Racehorse (9 page)

“Caaaarrrrrooooooollllle!”

She turned and looked up. Someone was definitely shrieking her name, and it was none other than Stevie Lake! And there, standing next to Stevie, was Lisa. The two of them were in the first deck of the grandstand, with Stevie’s parents. That was about the last thing Carole had expected.

“Wait there!” Stevie called.

In a matter of seconds Lisa and Stevie were by her side. They were both thrilled about the third-place finish Stephen had gotten on the stallion.

“My father even won some money on him,” Stevie said. “Because of that, he’s decided the whole idea of coming to the races today was his in the first place!”

The girls laughed. “There’s so much to tell you guys,” Carole began breathlessly. “You just wouldn’t believe everything that goes on here and everything I’m learning. This whole place, this whole thing—horse racing, I mean—is another world. It’s hard to believe it’s all done with the same animals we love so much at Pine Hollow.”

“Purebred Thoroughbreds aren’t exactly what we’re
riding at Pine Hollow,” Lisa reminded her. “Except for Topside, I mean.”

“But they’re all horses, aren’t they?” Stevie reasoned.

“You’d hardly think so, sticking around here,” Carole told her. “It’s more like they’re some kind of precious commodity.”

“I don’t know about you, but that’s just the way
I
feel about horses,” Stevie said.

“Me, too, definitely,” Carole agreed. “But it’s more than that. It’s money. It’s business. It’s something we never think about.”

“I think about money all the time,” Stevie said.

“That’s because you always spend everything you’ve got,” Lisa said drily. “To you, two dollars is a precious commodity. I think what Carole’s saying is that these animals are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, and they’re treated as if they’re royalty.”

“Yes,” Carole said. “That’s it, exactly. We’re used to horses that may be worth a couple of thousand dollars, which isn’t exactly pocket change, but these horses are worth zillions. That’s a big difference.”

“You can say that again,” Stevie agreed, finally understanding Carole’s point.

“Carole?”

Carole turned. It was Mr. McLeod.

“I’m glad I found you. I need your help. Can you get to the stables quickly?”

“Sure,” she said. “I’m coming now.” She waved goodbye to Lisa and Stevie and followed the owner, who was walking very quickly. “What’s up?” she asked.

“It’s Prancer,” he said. “She’s getting fidgety. You seem to have a way of calming her. Did you bring any riding clothes?”

“I have some in Judy’s truck,” she said. “I came here straight from my Pony Club meeting this morning.”

“Good,” he said. “Go change in the ladies’ room at the stable. I want you to ride Prancer’s lead pony instead of the track’s lead rider. I’ll have the groom bring you a track shirt so you’ll match the others. You’re going to have to hurry, though. Post time is in about forty minutes.”

Hurry? Mr. McLeod didn’t have to worry about that. She was so excited, she was just about flying!

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER
Carole was wearing her own breeches and boots and a shirt with the name of the racetrack on it. She found herself looking down frequently, just to be sure it was true. The other lead riders looked at her oddly, but since Mr. McLeod had said she was going to be Prancer’s lead rider, they had to accept her. One of the grooms gave her the reins to a pony, boosted her up into the saddle, and then, just like magic, she was a lead rider.

Her duties had been explained carefully but quickly. She was to hold a lead rope on Prancer to take her to the paddock, just as she’d done with the stallion, only this time she was mounted on her own pony. After Prancer had been tacked up and had walked around the paddock a few times, showing her stuff for the few spectators
who had come to see the horses there, the lead riders would proceed under the grandstand to the track where the post parade would begin. She was to use her judgment about what might be necessary to calm Prancer down. She took the lead rope and clicked her tongue. Prancer responded immediately. She didn’t seem in the least bit nervous. Perhaps Judy and Mr. McLeod were right, that all Prancer needed was to have Carole around. It was very flattering, of course, but Carole found it hard to believe.

When she arrived at the paddock, the groom told her to dismount and to walk Prancer around the paddock ring twice for the spectators. It turned out that the spectators included a lot of bettors and two very excited Saddle Club members.

“Carole!” Stevie called out.

Carole looked up and grinned, waving at her friends.

“Is it real?” Lisa asked.

“It is,” Carole assured them. “Mr. McLeod wanted me to do this because he thinks I have this magical ability to calm this filly down. Isn’t it weird? She isn’t nervous or upset at all!” Then, as if Prancer were trying to prove Carole right, she walked right up to Lisa and Stevie and began nuzzling them for a treat or a pat.

Stevie and Lisa couldn’t believe their good luck.

“She’s beautiful!” Lisa said, barely able to utter the words because she was so excited.

“And loving!” Stevie added. “I’m sure she’s going to win. I’ll tell my dad to bet a bundle on her.”

“Let your dad do his own betting,” Carole advised. “But for now, go back to your seats. I’m going to be in the post parade, and I want to see somebody cheering for Prancer.”

“I’ll cheer for Prancer, but I’m mostly going to cheer for you,” Stevie said. She and Lisa gave Prancer a final good-bye pat and returned to the grandstand.

The next few minutes went very quickly for Carole. She was glad she’d taken the time to understand what was going on at the time of the earlier race, because now it all seemed a blur, made fuzzier by the butterflies in her stomach.

“Riders up!” the judge announced. Carole wasn’t certain, but she thought that included her. She remounted her pony, glanced around and saw that all the other lead riders were mounted as well, and then she took Prancer’s lead, holding it while Stephen hopped onto the featherweight saddle Prancer was now sporting.

Carole tried to do everything the other lead riders were doing. As each racehorse reached the entrance to the track, its assigned lead pony took the lead, escorting the horse and jockey out onto the track. It wasn’t hard to do that. Prancer seemed to want to be as close as possible to Carole. She walked her pony slowly, savoring every second of the parade. The horses circled back toward the
end of the grandstand and then began their trek around the track to the starting gate. The Thoroughbreds were all carefully in line by their numbers, allowing the spectators to see and admire them. They walked slowly and sedately. That wasn’t easy for Carole, because she kept craning her neck to see Stevie and Lisa. Once she spotted them, she waved. None of the other lead riders was waving, but then probably none of them had their best friends in the grandstand, she reasoned. She glanced at Stephen to see if she’d made a mistake. He just winked at her and then leaned forward and patted Prancer’s neck. Prancer nodded her head eagerly.

The track was bigger than Carole had imagined. It was wider than Mr. McLeod’s practice track, and it seemed longer, too, though that may have been because the whole place, including the grandstand, seemed so vast. The crowd milled anxiously—some spectators headed for betting windows, others for hot-dog stands. Children played in open spaces that would soon hold eager race watchers. Some of the people watched every horse’s every move. Others studied booklets or newspapers. A few dozed on the benches in the sun. Everybody seemed to be enjoying a day at the track, one way or another.

Carole spotted Mr. McLeod then, standing at the same place along the rail so he could watch the race for himself. Judy stood next to him. She thought of waving to
them but decided it would be unprofessional. Then Mr. McLeod waved at her. She waved back.

“Warm-up time,” Stephen said. All around them, the racehorses began cantering and galloping toward the starting gate. Carole pulled her pony away to allow Stephen and Prancer the space they needed to stretch Prancer’s muscles for the race. Stephen didn’t want Prancer to trot or canter. He made her gallop from a standing start, just as she would do in the race. Carole watched Prancer, once again awestruck by the beauty of her movements and the perfection of her speed. She felt she could watch that horse for hours. She was sorry the whole race was going to be over so quickly.

Stephen and Prancer galloped a quarter of the way around the track and then slowed to an elegant and graceful walk the rest of the way to the starting gate. Carole and the other lead riders withdrew to a special area where they were to wait until the end of the race.

“You stay here until that horse is ready to go back to the paddock,” one of the other lead riders told Carole, but she already knew that. She just nodded, trying to pretend she was grateful for the tidbit of information. Nobody else seemed to have any other words of wisdom for her. She waited.

Soon she saw that the horses were all being put into the starting gate. It would be only seconds now. Prancer
went into her little slot without any complaint. Carole could barely see from where she was, but she thought Prancer’s ears were perked up and turning rapidly. That was a good sign. It meant that Prancer was alert to everything that was happening around her. She’d run a good race.

The bell rang.

“And they’re off!” the public-address system blasted out. The words that followed were a blur. So much of Carole’s attention was centered on what she was watching that she couldn’t possibly take in the announcer’s words.

Prancer burst out of the gate, immediately taking the lead. But that wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Stephen was supposed to hold her back until the last part of the race, when he’d been told to make her go as fast as she could. Carole watched Prancer carefully, and the look of the horse told her that nothing was going to stop her. The horse who loved to run fast by herself, alone on the practice track, wanted the utter joy of running by herself, ahead of the rest of the field on the racetrack. Prancer’s legs flew back and forth so fast Carole couldn’t even see them land. Stephen had sensed the urgency in the horse’s gait and had given her all the rein she needed to run wild and free, ahead of everybody else.

Even from across the track, Carole was sure she could
hear the pounding of Prancer’s hoofbeats, so rapid as to be a single throbbing sound.

And then something happened. Prancer stumbled. Her right foreleg bent gruesomely under her body. Stephen’s arms flew up in protest, and the reins jerked away. Prancer’s other three legs tried to carry the burden, to continue the race, but then all four legs seemed to collapse at once. To Carole’s horror Prancer stumbled a final time and fell forward, as awkwardly as she had been graceful just a few seconds before.

Stephen was thrown so completely off balance by the sudden forward and downward pitch of his mount that he flew into the air, off Prancer’s right side.

Then, suddenly, Prancer wasn’t alone. A crowd of racing horses bore down on her, each rider desperately trying to avoid hitting the downed horse and equally desperately trying to avoid her rider. Stephen rolled away from the path of the oncoming field of racers as fast as he could, just barely escaping the deadly hooves.

The second the other horses had passed the downed Prancer and Stephen, many things happened. An ambulance rolled onto the track, headed for Stephen. The track vet hurried toward Prancer. Judy and Mr. McLeod broke out of the grandstand, running for the horse and rider as well. The crowd called words of encouragement and concern.

Carole saw and heard none of this. All she could see was Prancer, lying in the dirt, crying out in pain. Without knowing what she was doing, Carole kicked her pony to action. The horse sprang at her touch, dashing across the track to where Prancer was lying and unable to move. Images flashed through her mind, images of horses who had to be destroyed because of injuries; images of horses who had died because of carelessness; images of horses who wouldn’t live to ride again. She saw death and pain. And she saw Prancer.

Carole was the first person to arrive at the horse’s side. Stephen was pulling himself up and seemed okay. Carole dismounted and turned her attention to Prancer. As soon as the horse saw Carole, she stopped crying so loudly. Carole didn’t think she was in any less pain, it was just that she seemed to feel comforted by Carole’s presence. Her cry turned to a whimper.

Although she didn’t want to, Carole automatically reached for the filly’s right leg. It was the one that had collapsed under her. It was almost certain that was where the trouble lay, and Carole was terribly afraid of what she would find. A racehorse with a broken leg was useless on the track. No matter how much an owner loved it, he might not be able to keep it. Many severely injured racehorses met the same sad end. Carole didn’t even want to think about it.

She didn’t feel any breaks in Prancer’s leg, though she
wasn’t sure she would have known one if she had. She was more sure that if she touched a place where the bone was broken that Prancer would call out again. The horse remained still and quiet. Then Carole’s hand felt the hoof. It was hot. She checked Prancer’s left front hoof. It was not hot.