The Black Stallion's Filly by Walter Farley

did he cluck in her ear, urging her togallop faster. Instead his words were a constant stream of
whoa’s
which served only to drive her on to greater speed. The wind cut his face. He wanted to smile but couldn’t. He worked his hands against her mouth, but this, too, only made her go faster.
    She was running away with him! And she ran the way anyone in the world would love to see his horse run. Her strides swept over the snow with the speed of the wind. She held her head high but pushed hard against the bit. She never moved it in her breathtaking flight beneath the gray, flat winter sky. She rounded the back turn with no lurching or swaying of head or body. Her every stride was the ultimate in grace and beauty, in balance and speed.
    As they came down the homestretch and neared Henry, Alec’s frantic calls of “Whoa!” rang above the pounding of her hoofs in the snow. He let her go until they had left Henry behind and had passed the finish line. Then he stopped sawing her mouth. He gave her loose rein and felt her grip on the bit relax a little. He pulled back in sudden movement. Again he gave loose rein, then drew back, sawing. This time he worked the bit free. She tossed her head, fighting him for many strides before she realized that he was in full control once more. Only then did she slow down.
    He turned her and started back toward Henry. Black Minx pranced and snorted constantly as if to let Alec know she had had her way for a short while anyway. He smiled and patted her sweaty neck. It was good that she seemed to feel this way.
    Henry hurried up to them. “Keep her moving, Alec,” he said. “I don’t want her to catch cold.”
    â€œCouldn’t keep her still if I tried.”
    Henry took hold of the filly’s bridle and started off for the barns at a fast walk. “We’ll rub her down real good,” he said.
    â€œShe did it, all right,” Alec said.
    â€œSure. I told you we had a Derby horse. Like I said, you just can’t train this filly by the book. She’ll run for us any time we let her think she’s got full control of the situation. It’s as simple as that.”
    â€œIt’s simple now that you’ve thought of it,” Alec said. He pushed the heavy black mane away to pat her neck. Her head was set beautifully, almost delicately, on her long, high-crested neck. She looked like the Black and there was no doubt now that she had inherited his speed. Henry had found a way to get it out of her. Still, it was a great pity that she had to be tricked into running and didn’t have the will to race and win as did her sire. Speed alone wasn’t enough to make her a champion. Or was it, since she possessed so much of it? Only in the Kentucky Derby would they learn the answer.

T HE Y ARDSTICK
7
    Black Minx wasn’t given a fast work again. For the rest of January and into February, Alec continued galloping her almost every day. Henry was happy that the weather remained cold and dry, despite occasional snow, and that he was able to get his filly onto the track to gallop and develop in body and wind. She was hard and never blew after her long sessions on the track.
    Not once did Alec use the key Henry had given him to get more speed from Black Minx. Her training was in Henry’s hands, and speed wasn’t ordered. Alec knew it would be March before her fast works would begin in preparation for the spring races.
    During February his responsibility at the farm became heavier. Outside mares began arriving, to be bred to the Black and Satan. He relinquished many of his chores to the three hired men from the nearby village, who had assisted him the year before during the foaling and breeding season. But he assumed other duties. He did more paper work, more field work, inorder to learn everything possible about each mare’s breeding history before mating her to his stallions.
    Except for an hour each day he seldom saw Black Minx.