The Black Stallion Challenged Read Online Free Page A

place.”
    Steve Duncan met Alec’s close scrutiny without flinching. He tried to smile but it was not a success. Finally, he said, “My horse could win here, if I could get stall space. I’m sure of it.”
    For a few minutes Alec said nothing. He’d met lots of other fellows who wanted to become race-riders. But this was the first time one had ever come to him with a horse to race. He couldn’t laugh it off as Henry had done. Certainly not now, with Steve Duncan’s thin, sharp, and very determined face only inches away from his.
    “It’s best not to get too high on
any
horse,” Alec said. “I tell myself that all the time, even with the Black. There’s always a terrific sense of disappointment when you go overboard and the horse doesn’t pan out.”
    “I feel pretty good about my horse,” Steve said.
    “I’m sure you do,” Alec answered, “but winning a race at Hialeah is something else again.”
    “He can beat anything here, even yours.”
    Alec turned away. The whole thing was becoming ridiculous. Perhaps Henry had been right. He’d have done better to keep away from this wild-eyed Steve Duncan.
    “Okay,” he said finally. “So you’ve got a fast horse. What makes you think you can ride him in a race? It takes years of experience.”
    Steve Duncan’s dark eyes brightened. “I read a story in the paper the other day about an eleven-year-old kid riding his first race in England.”
    “I read something in the paper the other day, too,” Alec said. “I read that 4-H Clubs all over the country are developing riding and horsemanship as part of their activities. That’s good. Kids will learn to ride all the better for it, and be better off physically and mentally.…”
    “You’re being a wise guy,” Steve Duncan said angrily.
    “No, not at all. I’m only trying to say that you shouldn’t look forward to becoming a race-rider overnight. It takes time and patience. Two or three years, maybe, of hard work and long hours.”
    Steve laughed. “I don’t think there’s much difference in riders,” he said, “even race-riders. Get on the best horse and you’re the best rider. It’s as simple as that.”
    “It isn’t,” Alec said. “Even the best horse can lose races through bad riding. The only way to learn good riding is to start from the bottom. You learn first how a racing stable operates. You groom. You walk hots. Youride exercise ponies and learn the rules of racing. Then, if you’ve proven to be able, you gallop and breeze horses. You take blackboard drills. You study patrol movies. You learn the duties of the stewards, the placing judges, the patrol judges and last, but not least, the starters. You …”
    “You’re kidding,” Steve interrupted. “You don’t need all that, not if you’re on the right horse at the right time. You ought to know that. You of all people. You had nothing but
him
when you started. That’s why I’m here.”
    Alec held the other’s eyes.
“Nothing but him,”
Steve had said. Nothing but the Black and a mutual love and understanding for each other. Steve Duncan was right. He’d had no thick calluses on his hands in those days.
    “But I had Henry Dailey as a friend and trainer,” he said finally. “Without him, I doubt very much that I would have raced the Black.”
    “I know that,” Steve Duncan said surprisingly. “That’s why I came to you. I hoped you’d help me as you were helped.”
    Alec said nothing, but he knew he could no longer look upon Steve Duncan’s request as anything but the deadly serious matter it was. His visitor had struck home.
    Steve Duncan went on, confident that Alec was listening now to every word he had to say. “I know you meant what you said about learning all those things having to do with racing, and taking two or three years to do it. But I don’t want to be a professional rider, Alec. I just need money now, lots of it. The only way I can get it is to race my horse.”
    “How much money?” Alec asked,