After Clint left, Shoemaker said, “What do you suppose that was about?”
“He’s fishing.”
“For what?”
“Answers.”
“About what?”
“Ollie,” Kingston said, “just train the horse, leave the rest of the thinking to me.”
Shoemaker frowned.
* * *
Outside, Clint mounted up and started to ride out. As he passed the barn, a small black man stepped out, stopped short when he saw Eclipse.
“Wow,” he said, “now that’s a horse.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You racing him?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Besides, he’s not three years old.”
“I can see that.”
“Are you riding Kingston’s horse?”
“Sunday Song,” the man said, “and I sure am.”
“What’s your name?”
“Lorenzo Capp,” the man said.
“I hear Sunday Song is a good-looking horse himself,” Clint said.
“He sure is. You wanna see him?”
“Can I?”
“Sure thing,” Capp said. “Come on.”
Clint dismounted and walked Eclipse into the barn.
Capp led Clint to a large stall with a locked door. Inside was a handsome three-year-old black colt. Clint had to admit that on looks alone, Sunday Song would beat Whirlwind.
“He’s magnificent,” Clint said.
“Yeah, he is.”
“Is he fast?”
“The fastest,” Lorenzo Capp said. “He’s gonna win the Derby.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve ridden a lot of horses, mister,” Capp said. “This one is a winner. He ain’t never been beat yet.”
“I can’t argue with credentials like that, can I?” Clint asked.
“No, sir,” Capp said. “Are you friends with the boss?”
“I just left him,” Clint said. “He’s got a lot of faith in you, and this horse.”
“He’s a good boss,” Capp said.
“And an honest man?” Clint asked.
“Like I said,” Capp said, “he’s a good boss.”
“Well,” Clint said, “I wish you luck, and I guess I’ll see you on Derby day.”
“Put your money on Sunday Song,” Capp said. “He can’t lose.”
“I’ll remember,” Clint said.