The Black Stallion's Filly by Walter Farley Page A

Yet the filly was always entering his thoughts even though he tried to keep her out of them because of his other work.
    Tonight was a good example. It was ten o’clock and Alec sat behind the huge desk in the stallion barn office. He still had a good hour’s work left on the breeding chart before him. His father had taken all bookings of outside mares to the Black and Satan. Eight mares had already arrived at the farm, and there were sixteen more to come. Seventeen mares were in foal. Five of them would foal later this month, six during March, three during April, and three in May.
    Alec began listing the mares’ names and their breeding records on the chart, which from now until late May would be his daily bible.
    While writing, he caught himself thinking of Black Minx from time to time. For a long while he successfully pushed her out of his mind. Finally he relaxed in his chair to think only of her. He didn’t like the black filly to interfere with his farm work. Yet if he had something on his mind it was far better to face it than to allow his thoughts to stray while he was trying to concentrate on the field chart.
    Well, what is it this time?
he asked himself.
Haven’t I decided that her training and racing are Henry’s jobs? Haven’t I decided to let well enough alone and to be content with just managing the farm? Henry’s the head of the racing stable. He has all the answers. He’s satisfied with her. Why shouldn’t I be?
    But how will Henry ever get anyone to ride her shrewdly in a race? A jockey has only split seconds in which to make decisions. His mount must respond when asked to try for an opening or to wait. Black Minx won’t go along with such practices. She’ll run only when she thinks she has full control. Therefore, what good will it do for her jockey to be a good judge of pace, to know when to make his bid and when to lay back? The filly will have none of that. She’ll run herself out, for what horse can go the limit of his speed from starting post to finish?
    Alec thought about this problem for a long while before going back to work on his chart. He arrived at no answer. He didn’t think there was any. But having had it out with himself made it easier to concentrate on his work. Besides, it was Henry’s problem.
    Later, when he left the stallion barn, it was snowing again. He zipped up his jacket as he walked toward the house. After going a short way he stopped to look at the startling whiteness of the paddocks and fields, all so beautiful in the falling snow. He turned to the darkened house. He didn’t feel like going to bed right away. Just then he noticed the light in Henry’s apartment, and started for it.
    Climbing the stairs, he heard low music coming from Henry’s radio. He knocked on the door, and then went inside. “Busy?” he asked.
    Without leaving his chair, Henry turned off the radio and put down the magazine he had been reading. “Well, believe it or not, I’ve been working.”
    Alec sat down next to him. “Reading horse magazines is a swell way of making a living,” he said.
    â€œSure. What have you been doing?”
    â€œWorking on my field chart.”
    â€œI’ve been working on a chart too,” Henry said, tossing the magazine into Alec’s lap.
    Alec looked down at the page opened before him. The heading read, “Names and Weights for the Experimental Free Handicaps.” What followed was a rating of that year’s three-year-olds. It took into consideration their racing records of the year before, when they had been two-year-olds, and their prospects for racing over the longer distances as three-year-olds. There were one hundred and five horses listed, and each was assigned the weight he must carry if he were to go to the post for the running of the Experimental Free Handicaps held in April. This list was worth studying, for the track handicapper who made it had a