henry asked. “I told you I wouldn’t have her around.”

  “She’s better with the horses than I thought she’d be,” Alec said. “I couldn’t let her go.”

  Henry turned abruptly away to look at the horses parading to the post. He watched them a moment, then his gaze returned to Alec.

  “I don’t like having these arguments with you,” he said. “We’ve been friends too long and have too much at stake to split over a girl. I know you don’t like some of the things I’ve said, but you’ve got to understand that girls have no place in this game. Give them a single opening and they cause all kinds of problems. I’ve been around long enough to know.”

  “She’s working at the farm, not here,” Alec said. He was aware that Henry was watching him closely, as if making a final assessment before coming to a decision. Alec hoped his face disclosed his determination not to change his mind. He was not going to be intimidated by Henry’s threat to leave. The old trainer had as much to lose by it as he did.

  “You must have good reason for wanting to keep her,” Henry said, playing for time.

  “I told you she’s very capable. Go see her. Ju
dge for yourself. You can’t talk about somebody you don’t even know.”

  “No, I’ll stay here,” Henry said. “But besides her being capable … I mean, you must be pretty keen on her, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, there’s that too,” Alec admitted.

  “I thought as much,” Henry said. He rested his massive frame against the window sill, his mouth spreading in a wide smile, as if now he understood what Alec’s defiance was all about.

  “I must be getting pretty old not to have figured that one out long before this,” Henry continued. “You’ve got every right to be attracted to a pretty girl. Perhaps, it’ll do you some good, make you less tense and easier to get along with. We’ve had lots of arguments lately and some unpleasantness.

  “Okay, Alec,” he concluded quickly, having made up his mind. “I’ll agree to her staying. Just have your fun up there, all you want. But don’t bring her down here.”

  Alec’s cheeks stiffened and there was a surge of redness beneath his tan. He was angered by the trainer’s suggestive remarks. It was another instance of Henry’s thinking in terms of his own youth. He would not or could not understand that relationships between boys and girls had changed since his day. No more than Henry could understand what it was like for Alec to be with Pam as a person, another human being—not just a pretty girl.

  However, Alec decided not to say anything in reply. It was enough that Pam would remain at Hopeful Farm. He turned to the window to watch the horses going to the post for the first race of the day.

  The race was to be run over a distance of a mile, beginning in the chute on the far side of the track. There would be four furlongs to go to the far turn, two more going around it and then two furlongs for home. The race was for maidens—horses which had never won a race—with a purse of $5,000.

  The area around Alec and Henry became crowded as newsmen jammed close. One man said, “Becky Moore was mobbed when she left her dressing room to go to the paddock, but Mike Costello was looking after her. It seems he’s appointed himself her bodyguard or boyfriend or something.”

  “Anything but boyfriend,” another reporter said. “Becky doesn’t want any boyfriends. Besides, Mike’s too old for her. He’d be more like her adopted father.”

  Alec watched Mike Costello, one of the most experienced jockeys in the business, riding to the post beside Becky, looking out for her every foot of the way. He was standing in his stirrup irons, talking to her, when they reached the gate. Becky looked very poised, as usual; there was nothing in her slight figure to disclose that she was a girl or, for that matter, that she needed any assistance from Mike Costello.

  Becky’s horse, a four-year-old mare, was being led into the Number 5 starting stall. Becky had finished fourth with this same horse a week ago, and now the mare was coming back in a race where she belonged and would be twice as tough to beat. She was one of the two favorites. Becky pulled down her goggles, ready to go.

  “She’s going to win this one,” a sports columnist said.

  Henry answered, “From what I’ve seen of her, the boys have nothing to worry about. A few greedy people, including some trainers I know, are exploiting her for the sake of publicity.”

  “Maybe so,” the columnist agreed. “She’s never raced more than six furlongs before and this mile will be a long trip for her.”

  Alec’s gaze left Becky to move to the other jockeys. It was a large field of ten, and the majority of them were apprentice riders like Becky. There would be a lot of jamming, and he wondered if any of them would give way to her.

  In the outside stall, Number 10, Alec saw a horse jump up and down while a crewman tried to bring him under control. The jockey was Mario Santos, the leading apprentice rider at the track with twenty-six winners. He was 103 pounds of Latin fury on a five-foot, five-inch frame. The nineteen-year-old Mario had told Alec he’d stopped growing at the age of fifteen in his home island of Puerto Rico. He had no weight problems and Alec, watching him eat pound cake and candy in the track kitchen, could readily believe it. Mario was not one to take care of a girl, as Mike Costello did. Neither were any of the other riders. All were hungry for money and success, and therefore very aggressive.

  The front doors flew open, and over the track’s loudspeaker system came the announcer’s call, “They’re off!”

  MAIDEN RACE

  12

  At first, Alec saw nothing but a blur of multi-colored silks, then the outside horse emerged. Mario Santos’ horse may have been jumping up and down in the gate, but he’d broken fast. Becky was somewhere in the middle of the pack. Alec found her red silks and kept his binoculars on her.

  She sat very still and well balanced in her saddle, allowing the mare to settle into racing stride without hurrying or worrying her. Faster and faster moved the packed field, as if no force on earth could stop it. Heads bobbed together. Bodies strained, shoulder to shoulder.

  Alec knew the fear that came at such a time, the difficulty of keeping balance in the desperate jamming and wobbling, the hard lessons learned from jockeys who elbowed you, pinched you against the fence and between horses.

  It was easier for the riders now that the first mad brush had been won and lost. They were well away from the gate, moving from the chute into the backstretch, with a little over a quarter of a mile to go before reaching the far turn, the only turn in the race.

  Alec found Becky again. She was rocking in her saddle, urging her mount on with hands and legs. Mike Costello was alongside, his head bobbing with hers. Neither had an inch over the other, neither gave way. But Alec suspected that was the way Mike wanted it. Whatever the reason, Mike was taking care of Becky every step of the way. Together they moved through the pack and neared the front-running leaders.

  They swept into the turn with blinding speed and Becky began using her whip as she guided her mount away from Mike Costello and over to the rail. Alec saw Mike start to go with her but then his horse began bearing out and, for a few seconds, he had to pay strict attention to what he was doing. When Mike got his horse straightened out again, Becky was somewhere in the pack.

  Alec had a good idea of the thoughts going through Mike’s head at this time. Where is she? Is she going to do something foolish that could hurt herself or someone else?

  Alec shifted his binoculars from Mike to Becky, finding her close to the rail amidst four other hard-running horses.

  “She’s taken off on her own,” Henry said, “and the heat’s on! Now we’ll find out what she can do without Mike squiring her around the track.” He sounded gleeful, as if expecting the worst.

  Alec kept his binoculars on Becky. “She’s tough,” he said, “and she’s pulling out all the stops today.”

  Henry answered, “She’ll wilt like any girl would when the heat’s turned on.”

  The horses came off the turn and entered the homestretch with two furlongs, a quarter of a mile, to go. Becky was on the rail with Mario Santos racing beside her. Two horses were directly in front of them, also running as a team. Mario was hand riding while Becky was making good use of her whip, flaying her horse and trying to break through.

  “Mario will never let her off the rail,” Henry said. “He’s no gentleman.”

  Alec watched Mario, knowing the popular apprentice would stay behind the two leaders until it was time to swing outside and loop them. Mario had a lot of horse left under him, and he was taking advantage of the situation by keeping Becky, on the favorite, pinched against the rail. Mario was strong and able to use his strength to assist his horse without resorting to his whip until necessary. For now, he was content to wait.

  A mounting crescendo of cheers greeted the horses as they flashed below in the stretch drive. Alec kept his binoculars on the leaders. Even under ideal circumstances, it was easy to miss dramatic details—a bump, a thrown shoe, careless riding—that won or lost a race. He saw Becky switch the whip from left to right hand, smoothly without any loss of rhythm. In the face of her flaying whip Mario gave way a little but still didn
’t give her any room to get through.

  The horse in front of Becky was tiring and she rushed for a narrow opening he left on the rail. The tiring horse bore in sharply just as Becky neared the opening and she was squeezed against the rail. Alec knew her leg was hard against the fence and the horse was burning his hide on it. Yet Becky continued to urge her mount on, her whip rising and falling with no letup.

  “She’s squeezing through!” Alec shouted incredulously.

  “She’ll quit,” Henry said. “She’ll never make it.”

  Mario Santos saw Becky getting through on the inside and went to his whip. His mount jumped at the belts of leather against his hide and raced quickly around the two tiring leaders. Becky had broken through on the rail and there was nothing in her mount’s path! She continued whipping with her right hand as her horse raced furiously for the wire. Mario, rocking in his saddle, caught Becky as her mount faltered under the staccato beat of her whip.

  Becky moved up again, regaining the inches lost to Mario’s horse, and went to the front. The stands were in an uproar as the two horses and their apprentice riders scuffed and scrubbed with hands and feet, trying to get the last ounce of speed from their mounts.

  Becky switched her whip to the left side without loss of stride. Mario was whipping with his right, and the horses were hide-scraping as they came down to the finish. Again, Becky’s horse faltered and lost a few inches to Mario’s horse. Heads bobbed together, noses stretched out, striving, reaching for the finish wire.

  “She’s tiring! She’s lost it!” Henry said.

  Alec didn’t answer. At a time like this, he didn’t think; he just watched. It would be over in a final jump.

  Mario continued driving hard, his horse inching away from Becky’s. But Becky wasn’t out of the race, not yet. She refused to give up and miraculously her horse came on again! In a single, mighty leap she ranged up boldly alongside Mario. Then another stride came as swiftly, and she went under the wire, winner by a head!