The Black Stallion

American Trotter
. He read again of the horses which had etched their names among the immortals of harness racing, the great sires and dams, and the stories of famous races. And he thought of the colt now sleeping beside the Queen, and wondered if some day he, too, would be recorded among the famed.
    Finally he put the book to one side and reached for the copies of
Hoof Beats
, a racing magazine, which Jimmy Creech had been sending him. He found the June and July issues, but the copy for August was missing. He remembered having read it while in the kitchen the day before. He had probably left it there.
    The radio was playing softly below and the kitchen lights were still on. Someone must be there, although he had heard no voices for some time.
    Getting out of bed, Tom went down the stairs. His aunt wasn't there, but Uncle Wilmer sat reading in the big leather chair. He hadn't heard Tom.
    Without moving, the boy stood in the doorway, his eyes on the August issue of
Hoof Beats
, which his uncle was reading so intently. Smiling, Tom was about to go back upstairs when his uncle raised his head. Seeing the boy, he quickly put
Hoof Beats
to one side and picked up his
Farm Journal
.
    Tom was going up the stairs when his uncle called to him. "You can have it. It don't interest me none. I was jus' lookin' at the pictures." He buried his head in the
Farm Journal
and looked up again only as Tom's footsteps began ascending the stairs. "Your aunt will be throwin' it out, all right, if you leave it here," he shouted after the boy.
    Tom continued up the stairs and climbed into bed once more. He put out his light and lay in the darkness. But it was a long time before he went to sleep, for the light from the kitchen came through the cracks in the floor of his room. Occasionally too, he heard his uncle turning pages, and the sound was not that of the light newsprint upon which the
Farm Journal
was printed, but the slick heavy-coated stock of
Hoof Beats
.
    During the remaining weeks of August, Uncle Wilmer's interest in harness racing grew and his knowledge of the sport along with it. For Tom never failed to leave an issue of
Hoof Beats
in the kitchen, and in time he kept his book,
The American Trotter
, on the kitchen shelf. And although his uncle never admitted reading them, he made remarks that could be attributed only to them. But he spoke with the casualness that implied he had always known that "They'll have to go some to beat Greyhound's record for the mile of one fifty-five and a quarter. Greyhound is a big horse, Tom. You know that, don't you? Big all right—he stands sixteen hands one and a quarter inches at the withers."
    Tom recalled his uncle's saying, the day the Queen arrived at the farm, that "the best ones are small"; but he hadn't reminded him. He didn't want to do anything to discourage Uncle Wilmer's new interest in harness racing. For not only did he enjoy talking to his uncle of records and bloodlines, but he needed his help while teaching the colt his first lessons.
    It wasn't much that Uncle Wilmer had to do, but it was important. His job was to lead the mare about the paddock while Tom followed with the colt. The first few days, Uncle Wilmer had consented only grudgingly to help Tom, claiming he had "more important things to do than lead an old mare around in circles." But when Tom guided the colt first to the left of the Queen, then to the right of her, Uncle Wilmer stopped complaining and watched the boy with puzzled but interested eyes.
    They spent several hours each day in the paddock while Tom taught the colt to respond obediently to the pressure of the halter against his head. He would bring him to a stop and let Uncle Wilmer lead the mare away from him. Then, talking to the colt, Tom would keep him where he was until he was ready to take him to his mother. At first the colt would want to run to her, but Tom carefully held him down to a walk.
    It was tedious and trying work teaching the colt to obey Tom's every command. And during the long hours, Uncle Wilmer talked more and more of the racing records of such horses as Billy Direct, Spencer Scott, Titan Hanover and others, for he had memorized much of what he had read in
The American Trotter
. And he discussed bloodlines with Tom while they walked endlessly about the paddock with the mare and colt. He liked the Queen's breeding. She had Guy Axworthy's blood in her. He didn't think you could ask for more than that. "And it was a good idea breeding the