The Black Stallion

after the Indiana Fair, but I haven't heard from him since. I'm not worried because I know how busy he and George must be. I figure they ought to be at the Clearfield Fair by now…"
    Tom finished his letter and sealed the envelope. But he was worried. Jimmy might be too busy to write, but it wasn't like George not to keep him posted, knowing how concerned Tom was about Jimmy. And here it was well into July, with at least four fairs behind them, and still no word. He would feel a lot better if only there had been some mention of Jimmy Creech in
Hoof Beats
—just so he'd know Jimmy was all right and racing. But there was nothing.
    A week more went by, and still there was no word from
    Jimmy or George. Two large vans pulled up to Miss Elsie's shed and Tom saw her supervise the loading of her two-year-old colts. Miss Elsie hadn't found what she was looking for in this group, just as she'd suspected she wouldn't months ago. And this year, the same as last year and the year before, Tom watched the colts leave for the big summer sales in Kentucky. He liked Miss Elsie very much, but he couldn't understand how she could breed, raise and train colts year after year, to get to know them so well, and then send them away to the sales. Maybe she just wouldn't let herself fall in love with any colt—not until she had found the right one. Tom didn't know or understand. Maybe the black filly with the white stockings would be
the
one for Miss Elsie.
    For the next few days only Tom and Bonfire roamed about the empty sheds and worked on the track. Tom would have been lonely had it not been for his colt.
    It was during this time that George's letter came.
    Bedford Fair July 29 Dear Tom,
    I know I should have written long before this, but I thought you'd worry even more if I told you what I got to tell you now. I've been waiting and hoping things would get better for Jimmy, but I don't think so now. And they could get worse.
    Jimmy has been sick quite a few times—the same trouble. Symbol ain't been racing good at all, and Jimmy started worrying when he started using his savings, what they are, to make ends meet. It's the first time I ever wished I had a lot of money, just so I could loan it to him. But then again, he most likely wouldn't take it, anyway.
    He got so mad at the trouble he was having that he had stomach pains one night. That made him madder, and he threw away the list of foods that he should eat and did everything the doc told him not to do. And now he's worse than ever, hardly getting any sleep at all and looking almost like he's dead.
    I been trying to get him to go back home. The colt and rest would fix him up again, I know. But he won't listen to me and is going to keep racing. I don't think we'll be back early like Jimmy planned. I only hope things don't get worse. Jimmy is in no shape to race. He's careless when driving, and I'm afraid for him and for the others in the race. And the dangerous part of it is that Jimmy don't know how careless he is.
    I'm hating myself for telling you all this about Jimmy. But you got to know sometime, and I couldn't very well cover up what's wrong. I'm real worried, Tom.
    Your letters have reached us, and I read them all to Jimmy, hoping they'll help. Keep sending pictures of the colt and keep writing. The only time Jimmy perks up at all is when we hear from you.
    Your friend,
    George
    George's letter only made things worse for Tom, and he turned to Bonfire for comfort, spending every minute of the day with him and keeping busy. He tried hard not to think about Jimmy. He couldn't do anything for him at the fairs, and it only made him more miserable to think about him. He had a job here, and the best he could do was to teach Bonfire his lessons so well that Jimmy would have less to do when he returned to Coronet.
    A few days later, Miss Elsie moved her group of yearlings from her farm on the hill to the track. Their presence and the renewed activity made it a little easier for Tom, and he managed at times to forget Jimmy Creech. He saw the black filly and knew that she was everything Miss Elsie had said of her. Like his colt, she was clean-bodied and her legs were good-boned and shaped well, with four startling white stockings running up to the same height on all legs—to the hocks on the hind and to the knees on the fore.
    The black filly was as feminine in appearance as his colt was masculine. She was slim, lithe and delicate of line, and her every movement was graceful and