The Black Stallion

bent shoulders, was Jimmy's.
    He warmed Bonfire up before the grandstand, loosening the colt's strong body. Only once did his eyes leave his colt for the others; the three men were as old as Jimmy Creech and like Tom were unsmiling now that the race was at hand. He picked out Sam Kossler from the others only because he drove the dark chestnut gelding and was in the pole position. For a second Tom thought,
There are no Phillip Coxes here. There never have been and never will be. It'll always belong to men like these
.
    Coming down the stretch for the last warm-up, Tor opened up the colt a bit. The footing was wet and muddy, but Bonfire seemed to hold to it without any trouble; his stride lengthened quickly and his fast sprint brought loud clapping from the grandstand and rail when Tom slowed him down and turned him back for the start of the race.
    They walked past the judges' booth and the starter told them, "Take your horses down to that pole two hundred feet from here; turn them together and come down in your positions. I'll send you off if you're in position and together."
    There was no mobile starting gate here as at the Reading Fair; this was the way Jimmy Creech liked it—the way it had been.
    Tom turned Bonfire with the others, and they came down toward the starting line in position. The colt's eyes and ears were pointed straight ahead of him, and Tom felt his eagerness. This is what Bonfire had been bred, raised and trained to do. This was it!
    Not too fast
, Tom told his colt through the lines.
Not yet, Bonfire… not yet. Stay with the others. We're coming to the start. Just a second now
.
    The four horses gained speed in unison; as a team they made for the starting wire, their drivers silent and tense. Tom took a quick look at Sam Kossler; the man wasn't keeping the chestnut gelding very close to the pole. Quickly Tom decided upon his racing strategy. He'd let Bonfire all out at the start; he'd get around all the horses and get the pole position away from Sam Kossler going into the turn. He could count on the colt's blazing sprint to get him to the turn first; old Sam Kossler was leaving the pole wide open—just ripe for him and his colt to take! Once he got the pole he wouldn't let Bonfire go any faster than was necessary to win the heat. That would be following Jimmy's orders not to let the colt extend himself yet. And there would be another heat coming up; two miles were enough for Bonfire's first day of racing.
    "GO!" the starter shouted to them.
    As one the horses shot forward, their drivers shouting. But Tom just moved his hand and said nothing aloud to his colt. Bonfire burst away from the group, his black mane and tail whipping like lashes in his breathtaking spurt.
    Tom let him go straight ahead until he was clear of the horses beside him, then he started moving over as they swept into the turn. Only Sam Kossler was there to challenge him, and Tom knew that in another few yards he too would be beaten. Nothing could stop his colt. Nothing!
    But he did not need the few extra yards to get in front of Sam Kossler and close to the pole, for the old man suddenly slowed down his chestnut gelding, allowing Tom to move in quickly to the pole. Tom's surprise at Kossler's strategy was forgotten in his exhilaration at being out in front. It lasted only a second, though, for suddenly he found out why
    Sam Kossler had kept away from the rail. Bonfire's hoofs sank heavily in the deep mud that was there, for the rain had drained from the track to the inside of the rail! Tom was frantic. He could sense that the colt felt strange and uneasy. Bonfire pounded harder, but he only slipped all the more and the sulky wheels turned heavily in the mud.
    Tom sought to get away from the pole, to get Bonfire's feet on the drier track just a yard away from the rail. But Sam Kossler was there, content to keep his aged gelding alongside Tom's sulky. And Bonfire couldn't get up enough speed in this mud to draw ahead of Kossler. Only the slowing down of the gelding would enable Tom to get Bonfire back on firm ground. Tom waited in vain for this break to come all the way down the backstretch, around the back turn and past the grandstand for the first time.
    George yelled something as he passed, but Tom couldn't make out the words. They went around the first turn again. Down the backstretch, Tom realized that Sam Kossler's gelding wasn't going to slow down; he plodded awkwardly, heavily, but he stayed beside Tom's sulky.
    Furiously