Field of Dead Horses by Nick Allen Brown

Author:Nick Allen Brown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harrowood Books

22

They call them "Outriders" now, but back in the early 1900s they were called the "Pony Patrol." Their job was to be on the track at all times during training at race tracks. Sometimes horses would get loose and need to be caught and other issues would arise such as a trainer needing an escort for one of their horses exiting the track. During a workout at Keeneland, Palmer was riding Priced Opportunity when a group of maintenance workers pushed over a heavy, large steel plate allowing the metal plate to smack the pavement. The sound rang through Priced Opportunity's ears and spooked him to the point of bucking Palmer off his back. The soft dirt track provided little comfort to Palmer as his body smacked into the ground. Priced Opportunity took off running around the track in the wrong direction. When this happened, an alarm went off that sounded much like an alarm that rings at the fire department. The alarm continually rings until the horse is caught as it is very dangerous for a horse to be running free on the track in any direction. I ran over to Palmer who was getting up off the ground.

"You okay?"

"Yeah!" Palmer said as he dusted himself off. "I was taking him around the turn when a loud noise spooked him." The alarm continued, and I watched Priced Opportunity take off with the Pony Patrol after him. A man dressed in overalls and a straw hat waved at me to get my attention. He must have been one of the custodial guys that cleaned up around the barns.

"Mr. Chapel, you have a phone call," the man said, but I couldn't hear him over the loud alarm.

"What?" I yelled as I cupped my hand behind my ear.

"You have a phone call in the office!"

"Thanks!"

Sarah and Jim Bennett came onto the track watching the patrolmen and Priced Opportunity. I yelled over to Jim so he could hear me over the loud ringing.

"You got this? I have to take a phone call."

Jim nodded his head and I left for the manager's office. Cara and Kenny Bennett had temporarily abandoned their current chore to run over to the track to see what the commotion was about. I watched them run at full speed toward the track gate as I reached out and turned the door knob of the barn manager's office. It was more of a small shack than an office and was located next to barn seven. The manager of the barns (I have since forgotten his name) made sure that all rules and regulations were followed. All veterinarians had to check in with him before even looking at a horse as he was the one who controlled such things. When I walked in, he was just leaving.

"Phone for you, Chapel."

"Thanks," I replied. That day in March was unusually warm and the windows in the office were wide open which let in the inconvenient sound of the alarm. "Hello?" I answered as I plugged my other ear with my finger.

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