The Black Stallion

sportsman Phillip Cox, who knows what makes a champion! He's done it with the great colt, silver knight… and he's done it with this new, startling, racy silver knight shirt! You'll find them at all good clothing shops. See them today! Wear them to the races tomorrow!"
    George's fist closed about the advertisement. "Things would have been just swell if I'd sent him that," he said bitterly.
    Just as bitterly, Tom added, "Amateur sportsman, they call him. Some amateur!"
    Fifteen minutes later Tom had to forget Jimmy Creech and Phillip Cox and raceways and shirts, for he drove Bonfire onto the track for the second heat of the race. The horses took their warm-up scores and then approached the mobile starting gate. Having failed to finish the first heat, Tom was now on the outside of the field. He decided to trail the others during the race until he was ready to make his bid.
    The car began moving away and the starter said, "Now, Mr. Messenger, don't come too close this time or the same thing might happen to you."
    But Tom had no intention taking Bonfire too close to the gate this time. Going down toward the starting line, the starter called to him repeatedly to bring his colt up with the others. But Tom kept Bonfire back a little and liked what he felt through the lines. The colt was going well; he didn't fear the gate; he just didn't want to touch it again. There was less dust from the car's tires in his outside position, and that helped a lot, too.
    "GO!"
    The cries of the drivers rose with the sweep of the gate from their path; whips cracked hard against sulky shafts, and all fought to reach the turn first. All but Tom; he let them go and dropped Bonfire behind them.
    The pace the leaders were setting was very fast, and Bonfire snorted eagerly when Tom let him out a little more to keep up with the field. All the horses kept their positions going around the track and entering the homestretch for the first time; they came down toward the grandstand in a closely packed group.
    "Here they come, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer called to the crowd. "It's a beautiful race! Did you ever see anything like it? They're all tucked in, waiting to make their moves. It's Tim S. on top, followed by Sun Chief, then Hollydale…"
    Tom had Bonfire close but a little to the right of the last horse. The colt was fresh and eager to be let out; he knew the signal would come soon now. As they passed the announcer's booth, Tom heard him call out, "They went the half in one o five, very good time!"
    He had figured the time to be about that; he had never taken Bonfire so fast a first half-mile before. Yet the colt wasn't even breathing hard; the gradual work they'd done building stamina and endurance along with speed was now paying off. With the sprint to come, Bonfire would do 2:10 or better with no trouble at all.
    Rounding the first turn again, Tom touched the lines and Bonfire moved away from the rail. Tom took him a little wide coming off the turn, for this was where he'd make his bid. Yet as he gave Bonfire the signal the colt had been waiting for, Tom saw that the other drivers were going to make their bids going down the backstretch, too. They all started driving hard and fanning out across the track in their efforts to get ahead of one another going down the long stretch.
    But Tom let Bonfire go, knowing that there would be holes between the drivers and he'd get through someway. He felt the quick surge of Bonfire's amazing sprint; his seat was almost pulled from beneath him with the colt's drive; and the lines, as always, were jerked forward when Bonfire leaned into them with every ounce of power in his body.
    Tom leaned forward with the lines to lessen their pull on his shoulders. He looked to Bonfire's side to see if the way ahead was clear. But there was no hole, for the horses ahead were racing abreast and the line extended across the track. Tom drew back a little on the lines to check Bonfire's speed.
    Suddenly the lines broke and Tom's head and shoulders snapped back with the power of an unleashed spring. He went back over the sulky seat and only his desperate hands finding the edges of the seat saved him from falling off. He pulled himself up and threw the broken lines in his hands clear of the sulky wheels.
    Bonfire was racing at full speed, the last signal Tom had given him. With all his blazing swiftness he was bearing down on the horses ahead, and there was no opening! Tom called to him, but Bonfire's ears were pitched