She just stood there, her black body tense and expectant, her small head turned toward them with sharp eyes, inquisitive and waiting.

“Why isn’t she taking her feed?” Alec asked.

Henry’s gaze didn’t leave the filly. “Her groom at the sale told me that when she gets excited the only way to get her to eat is to feed her out of your hand.”

It wasn’t necessary for Alec to ask Henry if the filly was excited now. Everything about her indicated it. “How long has this been going on?”

“The hand-feeding?” Henry asked. Without waiting for a reply, he added, “Since she was a foal.”

“No, I meant her excitement.”

“She’s been excited ever since the sale, but she’ll get no hand-feeding from me. She’s been spoiled long enough. She’ll eat out of her box or not at all.” Henry paused. “She’ll get to it eventually. She did on the trip up.”

Black Minx moved a little closer to them, pushing out her muzzle.

“She has a lovely head, Henry,” Alec said. “It’s small and well shaped, like the Black’s.”

Henry nodded. “She’s a big little filly,” he said with a sudden rush of eagerness. “Not at all as small as she looks. See how deep and well sloped her shoulders are, Alec. And her withers couldn’t be better. Look at her hindquarters, too—big and strong.” Henry was pointing now, his hand extended over the stall door. “She’s well ribbed up in the middle, too, and those legs of hers are just as clean and shapely as I like to see ’em. She’ll go a distance. Mark my words, Alec. She’ll be more than a sprinter, a lot more!”

Alec saw the filly’s muzzle move. “Careful, Henry!”

But he was too late. Black Minx had nipped and torn Henry’s shirt.

They stepped back while Henry pulled up his sleeve. There were no teeth marks. She hadn’t caught his flesh.

“My fault for not watching what I was doing,” Henry grumbled. “She tried it a couple of times on the trip, too, but I was always ready for her.”

“She doesn’t look mean,” Alec said.

“She’s not. She just doesn’t know any better.”

“What do you mean, Henry?”

“Well, here’s the story I got on her. This filly was only a weanling when old Doc Chandler died. His widow sold all their stock, but she kept Elf as a saddle mare for herself. She gave the filly to her young grandchildren as a pet. And a pet is exactly what they made out of her. The kids—they were about high-school age—taught her what they thought were cute tricks.