The Black Stallion

speed things up for him. He needs you, Bonfire… not the money you'll make for him, but the satisfaction you'll give him. Jimmy wants to know that he's still an important part of his sport. He wants to know that it still requires understanding and knowledge of horses to make a champion, rather than how much money you've got in the bank. Let's go, Bonfire!"
    Turning the colt around, Tom opened him up. Long, muscled legs moved with the power and precision of a mighty machine. So fast was Bonfire's sprint that in a matter of a few yards Tom, as always, felt that the wheels of his sulky would leave the ground. Bonfire's strides were far-reaching and came with the swiftness of wings. Yet the blood bay colt never pulled on the bit, and drove down the stretch well within himself, waiting for the signal Tom might give him this time.
    They swept by the quarter pole, then the half, and Tom, his face flushed with the velocity of Bonfire's speed, let him go. He touched the lines and the colt responded with a burst of extreme swiftness that took the boy's breath away. The colt's black tail swept hard against his face and he heard himself shouting, "Fast for Jimmy, Bonfire! Fast for Jimmy!"
    Then Jimmy Creech was with him.
    "Don't rush him, Tom. Remember, don't rush him."
    The boy's fingers moved along the lines again; the colt responded immediately, and slowed down. Tom brought him down to a jog, then turned him around.
    Miss Elsie came onto the track while Tom was still jogging Bonfire. She drove her black filly up beside Bonfire, then said to Tom, "He's more sweated than you usually have him, Tom. Working him harder?"
    "Just a little," Tom admitted. "Jimmy says…"
    Miss Elsie smiled, and her large teeth were startling white in the sun. "Jimmy never would work a colt as hard as he should be worked, Tom," she said, "especially this colt; he's ready for it."
    Tom said only, "Jimmy's the boss."
    "How is he, Tom? Any better? I dropped in on him last week. He didn't look very well."
    "He's a little better," Tom said quietly.
    "If there's anything I can do, Tom…" Miss Elsie paused and glanced away. "Well, you know how I feel about Jimmy. We need men like him."
    "Thanks, Miss Elsie. But we'll get along all right. And you've been kind about giving us the feed and the hay."
    "That's nothing, Tom," she said quickly; then, changing the subject, she said, "I've got Princess Guy down to a very fast mile. She's more than ready for the fairs."
    "Bonfire will be ready, too," Tom said a little defiantly as though in justification of Jimmy's training methods. "What fairs are you going to, Miss Elsie?"
    "I'm going out to Ohio, Tom," she returned. "That's where I went with Mr. Guy." Her eyes shone with eagerness, but she said no more. That she had raced Mr. Guy in Ohio ten years ago was all the explanation necessary as to why she chose Ohio fairs in preference to those held in her own state.
    Tom watched her pull away, singing to the black filly with the white stockings. She was almost out of hearing distance when she called back, "The Ohio fairs first, then I'll decide where we go from there." And it seemed to Tom that Miss Elsie's words were meant only for herself.
    Bonfire neighed after the filly and tossed his head. Tom turned him in the direction of the shed, where George was waiting for them.
    If Miss Elsie stuck to her plans to go to the Ohio fairs, Bonfire and Princess Guy wouldn't meet on the track during the coming season. In many ways Tom was sorry, for he had all the confidence in the world that his colt could beat any other two-year-old in the country. Yet he'd never let him out all the way.
    George was holding two letters in his hand when Tom reached him with Bonfire. "They're for you," George said, taking the colt. "Postman was just here."
    Taking the letters, Tom said, "One's from the Association; the other's from Uncle Wilmer." He opened the first and held the certificate up for George to see.
    "Your license to drive," George said, squinting his eyes in the sun. "It's good it's come, Tom." He turned away to lead the colt into the shed before adding sadly, "Maybe we'll be needin' it this season. Maybe we will."
    Tom knew full well what he meant, for he and George had discussed his racing Bonfire in case Jimmy didn't get better in time to go out. And just now, with only a few weeks to go until the first fair, it didn't look as though Jimmy would be ready.
    "Maybe it's just as well he don't go out—even if he does get better,"