Black Stallion's Shadow Read Free Page A

humans. Unable to stand while healing, the injured horse’s organs would become misplaced during recovery. Giving Ruskin a fatal injection saved him the agony of a lingering death.
    Alec rode back to the clubhouse and the gap in the fence that led to the winner’s circle. Henry met him halfway there. The old trainer thrust a gnarled hand up tothe Black’s bridle and clipped on the lead shank. News photographers pushed their way through the crowd. They jumped out onto the track to snap photos of the victorious Black. The Black reared slightly. He fanned his nostrils and snorted. Henry jostled the photographers out of the way.
    Police opened up a path through the crowd and into the enclosure. At a nod from the official Alec jumped off, unbuckled the girth strap and took his saddle to weigh out.
    Word came in over the PA system that Spin Doctor’s jockey, Victor Velazquez, had survived his fall bruised but unhurt. Ruskin’s Hector Morales had been taken to the hospital. Spin Doctor’s condition remained in question. Ruskin, the undefeated champion of California racing, was dead.
    The track officials briefly went through the motions of the presentation ceremony. The usual smiles and congratulations were absent. No one really seemed to care about the order of finish. It had to be the most solemn winner’s circle anyone had ever seen. Today there could be no winners.
    Alec politely accepted a silver trophy, the American Cup award. Though he felt uncomfortable, his face displayed little emotion. It was the mask of a hardened pro. Henry took the $250,000 check on behalf of Hopeful Farm.
    As they left the winner’s circle, a burly man in a dark suit pushed his way through the crowd and caught Henry by the elbow. The man showed Henry a badge, identifyinghim as a United States marshal. He reminded the trainer that Hopeful Farm owed the federal government $226,372.59 in back taxes.
    Henry barely flinched as the marshal served him with an attachment on the Black’s winnings, taking nearly the entire purse. As
Blood Horse
magazine later reported it, Henry just smiled and said, “That’s racing for you. Easy come, easy go.”
    Alec headed to the lockers to shower and put on some clean clothes. A pack of reporters chased after him, shouting questions. “Hey, Ramsay. Any contact between the Black and Ruskin?” “Didn’t Ruskin have a nose in front before he went down?” “Any comment at all?” “Come on, Ramsay. Give us a break.”
    The young jockey held up a hand and waved them off. “Sorry, guys. No comment.”
    Henry led the Black back to the barn, where the stallion underwent the routine postrace urine and saliva tests. When Alec returned to the stable area, the reporters were gone. Henry had already washed the Black. Steam rose from the stallion’s glistening coat. Standing there, he looked like the essence of strength and vitality, anything but delicate. But a tragedy like today’s was a reminder of how incredibly fragile a racehorse really was, Alec thought.
    He reached up to rub the Black’s forehead. The stallion cocked his ears as Alec spoke to him. The words made little sense. Only the sounds and rhythms were important. The Black whinnied in reply. Muscles quivered beneath his beautifully smooth skin.
    Henry covered the Black with a light cooler and clipped a lead shank onto his bridle.
    â€œYou look shell-shocked, Alec,” Henry said.
    â€œI wonder why,” Alec snapped back.
    â€œWhat’s eating you, kid? We’ll survive. At least there’s enough prize money left over to cover our feed and travel expenses. And the Black ran like a champ today. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to the colt.”
    â€œAm I allowed to have feelings, Henry? Is that okay?”
    â€œSettle down now,” Henry said. “I don’t know who could have seen what happened out there and not been affected. But you