The Black Stallion

traveled over telegraphic wires instead of leather lines. Self-confidence came with this sensitivity of hands, and his tense body relaxed a little.
    Tom clucked to Symbol when they came into the back-stretch the first time around; and when they passed Jimmy and George, who had remained in the cold, watching them, Jimmy shouted, "That's good, Tom. Keep him at that speed."
    It took but one more lap for Tom to feel very much at home behind a horse. And he knew for certain that he wanted to make driving and training horses his lifework. He wanted to be like Jimmy Creech. His love for horses and this wonderful sport of harness racing was in him deep, and he knew he'd never change. No more than Jimmy Creech would.
    Symbol wanted to go faster, but Tom spoke to him through the lines with a slight touch whenever he felt Symbol's urge to go. The touch at the precise second, he learned, was all that was necessary to control the horse.
    When they had gone a mile and a half, Tom found himself taking time to glance at the other horses and drivers on the track. Ahead of him were Si Costa and Frank Lutz; they were men from the same mold as Jimmy and George, just as all the others here were. Men you'd always find wherever there was a county fair.
    Turning to the far side of the track, Tom watched the only two-year-old colt on the track. Behind the colt sat Miss Elsie, huddled well within the raccoon coat she wore while driving in the winter. Miss Elsie was one of them in every respect except one—or rather two, Tom corrected himself, since she was a woman.
    But Miss Elsie had all the money in the world; that was the big difference. You'd never know it to look at her, though. She drove To the track every single morning, no matter what the weather, in an open jeep. And she'd never been sick in all the thirty years Jimmy and George had known her. The track and stables and the big white house and barn sitting high on the hill overlooking the track—all belonged to Miss Elsie. Her father had built the track, and when he'd died he left Miss Elsie everything, including the coal mines on the other side of Coronet. Miss Elsie didn't care about coal, just horses, like Jimmy and the rest of them here. She must be in her forties, Tom figured. Miss Elsie had ten colts in two sheds, and she worked every one of them, even though she had a lot of help. Next year, she would have a new group of colts from the big barn on the hill where she kept her broodmares and her stallion, Mr. Guy. Mr. Guy had been a famous racehorse ten years ago, and Miss Elsie wanted to breed and raise another like him. But with all her money, she hadn't done it yet. Every year she would sell her two-year-old colts, knowing that in them she didn't have another Mr. Guy. She'd been right, too, for no colts she'd sold ever had become as fast and as famous as Mr. Guy. Miss Elsie knew her horses, all right; everyone was agreed on that.
    And they all liked Miss Elsie, for she was one of them; she understood their financial problems even though she did have a lot of money herself. She never loaned money to anyone, and every person at the track knew better than to ask her. But she helped them in other ways that were more important. She charged but a dollar a month for the use of her stables and track, and that included electricity; she sold them their hay for practically nothing, and it was the best of hay, having been raised on her farm, the only unspoiled land within a radius of twenty miles of Coronet; and there was a building at the track which she had built just for the men, where they could sit and rest, even live there, if they wanted to do so.
    Tom was taking Symbol into his last half-mile when Miss Elsie drove her colt alongside. Symbol's ears pricked up at the colt's nearness. Tom touched the lines and the black horse responded by slowing down again.
    "Good to see you out here, Tom," Miss Elsie called.
    Tom turned to the fur-coated figure. All he could see of Miss Elsie's sharp-featured face beneath her peaked cap and raised collar were her horn-rimmed glasses and large teeth, even more prominent now since she was smiling. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "It's good being out here."
    Miss Elsie flicked the lines and the colt stepped away, with Miss Elsie humming to him; she always hummed to her colts. And as her voice drifted back on the wind, Tom too started humming. Symbol bolted forward, eager to move after the colt. Tom touched the lines just in time to slow him down again.