A few miles away, two men were watching Easy Going work around the track. Daniel Farnsworth and Seamus Callaghan watched as their jockey, Tommy Baze, put their horse through his paces.
“He’s movin’ beautifully,” Callaghan said.
“He sure is,” Farnsworth said. “These locals don’t have a chance. Our only competition is Sunday Song.”
The two horses—Easy Going and Sunday Song—had managed to avoid each other up to now. The Derby would be their first race against each other, and they were getting all the coverage.
“Don’t worry,” Callaghan said. “We’ll beat him.”
“We’d better,” Farnsworth said.
* * *
At Two Chimneys, owner William Kingston and trainer Ollie Shoemaker were watching Lorenzo Capp run Sunday Song around the best training track in Kentucky.
“Like a freight train,” Kingston said. “He’s gonna go around that Derby track like a train, leaving everything in his wake, gasping.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kingston looked at his trainer and said, “You don’t sound as sure as I do, Ollie.”
“That Easy Going,” Ollie said, “is some horse, Mr. Kingston. And there’s—”
“I know that, Ollie,” Kingston said. “But so is Sunday Song. In fact, Sunday Song is better. If you don’t know that, then maybe I need another trainer.”
They had been together a long time, but that didn’t stop Kingston from threatening to fire Ollie every time they didn’t see eye to eye.
“Well, boss,” Ollie said, “I’ve also been hearing some talk about a local horse.”
“What local horse?”
“They call him Whirlwind.”
“I never heard of him. Is he entered in the Derby?” Kingston asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who trains him?”
“A local trainer named Canby, Ben Canby.”
“I never heard of him either,” Kingston said. “Ollie, I’m not going to worry about a horse I never heard of that’s being trained by a man I never heard of. I’ve got enough to worry about,” Kingston said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Just see to our horse,” Kingston said.
“Yes, sir.”
Kingston watched Shoemaker run to meet the jockey and the horse. For a moment he thought he saw a glint of light on a hillside beyond the training track, but then he told himself he was being too paranoid.
He turned to go into the house.
* * *
In truth, there was somebody watching Sunday Song work, someone watching Easy Going, and even someone with a stopwatch watching Davy Flores put Whirlwind through his paces.
Not to mention the Gunsmith riding on that big gelding of his . . .
* * *
Clint let Davy take Whirlwind out, holding Eclipse back a bit. It didn’t take him very long to realize that he could have run the little three-year-old down anytime he wanted to—but he didn’t want to.
He ran along behind the animal, watching him, liking the ease with which he moved, his fluidity, the muscles bunching beneath his hide, his tail swishing as he ran. Clint wondered if that would happen during the race.
After a couple of furlongs he urged Eclipse on and they caught up to the colt, going stride for stride with him. He could see that Whirlwind knew Eclipse was there, and he increased his pace a bit, even as the jockey tried to restrain him. With that kind of competitive spirit, the horse would do well in the Kentucky Derby, where he would only be facing other three-year-old colts.
Clint eased off on Eclipse, allowing Whirlwind to pull ahead, and he simply paced him from behind for the rest of the workout. When it was over, Davy slowed the animal down, but kept him moving, to cool him down.
Clint rode over to where Canby was sitting his own horse. Alicia was standing off to the side. She was still avoiding his gaze. He wondered how a woman who had done the things she’d done with him the night before could act so shy the next morning.
“Well?” Canby asked. “What do you think?”
Clint suddenly realized that this was why his friend had invited him. Not to watch the Derby, but to see the horse and give his opinion.
“I think he’s going to do well, Ben.”
“You see the way the jockey had to hold him back when Eclipse ran up alongside him?”
“I did,” Clint said. “He’s not going to like having other horses around him. Is Davy going to take him right to the front?”
“You bet he is,” Canby said. “I got the fastest horse in Kentucky, Clint—and he can stay. Maybe not with Eclipse, but with other horses his own age, he can stay.”
“Staying” meant that the horse could last the distance with no problem. The Derby was a mile and a quarter, and many horses who were fast at six furlongs—a furlong being an eighth of a mile—could not last at longer distances.
“So,” Canby asked, “you gonna bet on him?”
“I’ll put something down on your horse, Ben.”
They watched as Davy got off the horse and walked him for a while, and then Alicia ran out and took the horse from him.
They exchanged some words, and then Davy Flores walked over to where his boss and Clint were sitting their horses.
“I think I coulda took you, Adams,” the jockey said. “Whirlwind made a move when you came to us.”
“He did,” Clint said. “I noticed.”
“We pulled away,” Flores went on. “I had to stop him from hitting top speed.”
“I know,” Clint said.
“We could’ve took you and your big horse.”
Clint looked at Canby. He didn’t want to say anything that would hurt his friend’s feelings, but he wanted to tell the little jockey off. Eclipse could have run past Whirlwind anytime he wanted to. Clint knew it, so did Canby, so did Alicia . . .
And so did Flores.