Man O'War (18 page)

Danny continued watching until they came to a stop on the far side of the track. Then he left the rail and walked slowly toward the gap in the fence, the lead shank in his hand. The trial had proved nothing, he tried to convince himself. Nothing except that Golden Broom could get away from the barrier faster than any other horse on the grounds. Besides, Feustel had said these speed trials weren't very important.

He stood next to the trainer, waiting for Man o' War to return. He didn't look at Feustel, keeping his eyes on the colts coming back at a jog. Both of them were still full of run and under a tight hold.

Golden Broom arrived first. Danny was surprised at the bitterness he felt toward the colt. He watched Mike Daly and others in the Jeffords stable go forward to meet him. The colt was tossing his handsome head continually while his body shifted nervously from one side to the other.

Danny left off gazing at Golden Broom, but only a few seconds later he turned and looked at him again. Anyone would look twice at this colt, he decided, no matter how he felt about the results of the trial. Everything about Golden Broom was so finely balanced. Also, every movement was so elastic, and his
manner so arrogant and proud. This colt would probably never admit defeat.

But he could be overeager, too
, Danny told himself.
He could use up most of his energy in a race. If he does, we'll get him at the end.

Man o' War was closer now, his great eyes sweeping the crowd, his body sleek with sweat. Danny hoped that Man o' War was looking for him.

Louis Feustel went forward accompanied by Mr. Riddle, and Danny heard the trainer say, “I'm not worrying. Did you see how our colt was going at the end? Give us a longer distance and we'll outrun Golden Broom.”

“I believe you're right, Louis,” Mr. Riddle answered. “At least we'll know a lot more when they move up a bit.”

Danny followed them across the sun-baked track. Reaching Man o' War, he snapped the lead shank on him and said softly, “I'm proud of you, Red. You gave a good account of yourself. The next time you'll get him.” There wasn't a scratch on the colt, only sweat and dirt that could be washed off easily.

Back at the barn Danny stripped Man o' War and washed him while listening to the comments of those most concerned with his training.

“I'm certain Golden Broom will fold early once we go any kind of a distance against him,” George Conway, the stable manager, said.

“I don't think so at all,” Louis Feustel disagreed quietly.

Surprised at his trainer's remark, Mr. Riddle said, “But you mentioned only a few moments ago that you were pleased with the way Man o' War was going at the end, that you felt we'd outrun Golden Broom over a longer distance.”

“I meant every word of it,” Feustel answered. “But George thinks Golden Broom will fold an' I don't. I believe it's going
to be simply a matter of our colt running faster once he gets in high gear. The Jeffords colt has substance. He looks to me like he's far more than a sprinter and will be able to go a distance.”

“You mean a
classic
colt?” Mrs. Riddle asked, her eyes on the trainer.

“Yes, ma'am,” Feustel answered. “Golden Broom can turn on the speed and keep going, I think.”

Man o' War tossed his head as the water from Danny's sponge reached his flared nostrils. The boy wiped them clean of sweat and dirt while the colt's tongue sought to catch the dripping water.

“Hold still,” Danny said, more to comfort his colt than to reprimand him.

Man o' War stood quietly, his great eyes sweeping the group that had formed a ring around him. He was getting used to all the activity in the stable area, Danny decided, just as he was to the hustle and bustle of the racetrack. Man o' War was learning stable manners, which were as important as track manners. He was ignoring the throng just as he did the whinnies of the stabled mares and the calls of other young stallions.

“Well,” Mr. Riddle said, “we can be
certain
of nothing at this stage of the game.”

The group was breaking up, and Louis Feustel followed Mr. Riddle toward the barn. “No,” he agreed, “but we can sure hope.”

Danny finished washing Man o' War. It looked as though he alone was certain that when the distance of the speed trials was lengthened, his colt would show his heels to Golden Broom without any trouble at all.

However, a few days later Danny, too, was resigned to
hoping
they had the top colt on the grounds. Man o' War and Golden Broom raced a quarter of a mile, a furlong farther than
the first trial, with the same result as before. At the end of the race there were several lengths of daylight between the two colts and Golden Broom could have gone on.

“We'll catch him when they race another furlong farther,” he said convincingly.

But they didn't. The following week the two colts were raced over a still longer distance, three furlongs, and Golden Broom was again the winner. His margin of victory was narrower than in the two earlier speed trials, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was the faster colt at this stage of training.

“Don't look so discouraged, Danny,” Louis Feustel told the boy the next day. “I still think we have the better colt, and he'll prove it when it comes to racing next spring.”

Danny said, “Sure.” But at that moment he recalled too vividly the way Golden Broom had come billowing down the stretch in front of Man o' War to be certain of anything. Golden Broom had come into his own, and there'd be trouble ahead for everybody in the spring, including Man o' War at his very best.

Louis Feustel banged a boot heel against the tack trunk on which he sat. Then he stood up and went to the stall door to look inside at Man o' War.

“A colt doesn't usually mature as fast as he's doing,” the trainer told Danny. “He fouled himself up in the trials. He's so big he got in his own way.”

Danny remained seated on an overturned water pail. He scuffed his feet in the dirt and said, “He'll grow even more during the winter. Maybe he'll get too big for his own good.”

“They don't come
that
big, Danny,” Feustel answered without taking his eyes from the colt. “The bigger he is, the longer his stride will be.”

“He's eating twelve quarts a day and looking for more,” Danny said thoughtfully.

“But he's still bolting it down. Next time you feed him put a bit in his mouth. That'll slow him up.”

Danny nodded. “He'll still be rattling his empty feed tub before any of the others.”

Feustel started to leave. “If he loves to run like he loves to eat we're all right, Danny.” He paused, turning back to the stall again. “His heart's got to be as big as the rest of him. That's more important than anything else. Nothing can make up for the lack of it, no world of speed, nothing. If he's got heart, we're in. If he hasn't, we've got just another fast horse.”

Winter came to Glen Riddle Farm, and with the snow and cold all the yearlings were held to slow gallops. They continued going to the track every morning under saddle, for Louis Feustel believed that young horses grew and developed more rapidly under a program of regulated exercise.

“They're also apt to forget everything they've learned if we turn them out to run as they please,” he told Danny. “Light work is best for them now.”

Danny found that while the winter months were a time for his colt to rest, be cared for, and fattened, he himself was in some ways busier than ever. People were constantly coming to the stall to examine Man o' War. The big colt was tested for parasites and treated. His legs were checked thoroughly to make sure nothing had popped during his daily gallops through the mud and snow. His teeth were checked and sharp edges filed off; those that had to come out were pulled.

Danny didn't like to go to the dentist himself, and every time the man came around with the big file in his hand, he cringed.

“You're worse than your colt,” the horse dentist said, waving the file in the boy's face. “A bad tooth can cause a horse a lot of discomfort. It can make him pull on one rein, fight the bit, and make for other trouble.”

“Sure,” Danny said agreeably but without enthusiasm. Proper care of the teeth was necessary, he knew. Just like everything else that was being done to make certain there
would be no interruption later on when his colt would be subjected to more intensive training. “Go ahead,” he added, turning away so that at least he wouldn't have to look at the rasping file.

He was learning lots about the care of horses these long winter months, he decided. His colt's stall was as clean as any other in the big stable. No one ever had to worry about where to step or put down a knee while examining Man o' War. Like everything else, there were certain tricks to mucking out a stall and saving clean straw. He had listened and learned a lot from Frank and the older grooms. The better he treated Man o' War, the faster his colt might run.

Take the matter of grooming Man o' War. There was a lot more to it than he had ever thought. First, he used a rub-rag, cleaning Red's head gently but not too rapidly. He went behind the ears and under the halter, then moved on to the neck, chest, and shoulders before whisking off the stall dust from the back. Then he went down the thighs to the legs, holding the hind leg a few inches above the hock in order to deflect the leg if the colt tried to kick him. As well as Man o' War knew him, there was always the possibility of being kicked, for every horse was apt to act on impulse.

The big colt objected more to the stiff brush that Danny used when he finished with the rub-rag. So the boy went very carefully over the head, cleaning the roots of the foretop well, and talking to the colt as he worked. He was extra careful when he brushed the legs and under the flanks and thighs. The skin about the heels was very tender so he took every precaution to avoid irritating it. When he was satisfied that he had his colt clean, he went over him again with a soft brush until Man o' War was shining as he wanted him to shine.

Only then would he use the comb, running it carefully
through the colt's mane and tail until he had the hair free and flowing. His greatest pride was that he could use a comb without pulling out a single hair!

There were days for play too. At least once a week Louis Feustel would order the colt to be turned loose in the big paddock with Major Treat. Danny would watch them from his seat on the fence, glorying in the length of his colt's strides as he played in the winter sun. Man o' War was so robust and full of fun that often he would rear and kick out at Major Treat. But the old gelding was far too wise to be caught napping by the frisky colt.

“It's a good thing he doesn't have shoes on,” Danny said to another groom who had stopped to watch.

The other nodded in full agreement as Major Treat narrowly avoided being kicked. “He's fast with his hoofs. It's a good thing for all of us that Feustel keeps his colts unshod. We'd all be carrying hoofmarks the rest of our lives. My colt's as bad as this one.”

“They're all pretty free with their feet,” Danny admitted.

“Feustel will keep them barefoot as long as possible,” the other groom went on. “Then when he sees their feet showing signs of wear, he usually shoes them only in front. With their hind feet bare they're not so apt to grab their front feet and cut up the coronary band pretty bad.”

On January 1, 1919, all the yearlings in the big stable celebrated their second birthday. It didn't matter that all of them had some months to go before they were actually two years of age. Officially, in the eyes of the Thoroughbred Racing Association, they were two-year-olds, grown up and old enough to begin their racing careers the following spring.

The only festivities about the stable were extra carrots for the youngsters and a day of rest. Danny remained with his colt
most of the day, thinking of another date, March 19, almost two years before, when he had seen Mahubah give birth to Man o' War. They had come a long way since then, but to him the most important thing of all was that he was still beside his colt.

He groomed Man o' War perhaps more lovingly than ever that morning. It was warm for the first day of the new year, so when he had finished with the soft brush, he dampened a sponge and went over the colt again. He cleaned out the flared nostrils and sponged around the eyes and in back of the ears. He went up and over the turn of the mane, and then over the rest of the big body.

When Danny had finished he stepped back, admiring his horse and his work. Man o' War would have been the envy of the big stable if anyone had been around to see him. But it didn't really matter that they were alone. He loved his horse so much that it was enough of a thrill just to see the rich sheen of color come out of his coat.

Man o' War was gaining in strength and size with every day that passed. He hadn't had a sick moment since the time of the flu and had never missed an oat. Danny had checked his feed tub after every meal to make sure, for when a colt backed off his feed it meant trouble.

He hadn't developed any bad stable habits, either, as some of the other youngsters had done. The worst were the cribbers, Danny decided, those who took hold of some part of their stall while inhaling and swallowing deep drafts of air with a grunting sound. He hadn't let his colt even
see
any of the cribbers, for that's how the habit seemed to get started—just from watching others!

Danny said to Man o' War, “Imagine, swallowing air just for the fun of it!” The colt stood quietly beside him. Man o'
War was the best-mannered colt on the grounds. It was only when he was taken outside his stall that he wanted to break loose and stretch out, his tail fanning the wind.
And then
, Danny thought,
it's all right. That's the way it should be.