Man O'War (7 page)

The following day was easier for Man o' War and the other weanlings. When Danny reached the farm after school, he found them all quiet except for a few infrequent whinnies.

The old caretaker said, “They're fine now, Danny, an' it won't be long before every single one of 'em will pass right by his mother without so much as a glance. Their thoughts are of each other now and getting out to play.”

“When will you turn them loose?” the boy asked.

“In another day or so. Don't want them so excited that they play too hard. They're big, strong animals now an' their play can be rough. A cut or bump could become a permanent injury. We got to be mighty careful.”

“But their rough play gets them used to each other and not flinching in close quarters,” Danny said. “That's important on a racetrack.”

“It's still pretty hard to watch 'em go at it now. Their heels move pow'ful fast. No tellin' what they might do to each other. No tellin' at all.”

Danny looked at Man o' War. He'd sure hate to see his colt put out of commission before he even grew up.

“You separating the colts and fillies?” he asked.

“We sure are. We don't want the girls getting mixed up with this bunch of roughnecks. That's what these colts are, Danny, each 'n every one of 'em.”

Danny nodded in full agreement. There was no doubt about the colts being lots stronger than the fillies. You needn't be a horseman to see it, either. The fillies were far more slender, and when they moved it was with deerlike grace compared to the colts' powerful strides. And their eyes, too, were gentle and timid at times. They were shaping up.

Danny turned to the old man beside him. “But how come Fair Play's
daughters
are doing better than his sons? Isn't that what I heard Mrs. Kane say last week?”

The old man nodded. “ 'Pears there's one racin' lots faster than the colts. That's Masda, a full sister to your colt, boy.” His gaze swept to Man o' War. “That's what's causin' all the interest in Red. Masda's only a two-year-old an' she's got herself two wins, two seconds, and a third this summer. I heard tell she's got whistlin' speed.”

“No wonder they're interested in him then,” Danny said thoughtfully. “I mean more than just the way he looks and goes in the pasture.”

“Sure, they're more than ever interested in crossin' Mahubah to Fair Play now.” The old man paused to scratch his unshaven face. “Still, I heard Mrs. Kane say that Masda is pretty rough to handle. She don't take kindly to training any more than her grandpappy Hastings did. She turns all the fire burning inside her into a tantrum, so she don't have too much left to use in a race most times. So maybe the cross ain't what they think it is at all,” he concluded soberly. “Might be that Mahubah's
blood ain't strong enough to dominate all that hustlin', bustlin' blood of Fair Play and Hastings.”

The following day the weanlings were turned out for the first time. But before the barn doors were opened, Danny and the other men walked around the large paddock picking up dead branches that had blown down from the trees and old sticks that had been forgotten. Anything that might cause injury to an excited youngster in an unfamiliar field was picked up. These men were taking no chances with their highly prized animals. During their long lives they had seen weanlings hurt themselves in very strange ways.

“I saw a colt run a little stick, just about so big,” one said, spreading his hands no more than a foot apart, “smack into his stomach. How he ever did it no one knows. But he did. An' he died the same day despite everything we did for him. Can you imagine, a little stick costin' us a fine colt?”

So when the weanlings were turned loose, Danny was in the paddock to greet them. His station was at one of the corners, to prevent any piling up of excitable colts. He watched them come down the paddock in great leaps and bounds, overjoyed by their first taste of freedom in two days. A few were still looking for their mothers. Shrill whinnies pierced the air and there was a constant crash of bodies and legs.

Danny was tempted to close his eyes. A racehorse's whole career could end during these few minutes of exuberant play. He saw Man o' War's forelegs reach for the sky in the middle of a small, packed group of colts. Behind him a gray colt crashed against his hindquarters. Then the group broke up, scattering in all directions.

Man o' War came flying toward Danny and the boy raised his arms, trying to wave him down. “Easy, Red! Easy!” he called.

The big colt turned away, his long body leaning into the wind. He moved along the fence and then swept back up the field to join the others again.

As Danny watched him go, he knew Man o' War had forgotten Mahubah. The colt's only interest now was in playing with his companions. But soon the hard play quieted down and there was little running. The colts began to graze and then lay in the warm sun. Maybe they sensed that with fall at hand winter was not far off, Danny decided. Maybe they wanted to make the most of the sun and grass.

The following days passed quickly for Danny. He watched the colts' sunburned coats start to change. Baby hair was shed, revealing some colts to be of a different color from the one that had first appeared. Some brown colts became more black than brown. Some that had been black were now more brown. Others with a few gray hairs in their tails were becoming gray all over. But many colts stayed the same color, their long, matted coats unchanging. Man o' War was one of these. He was going to remain a chestnut red except for the star and irregular strip running down his nose. If anything, he would become more red with the coming months.

His training, along with that of the others, had already started. His hoofs were being inspected and trimmed once a month. He was taught to walk up and down ramps and in and out of strange stalls. Much of his racing life would be spent traveling, and all these things were better learned while he was still young. The aged, experienced men never used force in teaching him anything new. Patience and kindness was their method, luring him on when necessary with a container of oats or carrots, guiding him gradually until finally he went where they wanted him to go. Never once did Man o' War break out in open rebellion, and they had high hopes for him as he grew
in weight and strength and became a yearling the first of January 1918.

“Maybe we got control of all that Hastings fire,” one groom told Danny. “Maybe so.”

Danny answered, “I hope so, but he's burning up inside. It could be a lot different when somebody gets up on his back.”

“Mebbe so, but that ain't our problem, Danny-boy.”

“We grow him big, that's all we got to do,” another said.

“You sho talk like you were gettin' him ready for the sales ring,” criticized the groom who had spoken first. “You sho do. Big and fat. Maybe you want to force him to grow fast? Maybe pour some skimmed cow milk into him?”

The other man grinned broadly. “Nope, Sam. Don't mean that at all. No sales ring for this here colt … never was for a Belmont yearling. Mr. Belmont ain't no market breeder. Nor his pappy before him. What's bred for us races for us.”

“But times change,” still another old man interjected quietly. “A war's goin' on. No tellin' what might happen. No tellin' at all.”

“Not here … times don't change here,” the first said angrily. “This farm ain't ever goin' to change. Nope, not ever.”

All through the winter, with snow on the ground much of the time, Man o' War continued to grow as a colt should, evenly and naturally from proper feed and exercise. Nothing was done to force growth upon him and yet he was a hand taller than any of the other colts his age. He was growing up fast and he stood proudly in a stall that was sweet-smelling and newly clayed. It seemed to Danny that the colt knew he was destined for greatness.

The winter months gave way to spring and when the yearlings were turned loose to roam the soft fields, their exuberance knew no bounds. They ran hard, testing their speed against
one another as if they knew that racing was their destiny. And Man o' War, even though he was always the slowest at the start, was always far ahead at the end of the pasture.

Danny watched him more closely than anybody else and was convinced that his colt would be one to reckon with on the racetrack. But would Man o' War, in spite of his great speed, turn out to be as temperamental as his full sister Masda, who raced only when she felt like it? Worse still, would he turn out to be uncontrollable like his grandsire, Hastings? Speed was useless without manners and the will to win. All three were necessary to make a champion.

Danny did all he could to pave the way to a successful career for his colt. Man o' War was close to a thousand pounds of hard flesh and muscle. He could explode any minute, and often did, rearing in the air to his full height with flying hoofs.

Danny spent hours with him in the pasture, leading him around to get him over his natural nervousness and excitement at being restricted in his movements. Seldom did Man o' War become fearful or disclose any violent action, for Danny went slowly and carefully. He did not want to introduce too many new things to his colt at the same time. He wanted no strain put on muscles and ligaments that were not yet fully toughened despite the colt's great size. He stopped often to adjust the halter so that the colt would become accustomed to having his head handled and would not balk when the time came to put on the bridle. But the bit? What would the big colt do when he felt the iron in his mouth for the first time? How much of Hastings would explode in him then?

And how would Man o' War take to a saddle on his broad back? Danny rested a little of his weight on him each day, just enough so that the weight of the saddle might not seem so strange to him. But the girth strap? What would happen when
that tightened about the belly of this strapping colt with the hot blood of Hastings in him? Would he reach for the sky? And when he felt a man on his back, would a thousand pounds of living dynamite explode and rock the very earth?

“You're doin' real good, Danny,” the head caretaker told Danny one day after watching them together.

“He's the best there is,” the boy said proudly.

“Good for you to think so, Danny. Real good. A good groom's got to love his horse or he ain't a good groom. Maybe he can't rub speed into him but he can do plenty else. He even fights for his horse if he has to.”

The old man's gaze turned to the other yearlings in pasture. “I'm mighty glad this crop is a large, strong bunch. They better be. Worst winter we ever had an' now it's the worst spring. I don't like this kind of weather. Maybe it's not so cold as other springs, but it's too cloudy and too rainy. They ain't gettin' as much sunshine as they need. Most of 'em still ain't got rid of their winter hair. I don't like it at all. Weather plays an important part in what to expect from yearlings. Wet and chilly weather ain't good for mares an' foals neither. It ain't even good for breeding. It ain't good for nothin'.”

The foul weather that spring didn't let up. But in spite of it, life at Nursery Stud went on as usual. The yearlings were turned out every day it didn't rain, as were the broodmares with their young suckling foals in other pastures. Mahubah was one of these. She had long since forgotten her red colt, for now by her side ran his little brother and within her was still another foal by Fair Play. The cross that Major Belmont so strongly believed in was well on its way! But to what destiny? No one knew, and few actually cared. This experiment was the creation of a man far away from the scene, one who at the moment had little interest in horses and racing.

The First World War was at its height and horse racing in many states had been curtailed and even halted. Only a small field of eight Thoroughbreds went to the post in the forty-fourth running of the Kentucky Derby on May 11, 1918, at Churchill Downs, and the winner was Exterminator. The classic race was of little interest to the nation, for the end of the war seemed far away and there was terror in the air and under the sea.

Yet the days grew longer at Nursery Stud and warmer, too. The yearlings stayed out all night, as did the broodmares and their suckling foals, all grazing or sleeping beneath the moon and the rustling wind. It was peaceful and quiet at Nursery Stud, with only the inclement weather to fear.

“It's still too wet,” the old foreman said. “ 'Tain't no good for man or beast. No good will come of it.”

But it was more than the weather that suddenly brought turmoil to Nursery Stud and saddened the hearts of all who were left.

“Mrs. Kane's heard news from the Major,” one groom came running with the news. “He's quittin' racin'. He's sellin' everything but the breedin' stock. He's keepin' the broodmares and stallions but the rest are all goin', every last one of 'em!”

Danny listened to the startling news.
I'm still staying with my colt
, he promised himself.
I'm staying with him no matter what happens.

Later that day Danny found Mrs. Kane watching the yearling fillies. “Is it true?” he asked. “Major Belmont is selling them?”

She nodded, the letter from Major Belmont still in her hand. “He feels the war may go on for years and years and that there is no hope of racing them under his own colors. He will keep five fillies for breeding and …” She paused, her eyes turning to the boy and offering a slight smile, “your colt, Danny,” she added. “We told him Man o' War was the best yearling we had and he decided to keep him.”

Danny managed to keep from shouting his joy. It wouldn't be right to show how happy he was, with Mrs. Kane and all the others so downcast over the prospective sale of so many fine horses.

“Will he send the others to the Yearling Sales?” he asked finally.