The Black Stallion's Courage by Walter Farley

Author:Walter Farley [Walter, Farley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-80485-3
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2011-08-16T16:00:00+00:00

THE BIG APPLE

12

The Belmont Park management called its feature race on Memorial Day “America’s Greatest Handicap.” That year everyone else called it “Casey’s Suburban.”

The day itself set a record for high temperature and humidity. Casey took care of the rest of the records. He beat the largest field ever to go to the post for the Suburban since 1884. He broke the track and race record for the distance of a mile and a quarter, a mark set in 1913, which no one had ever taken seriously because it had been made before electric timers were used. He carried 132 pounds on his back, giving up to 25 pounds to the lightest-weighted horses in the field. He earned a record purse of more than $70,000.

If the crowd of 65,343 persons at the track had been polled, it is doubtful that any among them could have named the horses who finished second and third in the race, some fifteen lengths behind Casey. All eyes were on the winner even long after he had swept under the wire—and for racetrack fans that was some kind of a record in itself.

Alec and Henry stood on the graveled apron before the stands and waited for Casey to return to the winner’s circle. The place was packed solid. They couldn’t have left the area if they’d wanted to.

Henry grunted. “I don’t mind not bein’ able to wiggle but I would like to breathe.”

Alec kept his eyes on the tall, easy-moving chestnut horse coming across the track. Casey wasn’t having any trouble breathing. He looked as if he could do it all over again. A red-coated outrider was alongside Casey, holding the bridle. Mike Costello was grinning as though the winner’s purse of $73,000 were all his. A part of it was—ten percent. Mike’s eyes were as bright as the lighted board in the center field. He had seen the record time posted there, the big numerals 1:59 4/5. That was why he was grinning. Who wouldn’t be, in his place? No horse was supposed to have been capable of going that fast on this strip of sandy loam. But Casey had done it. Casey and Costello. He was a very strange little old man, Alec decided.

“ ’Tis a good turn I’m owin’ ye,” Mike had promised twice, Alec recalled. Once when he and Henry had picked him up at the bus stop. Again, when he, Alec, had picked him up off the track. But Mike hadn’t given an inch in return when he’d asked for it. According to Henry it was good race riding to keep a hole closed. But he would have opened up for Mike or for any other rider when he’d seen there was no stopping a horse from “bulling” his way through as the Black had done last Wednesday.

Casey’s groom walked onto the track to take over from the outrider. He led the chestnut horse and its rider into the winner’s enclosure. Mike sat still, his black eyes twinkling while he patted Casey and cameras clicked away.

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