The Black Stallion

above the half-door.
    It was then that Jimmy and George returned to the shed and stood just outside the stall. The shed rang with the colt's incessant neighs while Jimmy went to the grain box and returned with a quart of oats. "Put this in his box, Tom," he said.
    But the colt would have none of the grain, and his eyes never left the shed's closed door as he watched for the Queen to return.
    "You might as well come out an' take it easy, Tom," Jimmy said. "This will go on all day, and you're not goin' to help him any. We just have to keep our eye on him, that's all, to make sure he doesn't hurt himself."
    But Tom shook his head and stayed with the frantic colt, and finally Jimmy and George left to get Symbol ready for his morning workout.
    All day long Tom spent in the stall, leaving it for only a short time around noon, when George told him to come out and have a sandwich with him. He hadn't been able to comfort the colt, just as Jimmy had said he wouldn't. The colt waited only for the Queen.
    It was late afternoon when the colt's cries lessened and he turned to Tom. The boy ran his other hand over the red furry winter coat and talked to him softly. Tom took him by the halter and attempted to lead him to the corner feedbox and the rack of hay. For a minute the colt refused to go and his eyes were frightened; he turned his head toward the door and neighed again. Then he followed Tom to the feedbox.
    "He'll be all right," George said, standing outside the stall. "The worst is over for him. You'll see. He won't hurt himself now."
    "But tonight, George?" Tom asked. "What about tonight?"
    "I'm sleepin' here," George returned, shifting his chaw of tobacco. "But he'll be so exhausted from all the moving around he's done that he'll sleep. They all do."
    "I'll stay with you," Tom said quickly.
    "Your folks would worry about you. Besides, we've got only one cot. I promise you he won't get hurt, Tom. There really isn't any need for my bein' here. He'll be quiet."
    Jimmy had gone home after noon, but returned around four o'clock. He came into the shed, carrying a large envelope. "Come on into the tack room, Tom," he said, stopping outside the stall. "The colt will be all right now, and I want you to help me with something."
    Seeing that the colt was interested in his hay, Tom nodded and left the stall to follow Jimmy into the tack room. George was there, sitting beside the small electric heater.
    Opening the envelope, Jimmy withdrew a long application blank and set it down on the table before him. He took off his cap, baring his gray, almost white head, then unwound his muffler from about his neck. Sitting down at the table, he took out a pen and said, "We're goin' to register the colt with the Association, so we can race him."
    Looking over Jimmy's shoulder, Tom saw the outline drawings of a horse's body profiles and head. On them, Jimmy was to put any of the colt's identification marks, but his pen didn't touch the drawings. "No marks on our colt," Jimmy said. "He's as clean as they come… no stockings, no blaze, no star, no nothin'."
    When he came to the line below he started writing. "
Color
: Blood Bay"; then he encircled "
Horse"
from the selection headed, "
Horse, Gelding, Mare
." He stopped to look at George and Jimmy when he came to "
Name Selected
." "We don't have a name for him yet. We'll let that go until we finish the rest of the application."
    Turning again to the paper, he continued writing. "
Foaled
: June 26;
Bred by
: Jimmy Creech, R.D. 2, Coronet, Pennsylvania;
Name of Sire
: The Black;
Name of Dam
: Volo Queen;
Sire of Dam
: Victor Volo;
Name of Second Dam
: Hy-Lo;
Sire of Second Dam
: Holly rood Bob…" Jimmy Creech went on writing for a long while before he had finished giving all the pertinent information required for the colt's registration.
    "Why are we doing this now?" Tom asked George. "His racing days are a good way off."
    "He'll be a yearling on January first," George said. "It costs only five bucks to register him now but fifteen once he's a yearling. Jimmy's figurin' on savin' that money."
    Tom's brow furrowed. "But the colt will actually only be about six months old on January first," he said.
    "For the records and racing he'll still be a yearling," George said, removing his cap to scratch his bald head. "An' the following January first when he's eligible to race he'll be a two-year-old. Yep, and some of the early colts—those born earlier in the year than ours—will have some months on him