The Black Stallion

and more time with her and the colt in the large box stall. It was crowded, for the colt was getting too big to share the Queen's stall and to nurse her. Tom knew it was time for the colt to be weaned. He told himself over and over again while he stroked the Queen that he couldn't ask for a better home for her than the one she'd have with Uncle Wilmer; that it was far better than staying here, for she belonged on a farm, where there would be fields of grass to roam in the spring. Coronet was a training track; it had facilities only for horses getting ready to race. And that's why the colt belonged here; in a short time his real work would begin.
    The following Saturday morning, Tom as usual was helping Jimmy and George hitch Symbol to the two-wheeled training cart in preparation for his three-mile jog on the track. He hooked the check rein from Symbol's head, then stepped back, blowing on his fingers to warm them before putting on his gloves. It was cold in the shed and colder outside. Jimmy had his fur-lined cap pulled down about his ears and a brown muffler around his neck. George and Tom were dressed just as warmly. But Jimmy had to go outside, to sit in the training cart while the wind whistled about him.
    George went to open the shed doors, and Tom took Symbol's bridle.
    "Tom." It was Jimmy.
    "Yes, Jimmy." The boy turned to him, but all he could see of Jimmy was his beaked nose, for he was walking on the other side and behind Symbol.
    "Come back here."
    Tom left Symbol's head to join Jimmy. "Take these," the man said, handing him the long lines.
    "Th-the reins?"
    "Lines, let's call 'em, Tom," he said. "You've been wanting to drive, haven't you?" The tiny pinpoints of light flickered in his eyes at the incredulous look on Tom's face. Then Jimmy turned away, saying simply, "We'll start today, then." He went to Symbol's head to lead him from the barn while Tom, holding the long lines in fumbling hands, walked behind.
    Jimmy stopped Symbol outside the shed, and the sharp wind coming across the track was icy cold on their faces. There were three other horses and drivers already circling the track.
    Turning to George, Jimmy asked, "You figure Tom has done enough work around these stables to warrant learning to drive now, don't you?"
    George smiled. "As his Uncle Wilmer would say," he replied, " 'I believe it.' "
    "You won't mind the cold?" Jimmy asked, turning to Tom.
    The boy shook his head without saying anything.
    "Get up, then, and go to it," Jimmy said.
    Tom felt awkward lifting a leg over the seat as he'd seen Jimmy and other drivers do thousands of times. The lines, too, felt clumsy in his hands, and he had trouble finding the foot stirrups on the shafts of the cart. But finally he was ready and sat tense and waiting, his eyes on Symbol's black hindquarters and the long tail falling between his outstretched legs.
    "Take the hand holds," Jimmy said, and Tom's hands moved forward until they had reached the loops in the lines. "Thumb and index finger over the top. That's right, you know that. Got the end of the lines under you? You don't want 'em trailing on the ground to get caught in your wheels."
    "I'm sitting on them good." Tom spoke for the first time.
    "Get goin' then," Jimmy said. "He's hard mouthed. Keep a good hold, but don't tear his mouth. Just jog him three miles—six laps."
    Tom took Symbol onto the hard track, the light cart bouncing over the ruts. Before his eyes, Symbol's hindquarters quickened and his hind legs moved faster. Tom didn't feel the cold; he felt only a new and surprising sense of power as he looked at the hindquarters of the horse pulling him. He felt small and low, as though Symbol could whisk him and the cart off the ground if he moved much faster. Tom glanced toward the sheds they were passing and only then realized that Symbol wasn't flying but going at a very slow trot. He gave him more line, knowing full well Jimmy wanted to have Symbol worked faster than he was going now. He couldn't see over the high haunches before him, so he looked to the left and then to the right of Symbol to make certain the track was clear. It was, so he sat back in his seat again.
    He hadn't gone very far around the track when he realized the lines no longer felt so clumsy in his hands. Even more surprising, he could actually feel Symbol's mouth through the long lines. It seemed he could tell, too, each time the horse took the bit or wanted to go faster. It came to his hands as though the signals