The Black Stallion

March.
    "Did you see this?" Jimmy sputtered, opening the page. "Let me read you this. It's from Florida, where Cox and his kind go because they can't stand a little cold!" Then Jimmy turned to the magazine and read aloud: " Phillip Cox's gray colt, Silver Knight, set a new track and season record for colts in training here when the two-year-old stepped the mile in 2:17 with a final quarter in 31 seconds, sensational time for a colt of this age and at this time of year. Mr. Cox bought Silver Knight as a yearling at the Harrisburg Sales last November for the record price of $48,000. But it seems now that this price was not too much to pay for a colt possessing the speed Silver Knight is showing so early. Obviously Mr. Cox knew what he was doing when he bid $48,000 for this gray colt."
    Jimmy struggled to sit upright in bed, and it only served to weaken him more. George pushed him back against the pillow. "Take it easy, Jimmy," he said. "You'll make yourself worse."
    But Jimmy wouldn't stop talking. "Cox doesn't know a good colt from a tuxedo," he shouted as loud as he could. "Working a colt that fast in March! Nobody in his right mind—"
    Mrs. Davis grabbed the magazine from Jimmy's waving hand but he caught her and took the magazine angrily from her. "I ain't through with it," he bellowed. "Not yet I'm not!" His fumbling hands turned the pages, then he held up a picture for them to see. "Look at this, Tom," he said, directing his attention to the boy. "It's the immortal Greyhound, the fastest horse that ever pulled a sulky. Take a good look at him! Look at his hoofs! They're painted red, Tom! Red! They've put red nail polish on those hoofs that set about every record in the book! You know why?" Jimmy paused a moment, breathing heavily, and then he said sarcastically, "He's too old to race any more so they're going to have him give exhibitions at the
night raceways!
They're going to make him pretty as a picture and let him go up and down before the grandstand. He's going to be seen by city people so they paint his hoofs red so they'll like him better." Then Jimmy shouted louder than he had in months. "As if it wasn't enough just to see this great horse! What do they think they're doing, putting red paint on those hoofs like they'd paint up an old woman before she goes on the stage? Bah! I'm sick of it all!"
    Only then was Jimmy through talking and content to lay his head back on the pillow. Mrs. Davis took the magazine from his hand.
    Their faces grim, Tom and George stood there a long while. Jimmy's breathing became more regular and finally he slept.
    George touched Tom's arm. "We better go," he whispered.
    "Leave him?" Tom's gaze never left Jimmy.
    "We can't do anything for him here," George said. "Maybe we can at the fairs. I'll let the doc know where we'll be all the time. He'll let us know."
    Tom turned to Mrs. Davis. "When he wakes up, tell him we're on our way. Tell him that George, the colt and I will be racing for him. And we'll do our best, all of us."
    Then they left for the Washington County Fair.

Bonfire's First Race
16
    Awaiting the first race at Washington County Fair, Tom and George sat in their rickety canvas chairs in front of Bonfire's stall. Behind them the blood bay colt pushed his head over the stall's half-door and stretched to nuzzle Tom's hair. Turning to him, the boy fondled Bonfire's red-braided black forelock.
    All they had to do now was to wait. In an hour's time their race would be called. He had worked the colt early that morning, and then he and George had rubbed him down well. After that had come his mid-morning feed, oats mixed with a little bran. No hay… not until after the race. And no more grain until afterwards too. Wearing the worn white sheet with the red borders, Bonfire had nothing more to do until the call came. He would just wait—as they were doing. George said, "The crowd's startin' to come." The stables were just off the first turn and Tom could see the people moving leisurely through the fair's main entrance. The grounds were much smaller than at the Reading
    Fair. But the atmosphere was the same; there were the mooing of cattle, the snorts of hogs, and above it all the shrill crowing and clucking from the poultry sheds just a short distance away. But the majority of the people passed the exhibits by just now, to walk in front of the small, wooden grandstand and continue on toward the stables to see the horses.
    "Just havin' races only one day here makes 'em all come