He put a hand on her; she barely opened her eyelids and then let them fall again.

Alec rubbed her smooth, short coat, which shone like glossy satin with the rays of the morning sun on it. Not a smudge of manure on her, not a bit of straw matted in her mane or tail, not a hair out of place. Just as slick, Alec decided, as when Henry had put her up last night. Here was gold that glistened as well as whinnied! Black Minx had the speed to go on to many other great victories if Henry could get it out of her. And the trainer believed he could do it.

“Open those eyes,” Alec said, “so I’ll know if Henry’s right.” But the filly kept them closed as if enjoying his soft touches to the utmost.

Black Minx looked small but she wasn’t, for her appearance was very misleading. She had a lot more muscle than was noticeable at first glance. She was a big little girl, built to go a distance as well as for speed. But people generally weren’t aware of that unless they looked her over very closely. That was why she had surprised so many of them with her performance in the Derby. Nobody had given her a second look until she’d been led into the winner’s circle. Fillies weren’t supposed to win the Kentucky Derby.

From now on the colts and their riders would be out to “get” her. She wouldn’t have the advantage of taking them by surprise any longer.

Alec ran a hand across the strong, level back and down the shoulders that were deep and well sloped. Then he stooped over to take a look at the foreleg that had been injured at the start of the Derby. Black Minx had gone on to win with it and that had taken plenty of courage and determination. She was a daughter worthy of her great sire when she wanted to be! Fortunately the foreleg had healed nicely.

Then why didn’t he share wholeheartedly Henry’s confidence in her winning enough money for the new barn? Alec wondered. Was the look in her eyes all he had to offer by way of reply? Shouldn’t he have more confidence in Henry’s ability to get the filly to race? Henry had conquered all her earlier foolishness and she had gone on to win the Kentucky Derby.

Alec lightly pushed Black Minx’s head away from him. “Keep them closed, then,” he said. “It’s better if I don’t see them. Besides, you’re only kidding yourself and me, too. Henry’s the boss. You haven’t got a chance of quitting on him.”

When Alec left the filly’s stall he saw two men carrying the Black’s trunk from the railroad car into the tack room. Henry was just down the row talking to Don Conover, trainer of Wintertime. This horse had finished second to Black Minx in the Kentucky Derby. The two men were standing beside the colt’s stall and Wintertime had his head over the half-door.

Alec looked in on the Black and found him still eating the clover hay. He went to the tack room and opened the trunk. The old saddle was in his hands when Henry entered the room.

“Kinda battered, isn’t it?” the trainer asked, kneeling down beside the boy.

“Battle-worn, you mean,” Alec answered, smiling.

Taking the saddle, Henry said, “It’s seen plenty of battles, all right. I guess they’ll let you ride with it.”

“I wouldn’t put anything else on the Black.”

“It’s been on a lot of famous horses, Alec. But it’s a relic like me. It was my first saddle and when I started winning I was afraid to buy another, even though I could have afforded it.”

“That’s why I brought it along,” Alec said. “We can use all the luck it’ll bring.”

Henry went to the door.