He wiped off his goggles and adjusted them more securely about his helmet. The snow had stopped falling but the gale-force wind almost swept him out of the saddle. He ignored the wind as he did the pain in his fingers, knowing it was no different for the other riders. He kept his mind on his horse and the race to be run.

Behind the starting gate, an assistant starter took hold of Pam’s Song’s bridle and, lifting his rubber-booted legs heavily out of the slop, led her into the number 8 starting stall.

THE MERRY CHRISTMAS HANDICAP
3

Pam’s Song banged against the sides of her starting stall and Alec spoke to her softly, telling her to be patient. They were in the far outside stall; it was better, Alec knew, than being close to the rail where he might be pinned against it. With this kind of track he needed all the room he could get.

The race was being started from the six-furlong pole on the far side of the track. Across the snow-piled infield Alec could see the stands, now jammed with thousands of fans despite a day that was close to being a snow disaster. While few cars were getting through on the Long Island expressways, trains had brought the crowd to Aqueduct. It was these fans who made New York the most important center of racing in America. How New York fared not only affected racing as a whole but also influenced breeding and the sale prices of yearlings, of broodmares, of stallion shares and breeding. That’s why Henry was interested in staying there and racing. It was the place to be, bad weather or not.

Alec steadied Pam’s Song. Within a few seconds he’d have a lot of decisions to make, and he’d have to make them quickly in a race as short as six furlongs. If he hesitated, he’d lose the race. He had to avoid jams. He had to sense what was going to happen before it happened.

“Easy, girl, easy,” he said softly as Pam’s Song twisted in her stall, upsetting his balance as well as her own. “Easy.”

Henry thought Pam’s Song was easy to race but Alec knew different. No one knows a horse better than the person sitting on his back. No horse stayed the same from day to day any more than people did. You had to ride them as you found them that day. A horse might stop running for you one day and go the distance the next. Pam’s Song had class and ability, but she needed good hands and patience, and if everything didn’t go just right for her, she might not do her best.

“Run for me today, baby,” he whispered in the filly’s ear. “Run for me.”

Suddenly Delta Belle in the next stall broke through the grilled door, delaying the start. She ran only a short distance before a red-coated outrider caught her bridle and brought her back. Alec studied her every movement; judging other horses was as important as knowing his own.

Delta Belle was a walloper in size—a rich, dark bay, almost black in color. She looked more like a colt than a filly, a truly big horse with wonderful leverage of the hind legs, even at the slow trot with which she came back to the starting gate. To Alec this meant enormous propulsion when she did run. The rest of her body, too, gave the impression of power. She was not a showy horse but very plain with a large Roman nose, curved and protruding. Her shoulders were well laid back and her limbs, unlike those of his own mount who was still developing, were in proper proportion to her great size.