Man O'War (31 page)

Danny felt better. It didn't even bother him to overhear Jim Rowe telling some friends close by, “
We'll trim Man o' War today!
”

Kummer mounted and Danny listened to Feustel's riding instructions. “I'm a little worried about him, Clarence,” the trainer said quietly. “He's not as tight as he might be, a little on the edgy side. So watch him. I don't want him pushed too hard today and hurt for the races to come. Lay along with Grier all the way, and if you find you can win, don't try to ride him out but just be satisfied with a length or two.”

Man o' War shifted, moving with lightning ease and swiftness.
He swept around Major Treat but Danny managed to keep hold of the bridle, bringing him to a stop. The moment of the race had come. The crowd around the paddock was shouting, and there were many who were flocking back to the stands for a place to watch the drama unfold.

Feustel mounted Major Treat and reached for Man o' War's bridle. His eyes, still concerned, met Danny's, then shifted to Jim Rowe, who was still holding court beside John P. Grier. For a few seconds he listened to the other trainer's defiant, confident words while waiting for the band music to signal the start of the parade to the post.

Danny felt the intense excitement being held in check and Louis Feustel's anxiety as well. Would John P. Grier really prove a worthy challenger to Man o' War? Was this the day their colt would be tried to his utmost, driven to the wire, matched stride for stride? Was this the day the crowd had been waiting for?

The bugle sounded, calling the horses to the post, and as its notes ended the band began playing. Feustel moved Major Treat forward and Man o' War stepped quickly alongside. Danny followed. A few minutes from now it would be over. Everyone would have the answer to his questions.

John P. Grier was the first out on the track, and the applause mounted when the crowd saw the small, compact horse ridden by Eddie Ambrose. A top colt, lightly weighted, and a top jockey … this was the combination to challenge the great Man o' War!

The champion skittered onto the track, trying to break away from his more dignified stablemate. But Major Treat would not be pulled very far and Louis Feustel held firmly onto Man o' War's bridle. They paraded before the stands, and the eyes of all closely examined the two colts.

Many in the great stands had come to the course only to see
Man o' War. But as they watched John P. Grier move smoothly, confidently postward their interest heightened, and they too were caught in the flurry of excitement over the prospects of his matching strides with the champion. Was this to be a
real
race, as Jim Rowe had proclaimed in all the newspapers? They recalled he had beaten Man o' War with Upset last season. Might he not do it again with John P. Grier? There was always a moment of weakness even in the greatest of champions. Who knew? Perhaps this race might be the finest ever run on American turf. And some of the spectators, loving a challenger in any sport, cried, “
Get him, Grier! Get him!
”

The two colts finished their parade past the stands and went around the first turn to the other side of the track, where a long chute entered the backstretch. The barrier awaited them at the far end of it.

They would race down the chute for a furlong before entering the track's backstretch, then continue down the long straightaway to the only turn they would have to negotiate. After rounding the turn they would have the long, grueling homestretch ahead of them to the finish wire.

Danny liked this inverted U-shaped course for his colt. Man o' War's huge, ground-eating strides were meant for the two long straightaways he would have to run. The only trouble he might have would be in rounding the sharp turn. He would be going awfully fast by the time he reached it, and his momentum might carry him wide. But he wouldn't lose enough lengths for John P. Grier to beat him, Danny decided. His colt would be far in front and Kummer, as in all the races past, would be standing in his stirrup irons and looking back at the end.

From where he stood it was difficult to see the colts as they went down the chute to the barrier. But he felt certain that
with only two colts to handle, Mars Cassidy wouldn't have any trouble getting them away.

As the minutes ticked away he saw Man o' War rear and plunge forward repeatedly. Then John P. Grier began acting up, too. Finally the moment came when both colts seemed to be still behind the barrier. Man o' War was number 1, on the rail, and Danny kept his eyes glued to the massive body, which hid John P. Grier from view.

His colt lurched forward and for a second Danny thought he had broken through the barrier. But no, the tape was up and the race was on! Danny saw his colt surge down the chute, running alone, and he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Run, Red!”

His eyes swept back for a fleeting second, seeking John P. Grier. But the small colt wasn't to be seen. He was nowhere, nowhere at all! And then Danny had a sinking feeling. Grier must still be on the other side of Man o' War, his small body hidden by the champion's great bulk!

Out of the chute onto the main track, Man o' War thundered. But now Danny and all those who watched could see John P. Grier matching strides with Man o' War. They were locked together, moving as one down the long backstretch! This was no romp for Man o' War.
This was a race!
Here his courage as well as his speed would be tested!

They remained locked together, moving as a team down the long backstretch. Man o' War began inching ahead as they approached the turn, but he could not shake off John P. Grier! The excitement became more intense. At long last a horse was pushing the big red champion. How fast would Man o' War have to go to win and, even more important, would he have the courage to face the challenge of the fighting colt at his side?

The two colts flashed by the half-mile pole, and a clocker standing beside Danny glanced at his stopwatch and said, “Forty-six flat,
a track record!
” At five furlongs, he said, “Fifty-seven two,
a track record.
” At the three-quarters, “One oh nine three,
a track record.
”

Danny listened. The colts were traveling faster than the speediest sprinters had ever raced … and there were still three furlongs to go! He thought, too, how many more strides the small colt must be taking to stay beside Man o' War. And yet John P. Grier came on!

Around the sharp turn and into the homestretch they came together, and as Danny had foreseen, Man o' War lost ground in making the turn. No longer was his colt a nose in front of John P. Grier. The small challenger, fighting Man o' War as no horse had ever done before, came on head to head with the champion!

Danny couldn't join in the tremendous roar that rose from the stands. He did not hear the clocker beside him say, “Mile in one thirty-six flat,
a track record.
” His throat was constricted; his jaws seemed to be glued together. His eyes never left the bobbing heads coming toward him. John P. Grier had to crack under the terrific pace. He couldn't last. He couldn't keep pushing Man o' War. Or could he?

John P. Grier kept coming on doggedly, never missing a beat of the smooth strides that had kept him alongside Man o' War throughout the race. And Danny knew, as everyone else did, that never before had Man o' War been brought to such a grueling, punishing drive to the wire—and perhaps he never would be again!

“
Come on, Red, come on!
” Danny managed to shout at last.

But it was John P. Grier who moved, his jockey asking for
everything he had. The small colt responded, pushing his black muzzle in front of Man o' War, and for the first time forging to the lead!

“
Grier wins!
” the cry went up from the stands. “
Grier wins!
”

Danny jumped up against the man in front of him in an effort to see the finish. He unclenched his fists and grabbed the rail. His voice joined the great roar of the crowd. This was racing! Man o' War had met a colt worthy of his best!

Danny saw Kummer swing his whip. Never before had Man o' War been touched with it. What would happen? The whip came down hard against the colt's haunches.

In an electrifying second Man o' War became a thunderbolt! He moved with the swiftness of living flame, catching John P. Grier with one magnificent stride. Then he swept on, running as no horse had ever run before, thundering to racing glory and leaving behind him a gallant but beaten colt!

The greatest ovation in his life greeted Man o' War as he was turned and brought back to the winner's circle. His courage had been brought to a supreme test and had not been found wanting. He was still the champion and his luster was brighter than ever. The crowd did not forget John P. Grier in its applause. The small colt had been ahead of Man o' War, if only for a fleeting second. Next to the champion he was the best colt in America!

Danny listened to the wave upon wave of cheers that greeted his colt as Kummer rode him into the winner's circle. He stood nearby, waiting for the moment to come when he could take Man o' War back to the barn. The pandemonium reached even greater heights when the time of the race was posted for all to read. Man o' War had broken still another American record, running the mile and an eighth in 1:49 ⅕!

Danny knew that his colt's record-shattering performance was secondary to the race itself. Never would he, or perhaps anyone else, ever see another like it. The true test of greatness in any horse was to meet a driving challenge, furlong after furlong, as Man o' War had done in defeating John P. Grier. His colt had fought back every step of the way. There was no question now of his gameness and courage. Man o' War was truly great, and Danny knew that never again would there be exactly this moment for him and his horse.

He studied Man o' War in the winner's circle. There was no doubt that the big colt had been extended to his utmost; his body was dark with great splotches of sweat and in places flecked with foam. His head too was wet, but he managed to keep it high, looking over the crowd that pressed close to him. Tired as he was, he seemed to be enjoying every minute of it.

Danny became more impatient than ever to get Man o' War back to the stable and sponged off. Never had his colt looked more tired to him. He would need a complete rest.

Finally the ceremonies ended and Louis Feustel called him to take Man o' War away. He hurried forward. The Dwyer was officially over and would go down in the books as one of the most exciting races in all turf history.

That night Danny tossed restlessly on his tack room cot. He could not sleep. Maybe it was the mutterings of the grooms outside. Or it might be the deep breathing of the two men in the cots alongside his own. He didn't know what it might be … except that it wasn't like him not to be able to drop off to sleep the moment his head struck the pillow.

The pitch-darkness of late night was familiar enough. The smells were those he loved, the odors of hay and leather, of horses and liniment. So what was it that was keeping him awake?

He closed his eyes, only to open them again quickly and stare into the darkness, searching for … 
what?
The reasons for his restlessness? Finally he got up, switching on the small overhead light that wouldn't bother the sleeping men. He leaned against the black tack trunks with the yellow trim and bold lettering,
GLEN
RIDDLE
, and his eyes found everything in order. The pails, brooms, and rakes were all hanging where they should be, all freshly painted.

The muffled voices of other grooms had hushed completely; the stable area was deathly still. He bit his full lower lip while listening for any movement in the adjacent stall. But Man o' War must be sleeping too, exhausted after the hard race against John P. Grier.

Still, Danny wanted to go to him … not to disturb him, but just to be alone with him for a few minutes. Maybe then he, too, would be able to go to sleep.

Danny left the tack room and quietly opened the stall door. He looked inside. The dim outside light penetrated the darkness and he could make out Man o' War. The colt was down in the straw, his big body sprawled to its fullest extent, his eyes closed.

Danny moved closer, ankle-deep in the straw bedding. Reaching Man o' War, he bent down, touching the colt's velvet-soft neck without awakening him. Moments passed and then Man o' War's breathing was broken by a snore. The noise was quiet at first, but became louder with each successive breath. After a while the colt moved his legs in his sleep and there was a whisk of his long tail.

Danny smiled to himself. His colt dreamed at night after almost every race, as if he were running it all over again.

The long legs moved a little faster as the snorting became louder. Man o' War was in full flight now, perhaps with John P. Grier right alongside him.

“Beat him, Red,” Danny whispered. “Beat him.”

Still asleep, Man o' War snorted; then suddenly the legs stopped moving and the snoring hushed. The stall was quiet again. The race was over. Man o' War had won.

Danny got to his feet and went to the feed box. It was empty. His colt had cleaned it out, so nothing was wrong with him. And the hay had been eaten, too, all the good timothy
with a little clover thrown in for dessert. Man o' War was a terrific eater, and good feed was important in a hard racing campaign.

The colt snorted again, breaking the quiet of the night. Danny turned to him, only to find him still asleep. He started to leave the stall but stopped, not wanting to go, really. His face looked old for his years, and there were deep white creases in his tanned skin. What must it have been like to be Kummer today, riding Man o' War in such a race? He could only guess. He would never know.

Danny left the stall, closing the door securely behind him. Jim Rowe would be back again with John P. Grier. The Dwyer had by no means discouraged Rowe, for his colt had given a very good account of himself, and, who knew, perhaps racing luck would be in their favor the next time. Danny stretched out in his cot and went to sleep listening to Man o' War's snores.