Henry brought the end of the lead shank smartly against her leg.

“Mind!” he said firmly. “Stand still.”

Alec knew that she had not struck out viciously. She had done it more in play. But it would not have been much fun for anyone to have been on the receiving end of such a blow.

Henry was moving her again. “One good lick at exactly the right moment is worth a dozen taps poorly timed and placed,” he said. “She’ll learn.”

They started up the road, the filly walking between them. Alec put a hand on her neck, rubbing it gently. She had a mind of her own, but she’d come around, all right.

After she had worked off some of her excess energy by running around the paddock, he would ride her for the first time. He wouldn’t have any trouble. He could stick with any kind of a rough colt, so he wasn’t worrying about that. And the moment he sat in the saddle he would know a lot more about her than he did now—perhaps even more than Henry. He wanted to be pleased and happy with what he found. He wanted Black Minx to be the filly Henry thought she was.

Before Henry turned the filly loose in the paddock, he had Alec go up to the far end to flag her down if she built up too much speed. Leaning against the fence, Alec waited. He saw her go over to look at Napoleon in the next paddock. The old gelding pricked his ears, then drew back, a little startled, as Black Minx bolted up the field, kicking out her hind legs.

Alec watched her closely as she neared him and then cut across the paddock. She had gone smoothly into her gallop, so much like the Black and so unlike Satan, whose first movements were heavy and ponderous. Alec liked what he saw, and his gaze shifted to Henry at the other end of the paddock. He knew Henry was enjoying the filly’s action, too.

Black Minx stopped suddenly to rear high and paw the air. When she came down, she was off again with lightning swiftness. Alec knew then she’d never be left at the post, not with such getaway speed. But would she be able to maintain her speed over a distance? Some horses were built for sprints, some for distances. Her smallness made him think she might be a speed horse, a sprinter. But Henry maintained she would be able to go a classic distance, the full mile and a quarter at which the Kentucky Derby was run. Well, why shouldn’t she be able to go the distance? Alec asked himself. Wasn’t her sire the greatest distance runner of them all?

Again the filly came up to Alec’s end of the paddock. But this time she brought herself to an abrupt stop a short way from him. She reared, pawing the air, and whinnied shrilly. She even took a few steps on her hind legs, walking with the perfect balance and grace of a ballet dancer.

Alec didn’t move. It was a pretty trick to see, but just now it had no place in her training as a racehorse.

“None of that, girl,” he called to Black Minx.

Finally she came down and stood still, as though waiting for him to make a move, to run, so she could chase him.