The Black Stallion

secretary.
    "Y'might as well pull it out of the hat anyway," George grimly told the race secretary.
    But already Tom had started for the door.
    Before reaching it, he heard the secretary say, "Bonfire."
    Then came the sound of the rolling ball, the very last ball in the box, on the desk. "Number ten position."
    Opening the door, he heard the footsteps of George and Uncle Wilmer behind him.
    "It's too bad," the race secretary called after them. "But it's the luck of the draw."

The Two-Year-Old Championship
20
    Bonfire had been in his paddock stall for more than an hour, waiting for the championship race to be called. He wore his light racing harness but not his bridle, and he was not yet hitched to his sulky. Behind him, standing upright against the wall, were the long shafts of the sulky, ready to be lowered and hooked to him.
    He wore Jimmy's old white blanket with the red borders over his harness; for the September night was unusually cool and the sky overcast. There were no stars, and only the galaxy of floodlights shattered the darkness. Bonfire blinked in their brilliant glare and uneasily nuzzled Tom's hand.
    The boy stayed with him every minute, turning only occasionally to glance up the line at the other two-year-olds stabled according to their positions in the race. In the number 1 paddock stall was Princess Guy, and Miss Elsie never moved from her filly's side. In the next stall was the gray colt, Silver Knight, and standing before him were Phillip Cox and his driver, Ray O'Neil. They kept glancing at the black filly in the next stall, but never looked at any other colt in the race. Silver Knight was muzzled just now to prevent him from nipping anyone; his meanness was well known. He wore a brilliant red-and-white blanket across which was lettered, "Cox Clothing Company."
    George said, "You never said what you think of him." And he nodded toward Silver Knight's stall.
    Uncle Wilmer moved closer to hear what Tom had to say about the gray colt.
    "He's too coarse for me," the boy said, keeping his eyes on Silver Knight. "I've watched him work. But he's rugged and can go. He lacks the finish, though. I like to see them clean like Miss Elsie's filly and our colt. His legs are good boned and shaped well, but his feet will give him trouble one of these days. They're too large and flat."
    George and Uncle Wilmer nodded in agreement.
    "That's jus' what I would have said about him," Uncle Wilmer said impressively. "A horse is only as good as his feet… an' his are too large and flat, all right."
    George said, "I hear Cox was offered seventy-five thousand dollars for him just tonight, an' he turned it down."
    "He's not for me." Tom said, turning back and running his hands beneath Bonfire's blanket. "Even if I had that kind of money."
    They had nothing to do but wait for the call, so they stood restlessly and a little sheepishly amidst the strange surroundings. The paddock was empty of men except for owners, drivers and track officials. They could see the milling mass of humanity on the other side of the high wire fence which separated the paddock from the grandstand. Track guards filed up and down alongside the fence, an extra pre-caution to keep spectators away from the horses. No, it wasn't at all the same as at the fairs. And in the grandstand, and standing in front of it right up to the rail, were more people than any of them ever had seen in one group before. The great number of people was overwhelming, even a little frightening.
    Tom turned away from them to think of Jimmy, to wonder again why they still had heard no word from Dr. Morton. He knew George was worried, too, but neither of them had mentioned it to the other. Tom knew that he shouldn't be thinking about Jimmy just now—not with so much ahead of him and Bonfire.
    Ever since the drawing for positions, Tom had discussed with George and Uncle Wilmer the only race strategy he could use from his number ten position. Yet now he turned to them again and spoke of it. He wanted to make certain of what he had to do.
    "I'll keep him close behind Miss Elsie," he said. "Right from the start I'll go along with her and her filly…"
    "She'll get you out in front of the others, if you keep Bonfire breathin' down her neck," George said. "Her filly's got the speed to get her out in front. You jus' follow close behind an' go out with her."
    "An' once you're clear of the others," Uncle Wilmer added, "you can pull out from the rail an' go around her and that black