The Black Stallion

you go forgettin' Volo Queen. That neck's hers, so are the eyes. The Queen could go, all right. I saw Jimmy Creech win with her."
    "That colt belong to Jimmy Creech?" another man asked.
    Tom nodded.
    "Where's he, then?"
    "He's been sick," Tom said.
    "Old Jimmy Creech sick! Why, he ain't missed a fair here in…"
    And that's the way it went until Tom sent Bonfire back into his stall for some quiet, and George returned.
    "It's gettin' near post time," George said. "Come on in with Bonfire a minute. I want to tell you something."
    The colt came to them when they entered the stall, and Tom put his hand beneath the white sheet to rub him.
    "Far as I can figure it out from talkin' to the other guys, it's this," George said while cleaning his bared head of sweat with his handkerchief. "Sam Kossler is the only one who should give us trouble. He's got an aged, dark chestnut gelding that's in pretty good shape. Jimmy beat Sam an' that same gelding last year an' the year before with Symbol. So he shouldn't be much to beat with our colt. But Sam's tricky," George added cautiously. "He won't pull no rough stuff, but he's smart. He's been drivin' as many years as Jimmy. So he knows what it's all about. You're drivin' against another Jimmy Creech, Tom, when you race against Sam Kossler. And that same thing goes pretty much for the others in the race an' maybe for all the rest of the season. We meet old-timers where we go. So be on your toes, today and every day you go out."
    Tom nodded; and at that moment they heard a loud clap of thunder. They looked out the stall to find that the sun had been blanketed by heavy clouds.
    "I was afraid they'd move over this way," George said.
    Then the rain fell heavily; people hurriedly sought shelter beneath the eaves of the stable sheds and the roof of the grandstand.
    "Will they call off the race, George?"
    "They will if the rain keeps up."
    After a few minutes, the downpour stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Once again the lone group of clouds in a blue sky moved away and the sun shone brightly again. The people left their shelters and the fair was on.
    "This sun will dry the track out enough, Tom," George said. "We'll be racin'."
    A man came toward their stall, and Tom recognized the fair's race secretary. Handing a letter to Tom, he said, "It's from Jimmy Creech, special delivery. Thought I'd better get it to you. Know how worried you and George are about him."
    While Bonfire nuzzled his neck, Tom opened the letter and held it to one side for George to read with him.
    Dear Tom,
    I'm sorry I didn't get to say good-bye to you and George. I wanted to tell you one last thing before you drive our colt in his first race. So I'm writing this now, right after I woke up and found you two gone.
    I get the idea
—
more from the way you and George look while you're here than what you say
—
that you might be figuring on pushing the colt just to make money for me
.
    I don't want you to push him any more than he wants to go.
    And
even
if he wants to go what you think is too fast for early in the season, you hold him in, even if it means losing races! Don't you ruin a fine colt by rushing him just so you can make money for me. I'd rather kick off now than have you do that. Remember, Tom, what I've said
.
    Your friend,
    Jimmy
    And Tom and George knew that Jimmy Creech meant every word he'd written. His horses always came before he did. They always had and always would.
    "Let's hook Bonfire up, Tom," George said quietly. "We've got eight minutes before race time."
    There were more people all around the rail of the half-mile track and standing on the hill close behind it than there were in the wooden grandstand, where admission was charged. The public-address system wasn't working properly, and the announcer's voice would fade, then shrill loudly as he introduced the four horses in the post parade for the first race.
    But when the announcer said, "Number four in the outside position is Bonfire, a two-year-old colt racing for the first time on any track. Owned by Jimmy Creech of Coronet, Pennsylvania. Driven by Tom Messenger, who, like his colt, is racing for the first time," Tom's face flushed and his heart pounded crazily. He was here behind Bonfire;
it
was happening… he was here
! And while he talked to the blood bay colt through the lines, he saw the much-too-short sleeves of Jimmy's racing silks—the silks he wore for Jimmy Creech. Jimmy Creech was here… every move Tom made, even to the slightly