The Black Stallion's Blood Bay Colt: (Reissue)
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He had his mother's champion bloodlines and his father's fiery spirit!
before his raised hand, blinking and uncertain. Tom brought his hand down softly on the Queen’s muzzle. “I wouldn’t hurt your foal. You know that. I want to help.” As Tom continued talking to the mare, he fed her the bran from his pocket. The foal had risen to its trembling legs again and was looking at them. Tom’s eyes devoured it. Its legs were straight. It wasn’t deformed. It was—yes, it was a colt! Jimmy Creech had wanted a colt. Stilt-legged, the foal moved toward them, shuffling, pushing
different light. With Aunt Emma’s cooking, Jimmy is certain to have the best of meals. And when he sees the colt he’ll know he’s the best, too. But it’s funny that Jimmy shows such resentment toward anything new in harness racing, especially the night raceways and the men who race there. This Ray O’Neil seems to be a very nice guy, and he’s not so young as Jimmy makes him out to be. He’s in his thirties. Jimmy was driving at that age. But he doesn’t think of that, not Jimmy. And O’Neil can drive,
Jimmy said. Tom felt awkward lifting a leg over the seat as he’d seen Jimmy and other drivers do thousands of times. The lines, too, felt clumsy in his hands, and he had trouble finding the foot stirrups on the shafts of the cart. But finally he was ready and sat tense and waiting, his eyes on Symbol’s black hindquarters and the long tail falling between his outstretched legs. “Take the hand holds,” Jimmy said, and Tom’s hands moved forward until they had reached the loops in the lines. “Thumb
crowded and the going would be difficult at the start. But in his position he would be able to get to the turn first without having to go around any of the others. He had been lucky in the draw for position. He hoped his luck held with $325 at stake. Coming off the back turn, they spread out into position behind the wings of the mobile gate. The car began moving and the starter, dressed all in white, stood in the back of the open convertible, talking to them through his small microphone.
best. The men in front of the restaurants pleaded with people walking by to “Get your tickets for the races, then come in and enjoy the best hot roast beef and mashed potatoes you’ve ever eaten! “This is the place to meet your friends, folks. Come in, sit down and rest. See that lady leaving? She just told me she’s full right up to the ears! She never tasted such good pork and sauerkraut. That’s what we like to hear, folks! And that’s what you’ll be saying, too! It’s cool and clean, inside. So