The Black Stallion's Filly Read Online Free Page B

She’s the dam of the stakes winner, Bewildered. And the foal she’s carrying is by Bull Lea. You couldn’t possibly go wrong in …”
    The snow came down more heavily, taking more people from the room within the next fifteen minutes.
    Henry was smiling beneath the cover of his hat when he felt a large hand on his knee and heard the creaking of the wicker chair beside him as someone sat down. Looking up, he saw Tom Flint’s large, beefy frame; then his gaze went higher to the man’s jovial face and wide-brimmed hat.
    â€œCan I give you a lift into town, Henry?” Flint asked.
    â€œNo, Tom. But thanks. I think I’ll stick around a little longer.”
    Tom Flint consulted his catalogue. “Interested in something coming up?”
    â€œGuess not. Just don’t have anything else much to do.” He kept his gaze on his folded hands. He felt that to meet the Texan’s gaze would be to shout to him that he was going to get Black Minx if he could. His way of buying was to look only at the auctioneer, never at a competitor, and this he practiced now.
    â€œThey made me go pretty high for that gray colt,” Flint said.
    â€œToo high. You shoulda known better, Tom.” He sincerely liked this big, robust man. Flint was wealthy, but unlike most owners he trained his own horses. He didn’t hire someone else to do all the work and then sit on the sidelines until it was time to collect the trophies. He was at the track morning after morning, doing the real work, the dirty work. When a good prospect went lame or sour, Flint wept with his swipes and exercise boys. And when he had something, like his Silver Jet this year, he had the satisfaction of knowing he’d done his share of work in developing the colt. No, there weren’t many owners left like Tom Flint.
    â€œI couldn’t let that yearling brother get away from me, Henry. Not with Silver Jet racing like he is.”
    â€œMost often full brothers let you down,” Henry said quietly. “We expect too much from ’em.”
    â€œYeah, I guess so. But I’m out to win the Kentucky Derby, Henry. If Silver Jet doesn’t win it next May, maybe this colt will do it for me the following year.”
    Henry was silent until Flint asked, “How are things at Hopeful Farm?”
    â€œFine. Just fine.” He wanted Flint to go. The auctioneer was selling the remaining horses fast because of the weather and the few people left in the pavilion. Soon Black Minx would enter the ring. Henry didn’t want any competition from Tom Flint.
    â€œIt’s too bad, Henry, that you didn’t buy a farm in this area rather than in New York State. Even with your having stallions like the Black and Satan, an owner of broodmares thinks twice before sending them that distance from here. You should have settled inKentucky and made it easy for everybody to get to your stallions.”
    â€œAlec picked out the farm,” Henry said. “They’re his horses. We’ll make out all right.”
    â€œI never see Alec at the races any more.”
    â€œNo, he takes care of things at the farm. He prefers it to the track.”
    â€œYet how that guy can ride,” Tom Flint said heartily. “I remember the ride he gave the Black years ago in Chicago. Nothing I’ve seen since has equaled it.”
    â€œI know,” Henry said, his eyes remaining on the auctioneer. A three-year-old colt was being sold. The next one in the ring would be Black Minx and Tom Flint was still here. Henry tried not to betray his nervousness. He pulled his hat down farther over his eyes.
    â€œWell, I guess I’ll be going,” Flint said.
    Go ahead then! Go!
Henry heard the shifting of Flint’s frame in the wicker chair; then the man was on his feet.
    â€œYou’re sure I can’t give you a lift to town? It’s nasty out.”
    â€œNo, thanks. I’ll get a lift later.” He didn’t