the long journey home scribd sub chap5_a race for the ages

7/31/2019 The Long Journey Home Scribd Sub Chap5_a Race for the Ages

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What religion calls Saturday, Sunday? He looked most confusedon this, still holding his hat over his breast.

Mine...ok?Whittles didnt take much care or liking to this; he stammering

about in what appeared to be the most proper suit he owned. Thebuttons were dropping into a weak hang from their stitches. As if theywere near ready to fall off. His lapel was grossly too wide, dusty, yetappeared to be pressed; his shoes spiffy and shining, though I couldstill see the smudge marks in the very front and backs of their leather.

He had a watch in chain dropping from his side pocket;something not regularly brought out but for special occasions. His hatwas a black derby which cast out a soft white feather from the base lip.

How did you find me? I questioned again, while stumblingaround my room in search of my clothes.

He came forward to peer directly through my window.The momma misses wont think I am trying to break in, willshe? He leaned with his hand crossed and limp over the window ceil,I know how you white folks are about your property.

Oh no, I shrugged, she wouldnt think anything of the kind.However, she would question who you are, and why you are here. Idont need the barrage of questions it would bring.

Certainly, he said in a dapper tone; that his hat was tipping justover his brow, Your beau told me where you lived.

Shes not my beau...

According to her, she is, he confessed, Now why are youalways on the fringe son?What do you mean?I was wrestling with my boots.You arent in agreement with much, I take itI respectfully disagree with that, I was instinctive with my

response.Hmm, he shook his head, Youve proved me wrong again. Now

listen. A wise man dont think, more than he is instinctive aboutthings, he tottered his head back and forth.

I have a race to run Whittles, I sputtered about, I dont havetime for complicated scenarios, or the fodder of wise men.

Ill let you milk that cow on a later date then, he yielded, Youknow the plan? he wanted me to rehearse all that he recited to mecountless times before.

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Of course, I was nearly fully attired by then, On the fourthpole, go low to the post by the first turn Avoid the box, push the paceif I have the three-horse angle on me; keep Shadowland to the outsideof me if I can If he should bolt, dont lose sight of him.

Remember now, he warned, Three laps Different strategy ifit were one.Yes, I groaned, I know First two laps are for position Last

lap; keep that bridge with Shadowland and me. He should be in first orin the top two By that time, the gaps are longer and less apt to bepinned.

When do we make our move? He quizzed.Keep the angle on his right, my left, by the third turn; thats

Shadowlands weaker side If I should happen to be in first there -keep a steady pace until the release point coming out from the fourth

and final turn, even if Shadowland were to pass me. Shadowland willbe sure to sprint out from the rail just after turn four Listen Whittles, Ihave this already.

A good student is never too prepared, he advised.A good master never asks too many questions, I evaluated.Ahh, he smirked, good to the wit this morning Makes for a

sharper mind, Whittles grabbed for my hand to lead me out thewindow.

I seemed to stumble through this small opening.Landon? I heard my mothers voice call from down the hallway;

proceeding to come closer every moment, Whose there?Its only me; taking Boone out for the day. Be back in theafternoon! I shouted back through the open window.

Landon? She continued.Im leaving! I cried back, Go! Go!I whispered back to Whittles.We scurried about like two boys caught streaking down to the

pond, with our pants and buckles strapped about our kneecaps. Thatold man ran as best as his age would allow. And I thought, in this briefscamper, he appeared the worse use for his wears. It seemed his bodywished to malfunction; his legs kicking about as a foam-mouthed horsewould; his arms flaying in every direction; his derby popping off nearlyat every four or five sprints and making him stall to go back andretrieve it.

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At one point the derby flew off in a gust of wind; spinning aheadof us down a slope and rolling on its rim as it had mind and direction ofits own.

Goody, he seemed to swear, This would make an old man fart

when he stooped!I laughed at his demise, I must admit. The visual atrocity of hisappearance as he frantically tumbled, nearly sent me down that slopeinto a roar. Whittles lacked all cognitive function, or the barenecessities to even invent a sense of normalcy in his trot. And as such,he appeared the more helpless of us in making our way towards hishorse and cart.

That fool hat! He swore out loud, I take it out once maybeevery two year, and look how it wants to fly off my head.

Maybe you dont have the hair to keep it in place?

Huh! he snarled a vicious look my way. All the while we climbedhastily aboard his miniature wagon, Pins couldnt keep this fruit bowlin place, he huffed; climbing aboard, snorting about like a horse ofindifference, rattling the rear, and taking his single horse into a trot ofits own.

What do you have in the rear? I asked; looking back.You will see, he never paid me any mind. The cart wheezed and

squealed toward the barn where Boone was residing. Erin had alreadytaken up her workload there as we entered.

You got business here? She strangely looked on Whittles.

Erin, I called her down, sort of.I know you, she looked at me, I dont know him.What do you think I am here for? I fussed, Im here to take

Boone out, I jumped down from the side seat.For? She wasnt letting loose.So when did you become my guardian? I asked.Thats the problem Landon, she scorned, You act like no one is

your guardian.I think that is a matter of opinion.No it isnt She stood her ground, Barns a mess Hasnt

been cleaned in a week Mother told you three days ago to put it intoa shine. Hadnt seen you here accept moving Boone in and out all thewhile.

She applied her hands to her hips.You should have been a Phillie, I whined, You got the spirit for

it. I moved past her.

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Thats good to know, she turned towards me, Im sure momwould like to hear all about it.

Whats it to you, I grumbled, Whats it to her.Everything, she was more cursing, With father gone, mother

needs you more than ever Which is something compared to thenothing you seem to give her.So why the political stool?I looked over and I saw Whittles look as if he wanted to hide in

the bowl of his derby; dragging it down and about his face.Whose he? she went over to Whittles.A friend, I said politely, ambiguous to the t.Strange friend, Erin eyed Whittles up and down, to be

bountyd up with a nineteen year-old who acts like a melancholydrifter. Looks more like a nutkeep sparing for food.

Looks, Whittles raised polite objection to this, Can be mostdeceiving He smiled at the edge of this.Youd have me fooled otherwise, she huffed.My lady, Whittles returned, I am three times your elder.Rats have smart mouths mister, she shot back, and know how

to use theirs correctly; you still have the age on them.I would offer disagreement on that.Offer what you like, Erin went up to the drivers side, shot a

stern look upwards, and nearly looked him down off the cart, But allthe while, you are on our property You can carry your conduct better

than you are.As you, I moved over to confront Erin, Hes my guest, I said,Much the same.

Then who is he? She inquired further; gazing back at Whittles,myself, and back at Whittles once more, Whats got you going soearly in the morning to land on our property What purpose? Or dareyou say.

Its none of your business Erin.Ill step away from your family discussion, Whittles began to

slide off the cart, down the passengers side.I think I would like to have some answersYoure not entitled to any, I cried back; my voice rousing and

elevating against hers.I should think otherwise, she faced me directly.

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And what of your friends, I offered; moving up into her face,Huh? They come and leave at their own leisure, and I dont say nary aword against it.

Landon, she went directly to her point, My friends dont drive

up in a strange cart, right up to the barn You would have thought hewas a horse thief. You know we have lost three horses the past yearbecause of thievery.

But I am with him I countered.Mad am, Whittles interjected, My intentions are purely

genuine I have no other interest but to further Landons cause.What cause? She swung her head back and forth in spotting us

both, What is he talking about Landon?I, I, I, I started to stutter, though it made little indention on her

constant stare over me. I gave in, Alright, alright, I threw my hands

about, Hes getting me ready for the Harvester RaceThe Harvester Race? she repeated, with an objection tone inher voice and mannerisms, Mother told you weeks ago not to raceagain, or am I mistaken?

Dont tell, I advised, Dont tell.I think she should know...For once Erin, I further advised, Be a sister, for once.Well, I dont think it is right, she said.Ask me when I ever cared for what you thought was correct or

incorrect in anything, I strolled towards the barn.

She said nothing on the outset of both Whittles and I entering thebarn. I caught Boones glaring mood over me. He was casting out alook of early morning hellos, and that he was ready. Clouds stall was

just adjacent to this, and the young colt could be seen huddling to therear in hopes to hide away from us.

The Harvester Race, Erin entered. A new expression wasshooting through her face, Thats like the biggest race of the year.

Thats what I hear, I continued on prepping Boone. Whittlessaid nothing; only keeping a leery, angled stare at Erin.

There was a pause in the air and you could sense a change ofheart residing over Erin as she thought of what to say.

The Harvester Race, she muddled; biting her lower lip.Thats right, Whittles replied, The steed is ready He can win,

and should win.

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Landon, she swallowed that infamous pride of hers, Can I gowith you. Both Whittles and I paused in full step to what we weredoing. As if time had stopped and we were both caught in it.

Sure, I replied, as I carried the saddle up towards Boone.

You wont need that Landon.What do you mean? I questioned.The saddle, he pointed to it, No need for it.Of course I do, I chuckled at him.Stay here, he left the barn and returned only moments later,

carrying with him a saddle that he had hidden in his cart; this being thesurprise he had for me.

Riley, he said, upon returning, The horses name was Riley.The saddle had a buckskin shine about it, greased down and

polished to the trim, with foot handles trimmed in what looked to be

gold and pewter. It was the nicest looking saddle I had ever laid eyeson.The jockey was Isaac Murphy An Irish scat who bled green

when he got a good cut on him Marvelous jockey though;marvelous. Whittles shook out his head as he came closer.

You may wonder what I speak about, he suggested in a smile,Eh?

Of another race; of another time, I responded, Back inKentucky perhaps; a quarter-horse race; locals gathering placeMaybe a sprinters league or something of the sort

Whittles was only looking in a mirror fashion at us both, andsending out the expression we must have given him; silent, amused,but not so much that he would be sent out with laughter. Rather, aquiet assurance; a manner that showed he knew something we did not.His silence was charismatic in its own right, and the lack of quickexplanation only led up to our anticipation on what he was about readyto say.

Riley was no ordinary horse, he seemed to reflect.I saw the glitter of some past memory sitting in his eye.Oh no He could split the sky with his own thunder. You know

how it is son, when the clutter of horse hooves hit the ground; thatrumble, like thunder rolling through the sky. It moves across, shakesthe earth, and then hits where you are. And as it passes, you shiver atwhat just hit you This horse alone could do this to you.

Whittles moved to place that Saddle up on the top rail post.

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I remember that sound often when I rode in the cavalry Iraised that colt from a yearling on Barely could take a step; thoughtthey would put him down, but I worked with him, and saw somethingspecial in his ways. At two he was winning all the locals races; regional,

then he was set for the derby.The derby, I looked at Whittles with a sly stare; with cautionand some disbelief.

Why yes, he sparked, The Kentucky Derby.You worked a horse for the Kentucky Derby? Erin was near in

awe; moving from underneath the bars of one stall, and shifting her fullattention to Whittles as she crawled through to face him.

I did thatErin gazed at me with glitter in her eyes, almost as if she had

found a nice ripe supper to delve into, You dont say.

At three, he was in his prime, Whittles appeared to be staringoff into some distance we could not see, but a distance that only hecould view from the treasure locks of his own past, I worked him,worked him to his limit Ole Ed, the owner, watched on and took greatinterest on how I prepared Riley.

Who was your rival? I asked.A black sterling horse named Proctor Knott. Nearly a hand taller

than Riley, and a solid white star right here, he pointed to hisforehead, square to his mane, an impressive beast; as impressive ashe was undisciplined and wild. I watched that jockey try to contain him

by reins for the warm-ups. You took a whip to him and he just stirredup more But when he got into full gallop in a straight line youcouldnt catch him. The straight-aways were as much his friend as thecorners were his menace.

How did the race go? Erin said.Well, Whittles moved about in his own pause again, I told

Isaac, If your going to catch that beast, you better do so in the turns,and hit the rails as tight as you can. Otherwise, he is going to back-kickyou all the way around that track. Now I knew we had to count onsome divine intervention in the matter, and we did. Whittles smirkedup a sly grin over the left corner of his face.

And such is? I threw in.Rain, he looked skyward, Rain so much that the clouds

dropped buckets over that track, up towards race time Now thisdidnt sit very well with Proctor Knott; no sir. He rattled up at every stir;kicked high and back, and let out such a bristle call, we thought he

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to the stall where Boone was settled in; I climbing over, taking thesaddle about, placing over a blanket beforehand, and moving to strapthat glorious saddle into place.

Shines up like a spanking new... he seemed to be lost in that

attempt to make a good comparison, Well he shines up goodanyhows.I think Whittles was mighty fine proud on that moment. Like a

father who had just witnessed his firstborns initial steps.Boone cocked his head square on me, dipped his head down,

flicked his mane about, perked his ears at their highest level, andmade a nudge over my shoulder. His speckled coat seemed to gleamout in the morning sunlight; spinning with me as we went from openwindow to stall door. I was proud of this middle-aged beast. He carriedthe maturity of a wise man, with his head held high and he as proud

when we took to exit out in the open.He was a glaring star with that saddle strapped to his back. Eventhe farm hands that had assembled only a few minutes before stoppedto take notice. This was a champion thoroughbred. And though henever won a notable race in his life, he was my champion. I took to thesaddle, and we began our partnering trot down the long, winding trailsleading out from our property.

Ill take him out, I suggested.Id walk him, Whittles made slight objection.Ill take him out, I echoed once more.

Suit yourself, Whittles climbed his crooked, awkward, and half-stable cart; my sister preferred sitting in the bed of that cart.Its safer back here, she looked back on Whittles; shifting low

as if almost to be lying flat.Suit yourself, Whittles huffed, You both got that odd trait.Id rather not be thrown, she complained.White folk, Whittles shook his head, smiled, and sparked a

laugh or two, Property and vanity; you got both of these marketscornered for sure. Hey! he yelled out to me, You take good care ofthat horse, you hear?

What do you mean? I grinned.Want to keep that saddle in a shine, he flipped the reins out to

start his own horse to pull out, Spiff clean and so much reflection, thatI can see my pretty self in it after the race.

Will do, I got Boone up into a semi-trot, though he wanteddesperately to increase up into a full sprint and I had to use my full

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might on the reins to keep from such a gallop. I wanted him to pushout into stretches, small measured runs, and practice bolts to have himmore in the ready for his big race.

The long-streaming, spring meadows held the lot of green

everyway; those soft tempered grasses appeared like the Kentuckyyards Boone must have remembered in his youth. The wild flowerswere in bloom and sprinkled all through the openings as we moved onby; leaves now cut out of their bulbs and bursting to make those treesgushing their own tint of green, rather than the fall and wintry brownsfrom the previous seasons.

This lonesome road gave Boone and I remembrance of our daysin North Carolina; along the perils of those hills and galactic views,from high-vaulted peaks to streaming pasturelands in every direction.He held a sense of robust nature about him on this day. A kind of

cavalier suture he wore in his personality; less of bravado than ofcomplete assurance. His muscles trimmed out in fine lines as he tookto step and thrust with each stride. His coat must have given thosewho saw him an illusion he was running with mud dripping from hisfront. But as we strode along, I could feel that saddle purge his heavyand commanding jolts into a most fluid, easy ride.

I felt more of a man who was to simply sit back and enjoy hisimposing leaps, rather than to direct him with my own will. Booneknew what to do; his nature was of an instinct that was correct in everymeasure he took. I could have been a mindless wonder on his back.

And still, even then, he would be the success he already was.There were no crowds along this road to cheer us on. We were anunknown; a horse and jockey in a field to lose for the sake of a finestallion such as Shadowland, and be the fitting feast to his glory.

But little hearts can ride high too.We were not going to the Harvester Race to be the prize in

Bransons coffer. We were there to win, and shock those who saw us asnothing more than a whipping breed of horse and man.

Boone was at his greatest then. The ride about was, for me, theride into a surreal, magical place that comes into your life only a fewtimes; this, being one of them.

You could see it in his eyes, his stature, the way he drove his legsthrough each and every push-off. When he flicked his ears atop, turnedhis head at an angle, snorted out a huff, glared round me with thatimposing glare, stomped his hooves into the dirt with a dig, you couldsense he was the master between the two of us.

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I shook my head in dismay as I heard Whittles rattle off anotherround of laughs and chuckles.

It wasnt long before we could hear, off in the distance, thegoings-on for this harvester festival. People had amassed in droves,

come from throughout the region to partake of it. It seemed to be moreof a carnival atmosphere than anything. And as we came to the large,massive opening, I could see thousands of people on end, consortingabout, roaming the fields, and assembling in patches to enjoy all thefestivities for that day. Our single concern was to head for the track,which settled squarely in the middle.

Landon, I heard a voice call out from the tall heads and mass ofpeople about.

Landon, it was Brianne.She was still swimming in that smiling face of hers. I jumped from

Boone, caught her in my arms, and felt the tight warm hug from herarms so embrace me.Seems you have been slightly reconciled there, Whittles looked

down at us both, though I preferred to keep my bashful charm in fulldisplay. Brianne rather exploded flamboyantly with hers, as she neverwhipped that smile away.

Something else I should tell mother... Erin inclined.You say a word, I grabbled with her, One word, about any of

this, you best start walking home nowI heard the roar of a ruff-house band playing music in the rear; an

assembly of fiddles, banjos, guitars, and drums all swooping that tuneup into a-frenzy; until the crowd hollered for more.You ready son? Whittles looked out on me.I think so... I responded.When we get to the track, I want you to take him out two turns;

not three, just two.Why just two? I asked.Ill explain, he switched his old horse to move along and cut the

mass of people to each side of us, like Moses did with the Red Sea. Iwalked Boone the rest of the way while Brianne kept to my other side;her hands clapping mine to the sounds of that distancing music as wewent.

We can go dancing afterwards, she gleefully suggested, Theyhave a barn-brawl dance later.

I said nothing, but just keeping my concentration to what lay athand; Brianne not pushing it further, except to say.

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Do you not wish to go? She questioned.No, I responded, I mean, yes We can go.

The track already had a full entourage of people gatheringaround the rim and in the grandstands; some thousand or more had

come to see the race. A race even the younger generation dreamed ofwinning one day. I saw the short faces, squatty looks, curious babyeyes, and those long stares from children who all had lined up aroundthe gates; now peaking their heads just barely over the top rails.

Those grandstands were hard and edgy; splinters being thecommon injuries there if you sat too long. And some did as much. Theyenjoyed the sight of seeing such glorious thoroughbreds entering ontothe scene. Some had their favorites. And like true fans, they cheeredthem on as these riders and horses went on by.

Boone and I, for a lack of a better word, appeared nothing more

than an outcast farmers brew who; by mistake, had come onto thefield and track. I held to my dusty clothes; and but for the shiny andstriking saddle underneath me and sitting atop of Boone, we would beviewed as paupers coming onto a very rich scene. Did I feel a sense ofunrealized intimidation there, of course; nothing felt until I waspropelled on such a stage.

First came out Lucky Red and his rider William Johansson; a tallangled horse with ribs which seemed to stick out like old barn timbersthat had loosened themselves from their nails. He stared at me briefly;looking rather the superior breed, and that I was not to be a challenger

to either of them. I felt like more he desired me to bow on hisreverence, more so than we were here to race him for the victory.Now look you here, Whittles stood by Boone and I; whispering

out calm advisement, Thats a jackal-of-a-horse Stay off his edgeListen, you get to his rear, he will slug on his stride; try to make youbreak rhythm. The horse is fast; has good pace, but he cant out-sprintor out-run Fire Eyes. Hes more popular with himself than what histalents would indicate Just watch his track blocks, and you should bewell.

Out came Master Commander, the steed rival to Shadowland; along sleek, well-refined buck-skin horse, with a tail as black as night,and eyes as sharp coal as any I had seen. Jerry Rim was aboard, andhe so shot me an arrogant smile when he rode by. Those two trottedout, curled, high-kicked themselves about me in show, that I felt hewas more to an equestrian contest than anything else.

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You rang Butler? Jerry grizzled a sharp, queer giggle on me,Afterwards, you can draw up my bathwater

They turned and shot off without paying Boone or myself anyfurther attention.

What about him? I looked anxiously down on Whittles.Now, dont fester, he patted me, Equal to Shadowland Hewon the first heat. That horse runs as sturdy; swift strides, doesntyield, well disciplined on the full course. Hell run like I instructed; got agood trainer so he knows Shadowland well Your advantage; he hasntseen you race. Hell be your main competition on the rails, asShadowland will be in the stretches. Not as sharp on the stretch, but heis dogged on the corners, and hell kiss those rails.

If I have Shadowland on the outside, and Master Commander onthe inside, how will I get position?

Position son, he shot back, Youll get cut if you take on both atthe same time. They both are veterans to the track You cant topplethem on experience You have none.

Should I draft on him? I sputtered back.No! he squalled, That horse has the longest strides, but he is a

little slow to repeat so you can take him on acceleration. Get behindthose long strides and you may get jammed.

Jerry turned Master Commander around at us, in a mutual stare,and I could sense a restless nature settling in on Boone. He pointed outhis ears, snuffed a huge grunt as if to take on the challenge, and

shifted his weight from side to side underneath me. Those massiveshoulders would not yield to anyone.Phillip Gold rode in next, having Travis Branch aboard him. Now

this was a future stud horse; pale brown yet supremely cut with high-step hooves, long knobby legs and thin-width shoulders. The mane onhis neck was as long as any. And a tail so streamlined it nearly drug tothe ground.

And what about him? I questioned.A bully horse, Whittles returned.Doesnt look like much, I passed it off.Get out there with him, Whittles said, And youll see Hes the

backside to Master Commander. His sole purpose in this race is not towin, but to make certain Master Commander does.

It was there that I saw the reason for Whittles to say as he did.Phillip Gold suddenly, and without provocation, began to fiercely nibbleon the side horse next to him; kicking and bucking, and so mistreating

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the saddle horse beside him. That rider had to pull free for fear hishorse would be pushed down to the ground.

Hes got mustang in his blood, Whittles announced, Thoseeyes dont glow red; they glow blood Keep off his sides If he

pushes to the rail to grabble with you; push through. If you get caughton his outside, keep at arms length. Best to get in front and stay infront on this one

And what of the jockey? I wondered, How will he ride?Right at you, he swore, if he can.Saddle breath, I swore back, while seeing the next jockey and

thoroughbred enter.Kings Ransom was a pure white, longhaired, tall stallion who

shined in the sunlight; clean as if he were just baby-washed, andgleaned down with oils which reflected shimmers at every turn. He

bolted past the gate and into the main infield with such a roar andaffection from the crowd. He possessed a sturdy, rock-hard look andinference; something more built for strength than speed. He stood noless than a hand down from Boone, yet both held the similar physique;

Josh McClain was arched aboard.I dont presume, I whispered.No, Whittles shook on his head, Doesnt look as much to be a

runner. Dont suppose I know much about this one. He wasnt in yourheat before; I dont believe Odd

And at last came into range was Shadowland, with Branson

sitting on that perch like a king strolling in on his domain. Thoseclassic-brimmed eyes gazed about in self-adulating fashion.Shadowlands tail was arched on high, and in full high-step whenreaching the track itself. The crowd stood as if in a salute; gazing withawe, claps, and cheers while he rode about in what seemed to be avictory lap; as informal as it was, but in such a manner as to make therace itself a mere formality. Their mutual egos strode around with adouble gaze that all but condemned Boone and me.

Care to make the wager? Branson said, upon reaching withinearshot of me.

Not a chance... I swore him off.Branson smiled, laughed aloud an arrogant breeze, swirled about

as though he were in a dance.Come now silly goose rider, my horse is in his prime; yours is

twice the age An ancient foe that has seen his own horizon come andgo Surely you dont think you can beat us on an established track.

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I do. I provoked him further.I think youre a fool half-breed.Fools tend to believe in dreams, I responded.Then dream on, he courted me once more; the other riders

were mingling about.What do you say Branson? Travis Branch spoke out, A goodcollectible feast after the race, wouldnt you say? he spotted his glaredirectly at Boone; licking out his lips, Would present a mighty fineroast on my dinner table.

This caught the fool ire of Boone.He riled high, stammered and shifted himself in a half-crazed

manner, though I made my full attempt to secure him down. Still hewaltzed in his own measure and will; galloping about and making directmoves towards the steed Phillip Gold he was sitting on. Then he stalled

a few yards away with a mock run at him.Temper, temper, William Johansson spoke his turn, I just haveone question for you?

He looked me down with a fine-tuned smuggest stare.And that is? I pondered.How did they allow a half-breed, farmhouse, plow-pulling, saddle

hand-pushing tote like him to be in the qualifying race? he laughedwith the background chuckles from the other riders drowning aroundus,

And you? Farm child; the boy born with a single penny born in

his ledger You think you belong in such an established race field aswe have here? You simply dont belong son, he smiled out at me withsuch an aristocratic smile that I thought he possessed fine gold affixedto his teeth.

Dont mind them, Whittles grabbed the bottom of Boones hard-gnawed bit, Keep your mind on your business.

And whos this? Branson spoke up and said, Your trainer?Looks more like an old, tired water-hand.

The others let out a brash, unison laugh.Keep it steady son, Whittles held his attention to meYoure not going to take that... I fussed.Hes no challenge to me, Whittles smirked out, When its done,

hell have to waddle through a dung-pile the size of Louisiana to speakin that manner again. Whittles winked.

Gentleman, the starter drew us close, The rules state you eachhave the opportunity to make an individual ride about the track to

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wind your horse; approximate time of two minutes and no more. Wedraw lots in order of sequence. If you choose to defer, please remain

just off of the starting line. Agreed?He looked about us in a most stern and fatherly fashion.

Lots were drawn, and I took on the fourth ride. The last of thosewho would wind their horse beforehand; Josh McClain and WilliamJohansson deferred on it.

Landon! I heard a voice and rider approach me. It was Randall,Best of wishes to you.

I smiled and shook out his hand, I wouldnt be here if it werentfor you, I held firm on my grasp.

Too bad I couldnt be in there with you, he said, Kind of wouldlike to mix it up with them; hold them off of you so you can take therace. But youre on your own.

Ill be fine, I returned.But keep good with caution, he whispered my way, I think theyare plotting something They all know Boone is the strongest horse,though they will not admit to it, and perhaps even knock you from therace.

Run YOUR race son, Whittles held his crooked finger straight onme; an eye in full squint with the other eye straining to hold myglance, Let Fire Eyes fly when he is ready, dont freeze him with thereins, and youll make this race yours.

I shook my head nervously at him.

Dont you let fear kick on you, he grabbed my ankle, Hellsense it, and become unsure. Sit up there with a dumb mind, if youhave to, and let this horse do what is only natural.

How do I go with my wind practice?Backwards, he said with a one-word answer.Backwards? I arched my back.Just what I said, he gruffed, Backwards Counter-clockwise

Let the horse see inside rail with his other eyeBut why? I was confused.First lap backwards; second lap, the other way.But I dont understand Whittles.Sit high in the saddle and pull him round in a trot-ONLY. Dont sit

low in the saddle. Dont take race position. Let him know this is to gethim ready. Let loose on the reins, and let him see the track from bothangles.

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I did as he requested and I pulled Boone out onto the track whenmy turn came around. The other riders had already taken to mingle offin the infield. I spun Boone about.

Hey Spin Bottle! Jerry Rim chuckled, Youre going the wrong

way!I paid him no heed, but did as Whittles asked.Compass hit a screw Christopher Columbus!Hes just a plow horse, another railed on us, They race against

dog pokes; nothing more!Lamb-riders, more like it!

This brought out a roar even from the crowds. They appeared toall watch us with amusement, stare impolitely, and some even jeeredus as we passed on by. I reversed course after one lap; disposing ofthe unconventional manner by which I ran the first. Those jeers

seemed like an echo from the previous lap, though the crowd began todraw tired on us.I moved Boone back to where Whittles was standing alone.Got your bearings aligned? He asked.I think so... I replied.Gentleman, to your marks! the announcer bellowed.Know the course! Whittles yelled, Know the course!I shook my head to agree on this as I rode up to the starting line.

There was a handler in front of each horse, holding about the horseshead and bit to make certain no one bucked before the race started.

My handler looked over Boone and myself with a most blank,inconvenient stare; his hat low to the brim on his expression andsteeled to have no emotion in his face at all.

Get on your marks! the announcer instructed.I stood beside Boone; hands to the saddle-knob, and ready to

make my leap over his shoulders. I felt the high-noon sun burningdown over my back and causing the day to appear more like summerthan spring. Boone had a tight measure to his legs; his right eyestaring into my expression.

Lets do this! I whispered to him; sweat dripping from foreheadto brow, then down rolling past my cheek, though I never flinched onmy locked stare with Boone. He blinked, shook his mane out, cockedhis back legs, and braced for that flash moment when everything wentinto a sudden motion and roar.

I waited in that pause, as patient as I could, like the infernalmeasure of time it took for that gun to go off. The weight of this roll

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and silence all but pierced me with engrossing anticipation. You couldhear the wind gust about, birds on high flying by from their loftypositions, the hush of this eager audience and crowd, and the slowmethodical way time drew out into what felt to be the hour of eternity.

Then, in as quick as an instant goes, the clap of this gun;snapping, exploding, rumbling the pellet skyward, and such theensuing Malay that took us into a rush.

I lept aboard Boone, hurried in my snap to grab his reins, yet onlyto discover may handler unwilling to let go of Boones bit and bottomreins. I struggled with that pull; and so staring on him with the shockand amazement this man was trying to do me harm. He yanked,though I held firm.

Let go! I cursed on him.He let it free; spinning to one side and there, into the palm of his

hand he brandished out a knife and sliced it across the back of mystrong, right hand. The pain was immediate; my blood drippingprofusely from me as I bent to withdraw my hand away. Boone lept outinstinctively without my direction; his legs were strong and cuttingagainst the dusty grounds. I curled my left hand limply around thosereins and I forced my right hand to hold weakly to the other side. Still,Boone was out like a bolt of lightening in a mid-summers day.

That rumble from the earth struck into this ground with suchferocity as all six horses came abreast in one fluid motion; I, beingbeset by my injuries, found Boone drawing up into the rear of this

pack. The dust rolled into our faces and made us bend our eyelidsalmost into a squint, though we held to our line and quickened ourpace to match theirs.

I heard the gasp of this crowd ring around me; the echoes of ahysterical Whittles galvanized by what occurred, as he recklesslyvaulted onto the track and aggressively pursued the starter. I paid noheed, but only to concentrate over my own predicament. The hand wasin a pulse of its own, drawing blood on every surge and gallop we took.I wrapped it solid around the reins to hold my hand in place; seeingnow the drifting of dirt and dust converging onto our front.

As such would have it, Shadowland drew out first with the earlylead and took to hug the inner rail. Master Commander drew up in aclose second, followed by Phillip Gold, Lucky Red, Kings Ransom; thenBoone and I drawing up in the rear.

I took tight to the rail as I heard the sound of those postswhizzing past my ear while we collected our speed. Boone pulled out

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his tail straight, drove his head level, kicked out his massive strength,and so began his unbridled pursuit. By the first turn we had reached

just on the outskirts of Kings Ransom. Josh took to see me in his rear; Ipulling Boone outbound on the clip of that straightaway. He swung

right and made attempts to block my assertion. I held firm and webumped side to side; Joshs eyes now glaring angrily at out attempt topass him so quickly.

Boone snarled at the bump; once, twice, three times backside-to-backside, nearly to the point Kings Ransom was making a try to rideus up against the outbound rails. I sensed Boones aggression onlypush him to speed quickly past, and so hold to make a cutoff of Joshand his steed as we approached the second turn. Those massivehooves on Kings Ransom made one final try to trip on Boonesbackside, though I felt Boone press himself into a higher speed and

make our cutoff clean and direct.We found a pocket to ourselves. And so Boone catapultedforward; driving through his harness and gripping that bit in his mouthnearly in two. He was on the verge of insanity and now driving by hiswill alone. I held on tight, much like I did as a young boy during hisearlier thrust into an all out-and-out express. But this one was withunregulated passion; of such inner turmoil and not want for restraint,that Boone was now a horse possessed by beating those horses beforehim.

There sat Lucky Red in our immediate forefront. I was aware of

this colts tradition to desire the blocking tactic, much like KingsRansom. I heard the rush of wind swirl about us; the thunder rumblingbeneath Boones very hooves.

That long middle stretch held to our advantage; the third turnmost immediate in front of us as we pushed to bite on Lucky Reds tail.We kept perfect line there; waiting, holding pace, as I wanted to makemy move the more unpredictable one and keep William guessing untilthe very last moment. Do we hit the inner rail? Do we shoot past himon the outside? Lucky Red veered close to the rail as we approachedthe third turn; I now holding Boone on that same line, never budging,nor yielding to the post as Lucky Red did. We were just to his outsideand we kept the look of a horse and jockey trying to capture theadvantage in an outward swing towards the far rail. Just as he began tomake his block; I in turn shot Boone straight to the rail.

Ni-hi na-s-gi a-gi-s-di a-ya! I yelled over to William as wepassed. He pulled hard left on his horse to cut us off.

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Half-breed! he returned, and caught my shoulder with his hand.We fought along that rail, in full speed, in a galactic struggle for

that short side. I could not free my right hand from the reins, and sotaking blow after blow from his thrusts until we edged out through and

took the lead from him.I spotted down on my hand; the reins now in a full wrap and socoated red from my blood. The pain torched me into fire; Boones longheaves and leaps pulled harder to those reins; causing me to shut myeyes for a second and regroup. I knew I could not cut through down tothe rails again unless I knew I had the lane to myself; my right sidebeing too exposed.

Still, Boone pushed forward with the ardent convictions of a trueracehorse. The three lead horses were now almost nine lengths in frontof us; an insurmountable lead to overcome for most thoroughbreds.

Yet Boone was not a plow horse, a dog poke as some would suggest.He was a horse for the ages; to be the winning horse in the race of theages.

The backstretch would not yield any furthering advantage forBoone and me, though we held to our pace as we came across throughto begin on the second lap.

Position, I whispered to myself, Position.And I asked for more than Boone had already given. I pushed

myself low to his shoulders, eyes abreast and hugging past Boonesmane. My legs came to more of a crouch; the hands vastly firm to

those reins; strong, pressing, in a hard and tighten grip.The blood from atop my right hand came more to a gush now;the pain no less than before, but coming to the point of beingunbearable. I turned a slight stare where Whittles once stood. The spotwas vacant now. Yet one could see the commotion to the sidelines;people huddled about and holding my handler down to the ground.

It was sabotaged and I knew it.I looked forward and I saw the fragments of dust particles kicking

up before us; the sound of that thunder and rumble of gallopingstallions were seemingly ever in an increase. I heard the roar of thatcrowd engage us as Boone and I passed the main stands. We wereonce unknown, the farmhands from nowhere, and yet this crowd wasstanding in unison and encouraging us on. I felt Boone dart to theoutside when we came to that front post.

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The three horses were in a string line, closely huddled, andfiercely battling for position. And suddenly, as if magic had somehowovertaken Boone, he shifted into a new speed.

They looked like turtles in a desert sand race; galloping in slow

motion and seemingly distorted by that collapse of time. We roaredwith the violence and grace of a cheetah out on a hunt; Phillip Gold,Master Commander, and Shadowland sitting atop our feasting table.Boone pushed out further to the outside, having more ground to cover.

Yet by his incredible agility and uncanny pace, the distance appearednothing more than immeasurable to him.

His will was simply too great.Boone would not yield. No matter the cause, the purpose, or the

obstacles before him, he would never yield. They say you can see thechampion within the eyes of a horse. I felt then the fire was instead

casting shadows of greatness directly from his heart. The hush of thiscrowd cut their cheers into dumbstruck awe. I looked about as webegan to pass those steeds one after another; the jockeys faces, themere childish, incredulous way they looked over at us, like a full-throttled train outrunning a skipping, two-legged donkey.

I found myself to be amazed.To feel the rush of Boones wind overtake me like never before.

He was cutting away horses half his age; driving past them with thebrisk kick of crushing victory. I thought of the mound races I wouldhave run in if I had lived on the Cherokee reservation. The thrill of

finding the landscape in front of you, and nothing more brought mysenses to a heightened state. We were wing-flyers, Boone and I.Cutting into the middle straightaway of lap two, we had forged a

half-length in front. Branson reached for me but failed. His face lookedgripped into a stir of rage; his arms flaying widely to get Shadowlandback up against Boones nose. We could feel that dark shadow sittingin our wind; his sleek coat hovering just past my left shoulder, goinginto turn three.

Branson pounded Shadowlands backside with his whip;relentless, maddened to the core of near hatred for us. He reachedover with his whip, cut up against Boones backside with three lashes.Boone railed, fought, turned his long, angularly head towardsShadowland, gnawed to his bit, and pushed his nose up against ourmost formidable rival.

Boones attention had been swayed. He lost speed and wequickly found ourselves being converged on by Master Commander

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and Phillip Gold, who by now were pinching to each side of us. MasterCommander held to the rail and matched our speed by his, while PhillipGold bore down onto us, closer, sliding within bite-range of us. Therewas a pause where both Phillip Gold and Boone glared eye-to-eye and

kept frantic pace; the stares were equal and blank.Phillip Gold thrust into Boones cheek with his bite; pushing,stabbing with those grit teeth of his. I felt Boone wince, stall for just afractured moment, then let out a yell of his own. Instinctively I pulledthe reins with a thrust backwards; my hand felt the shooting pain ofhot ashes. Boone responded with his own withdrawal; I leaning himback to the outside as we now found ourselves stalling in the rear ofthis front pack.

Shadowland had forged by three lengths; Master Commander andhis guard horse, Phillip Gold were pacing in equal gallops just directly

behind; Boone now gathering speed on the outside and another twolengths behind.We came to the stretch on lap two. I peeped to my right and saw

Whittles waving us through; frantically, yelling, screaming, dancingwithout thought to how he appeared.

Make your move! He cried, Make your move!Boones velocity began to stir once more; his back arching and

cutting his shoulders to drive harder through each stretch. I saw thedetermination in Boones eyes which cut just past his eyelashes; andso drawing quarters to stare down those three horses ahead of us.

He never blinked; never failed to keep his posture in the truestform of a racehorse. I leaned down and clipped my sights just over hismane.

We drove to the middle of this track; square flat-dab in themiddle; empty, unused, not traveled by the other five competitors. Thegrounds below us were clean and not choppy and gave us traction thatpropelled us forward again.

Both Boone and I stared straight to where we were to go.We held our lines, like Whittles always told us to do so, but not in

the manner by which he professed. Boone never took to the railsagain; however holding our lines outside of their reaches, with moredistance to travel and somehow making speed more of our friend thantheirs. I felt us now to be the piercing hunter unnoticed into thecamouflage of night; watching, waiting, holding steady to key on ourprey. And when so the moment came, we would pounce with theferocity and formula for sure victory.

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They watched us with fainting eyes; but could do nothing, simplynothing. Our push galvanized Boone and I into speeds beyond evenwhat logic would tell; where legends are born and spawned from thememories of those who observed them. Today was one of those days

when ancient people will tell their childrens children of what miraclesBoone and I performed on this track.And so we rode out with the mighty thunder of some Greek gods

horse; where the tidal wave of one single horses determinationbrushed the hopes of all those who saw him, and sent out a continualbreeze of grand inspiration.

Boone streamlined his body into a locomotion that quickly pulledus equal to Shadowland, and holding there for just a gallop stretch ortwo; eye to eye, seeming to say, We have you now, and off Booneleft them in our trail. One length, two lengths, three, four, five, six;

farther, beyond even to where they had little hope and chance oncatching us. The dust would sputter to a rise and fall before they evenentered onto tracks.

I felt the lone meadows and hills of North Carolina now touchingme from my memory. The looks of yesterday; of reflections unearthedas if they were spirits of a left behind world; never forgotten, but heldinto some treasure vault when glorious moments like this enter intoyour life.

I could no longer sense myself aboard Boone, yet still seeing thevisual of all those people running from the stands as we made our way

around that final turn, and then casting our brilliant pace down thehomestretch.Those roars increased from the echoes that once whistled at us

from a distance. Now they were upon us; those faces excited by ourapproach; and now waving us home. They were in slow motion just likeour combatants were. But by the pounding of Boones body into thattrack, it seemed the earth was in a violent war with itself; up anddown, quaking and shaking as we rode inward. I was able to pick outErin and Brianne, with faces much like the others; all filled with joy andglee.

Before I knew it, Boone and I crossed the finish line and weimpacted those mass numbers of people. There was an instantaneouscelebration which ensued there. I felt the hands of a thousand fingersgrabbing for us as we turned about; and now feeling the pull of someunknown force directing us toward the podium.

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I could see Branson aboard Shadowland stewing in the distance.His hat was cocked low, deeply shadowing his expression, and makingit most obscure. But I knew his look was that of grave displeasure;seething from his embarrassing loss.

Still, we were swayed by a tide of well-wishers. I took to thepodium, pulled Boone behind me as he himself was decorated with abeautiful new horse blanket and flowers of every color. I made a finalspeech, gave Boone an engrossing hug, and one which caused him topull up and buck me in gesture.

I could see he was rather enjoying himself all the while.I knew you could do it son, Whittles came directly to me.Why is this? I asked.Because you had the convictions of your own passion to direct

you, he smiled broadly, Besides, he bent deeper to me, and with a

whisper, There is fire burning in this stallion; fire that only death couldever put outBrianne pulled with a violent, overly-exuberant tug on me. She

hastily threw a necklace she was wearing over my head; it falling downover my neck.

I knew you could do it, she placed a kiss to my cheek as shefelt to lift my shirt about and tuck the necklace underneath.

Wear this always, she whispered.Her fumbling caught into my chest; she feeling the miniature

sitting just below my collar line.

No, I tried to ward her off.Whats this? She looked at me confused.Her eyebrows were bending low; her hands pulling the miniature

to be exposed. She opened it, paused for a moment, and gazed deepinto the eyes of that remnant pose of Annabelle.

I saw the reflection of her thoughts peeking through the windowsin her eyes; the force of which nearly murdered her heart from the loveshe bore for me. It was a moment where earth and Heaven stood still;gasping, in a hush, silent, and waiting for her response.

She said nothing, yet pulled her look back onto me; stuck, andwilting from confusion into a soft-pedaling of tears.

Can you explain this? She asked.I could say nothing, but to look at her, and give her a thousand

apologizes that could never bear itself into words.

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So this is your mystery Landon Hampshire, she rebuked, orperhaps a piece of it, or all of it Or is it what makes you who youare.

Brianne looked straight on me for a comforting answer.

Still, I could say nothing, but to stare without an answer thatcould bear her some measure for relief.The man I proposed my love to, she whispered; coming closer

and sealing me with a kiss, the man who can not see, nor sense whatlove is.The man who fooled me with a mystery

And with this, she turned and disappeared within the mass ofpeople.

I went after her; still feeling the hoards of faces, arms, andcongratulating shakes for a victory the winner would be lucky to seeonce in a lifetime.

I jumped about like a hoping toad in hopes of spotting her.Brianne had gone clear from my sight.I looked back to see Erin, in her wisecracking expression, stare

me down with an unconvincing look. She moved quickly over to me,jerked the miniature out from around my neck and forced it into thecup of her hand.

You should have buried this long ago, she warned, and then letit loose to dangle over my shirt, Along with that haunted love youhave always held for her Its over Landon Its over

I was alone then in the cast and crew of this admiring crowd.

I dont remember much more but that I was in a daze there;standing in a crowd but alone; deserted to my own mystery andthoughts.

I knew I had to go and rectify the situation.

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the long journey home scribd sub chap5_a race for the ages

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