The Black Stallion

colt. And he thought,
if she's really it, she'll have Bonfire to reckon with
.
    They were halfway down the backstretch when Tom asked, "If Princess Guy is the one you've been waiting for, what'll you do now that you've found her?"
    "I'll go to the races with her, Tom," she returned quickly. "I always said I'd go out if I found another Mr. Guy."
    "You'll drive her?"
    "Of course, Tom. I drove Mr. Guy, didn't I?"
    Miss Elsie didn't say anything more, becoming absorbed with every movement of the black filly for which she had waited ten long years. Finally she gave Princess Guy more line and left Tom behind.
    The boy saw his colt gather himself and felt the burning desire of Bonfire to catch and pass the black filly. Tom's fingers moved on the lines, comforting Bonfire and letting him know that it wasn't time—not yet.
    When he led Bonfire into the barn, he saw the rolled newspaper lying on the tack-room table. It was a daily Pittsburgh paper to which Jimmy subscribed and which Tom forwarded to him every day.
    He didn't pick up the newspaper until after he had rubbed and walked Bonfire and put him in the paddock. Then, taking a pencil, he crossed out Jimmy's Coronet address and wrote, "c/o Race Secretary, Bedford Fair, Pa." He tossed it to one side, planning to take it to the Coronet post office on his way home. The paper rolled until it came to a stop against the wall of the room. And it was then that Tom saw the black headline of a story at the bottom of page one.
    Quickly, frantically, he reached for the paper and tore the brown wrapper from about it. Then he read the story.
    CORONET REINSMAN NARROWLY
    ESCAPES DEATH IN BAD SPILL
    AT BEDFORD FAIR
    Jimmy Creech, Veteran Driver, Hospitalized After Race Collision
    Bedford, Pa
.—Jimmy Creech of Coronet, Pa., veteran of more than forty years of harness racing, collided with twenty-nine-year-old Frank Lunceford, of New York City, well-known night raceway driver, in the third race of today's program at the Bedford Fair.
    Lunceford escaped injury when sulkies hooked wheels, but Creech was thrown, striking his head heavily against the ground. He was removed to the Bedford Hospital while still unconscious.
    X-rays taken later showed that miraculously there was no brain concussion or skull fracture. Creech regained consciousness two hours after the accident. He will remain in the hospital a few days under close observation, doctors said, and should have complete rest when he's discharged.
    Track officials stated that had Creech worn the new protective helmet liner beneath his sulky cap—worn by all other drivers in the race—he would have suffered less injury or might not have lost consciousness at all. He had been asked to wear the liner before the race by officials, but had refused.
    Anguish for Jimmy was very evident in Tom's pale face when he finished reading. Yet he couldn't help thinking,
That's just like Jimmy. He wouldn't wear a good protective liner because they didn't wear them in the old days. And Jimmy won't stand for any changes
—
not Jimmy
.
    But he'd be coming back to Coronet now, early in August, just as he'd planned. Yet for a different reason. Jimmy Creech couldn't go on racing this season, even if he wanted to, not after a spill like that. Tom wondered where it would all lead, and what Jimmy would do about the blood bay colt. Not so long ago, when Jimmy was in bad health and in need of money, he almost sold the Queen before her foal came. Tom didn't want to think of what Jimmy might possibly do now. Jimmy wouldn't, couldn't sell Bonfire! Or could he? Tom wasn't certain of anything that Jimmy Creech might—or might not—do.

Dizzy Speed Ahead!
13
    Two weeks later Jimmy returned to Coronet, his head swathed high with bandages, his face very pale. George helped him from the van, but Jimmy pushed his hands away. "No need for that," he said brusquely; then he greeted Tom as though nothing at all had happened.
    The boy tried to smile but couldn't, not while looking into Jimmy's thin, drawn face and the eyes that burned hot within black, sunken pits.
    Jimmy turned away. "Just a cut, that's all I have, Tom," he said angrily. "I've had 'em before, lots of 'em. And I'll have more before I'm through. Don't look so scared. Just a lot of bandages, I tell you." And with that he walked into the shed, mumbling, "The colt… I want to see the colt."
    Tom stayed behind with George. "How bad is it, George?" he asked.
    "Just a cut like he says," George returned, "—but a