The Black Stallion's Sulky Colt by Walter Farley Page B

scorn the man’s white form-fitting coat and pants, his shiny black boots and peaked hunting cap. All so dashing beneath this galaxy of lights, all so sickening compared to the county fairs Jimmy had known and loved.
    Jimmy looked for Bonfire when he heard the announcer begin to introduce the horses. There was a bench just inside the track where he could sit if he liked. But he didn’t want to sit there tonight. He felt the hot surging of his blood, the increased beat of his heart.
    â€œDon’t get panicky now,” he told himself. “There’s plenty of time. Plenty.”
    He left the security and comparative privacy of the paddock for the swarming crowd standing on the cement apron before the great stands. He pushed his way through the people. He wanted to get near the center of the stretch where he’d be able to see his colt start and finish. He carried the worn blanket beneath his arm.
    His heart beat faster as he came nearer to where he wanted to be, and despite the rumbling, loud cries of the milling crowd, his ears heard only the voice of the announcer. He listened eagerly for what he wanted to hear, and at last it came.
    â€œNumber five is Bonfire, a blood bay colt sired by the Black and out of Volo Queen. Bonfire is owned by Mr. Jimmy Creech of Coronet, Pennsylvania and is being driven by Alec Ramsay.”
    Jimmy listened and sought to still the pounding of his heart. Owned by Jimmy Creech. Bred by Jimmy Creech. Raised by Jimmy Creech. Broken by JimmyCreech. Trained by Jimmy Creech. After sixty-three years of waiting, waiting for this
one
.
    â€œThis is my colt,” he wanted to shout to those around him. “This is the result of all I’ve worked for. Look upon him. He carries the blood of the finest mare I ever bred and raced. No, not a great mare. She saved her greatness for her colt, this colt in whose blood along with hers is that of a fine stallion. A great stallion but one never before bred to a harness mare; therefore untried and unsought by the rest of you who seek change only by turning night into day with your bright lights and fancy frills! You seek perfection in the extravaganza of your colored stages such as this. I seek it in a horse. And there he is. Look upon him, all of you!”
    The marshal left the horses at the head of the stretch, and they came down in their first warm-up score. Jimmy watched Bonfire’s every stride, reveling in the beauty of the colt’s long legs. He was most proud, and confident of victory for his colt. Didn’t every person there see all that he did?
    He glanced self-consciously at the people standing near him. Their eyes weren’t on Bonfire as he went by. They were watching a tall chestnut horse warming up close to the rail.
    â€œThat’s Streamliner,” he heard a woman say excitedly.
    Jimmy’s puzzled gaze remained on her. Was she so impressed by the fact that six years before Streamliner had placed third in the Hambletonian? Was she unable to see any other horse on the track, including his colt? Didn’t she know that she was looking at an aged horse, one who should have been retired long ago? Wouldn’tshe rather look at a colt who was young and on his way to greatness?
    Jimmy turned away from her in search of other people who did appreciate the grace, the smoothness of Bonfire as he went by again. Only then did he see, a short distance away, the man whose head followed the movement of the blood bay colt all the way down the stretch. But Jimmy quickly turned away, for the man was Henry.
    A few minutes later the horses reached the mobile starting gate and followed it around the back turn. Suddenly Jimmy felt nausea sweep over him. He took the folded blanket from beneath his arm and pressed it close to his stomach, hoping its warmth would keep him from vomiting. He mustn’t get sick now. He must see the race tonight, and next week the Hambletonian. Then he would be content to do as his doctor had