Wil picked up the stallion pedigree and looked at it one more time. “James, it’s always a gamble to predict stud fees. But considering the stallion’s age, I think we can assume he’ll earn his keep for at least five years.”
“Earn his keep? Why hell, he’ll do better than that, but you guys talk it over.” Richmond Blevens stood up and retrieved a bottle of bourbon from a nearby desk drawer. With one hand he expertly picked up six shot glasses, walked back to the table, and poured each man a shot. Raising his glass, Richmond said, “To Brother Joe and Burgoo King. May they make us proud at this year’s Derby!” Dale yelled, “Hear, hear!” as all the men downed their shots in one gulp.
“Have you offered twenty grand?” asked Blevens. “’Cause if you did, I will counter at twenty-two five. And remember, that includes transport of all four horses to Churchill Downs. Dale and Clyde can drive the horse trailers there when we all go to the Derby.”
James looked at Wil and Capp. Both were nodding their heads. James stood to shake Richmond’s hand and then turned to pat Wil and Capp on the back. “Guess we did it. Got us some fine stock.” The deal was done. Capp felt his confidence swell. He was a fine horse buyer; he knew his stuff—his education at Churchill Downs had been a good one.
Chapter 70
Rising Star Horse Farm
“Making a ridiculous offer could get us nowhere, only the door,” said Wil as they climbed out of the Buick at the Rising Star Horse Farm. James agreed that a fair price was what they should offer.
“And let’s be prepared to walk away. They might not have any stock we want,” cautioned Wil.
“I understand,” said James, being sensitive to those less fortunate than he.
Pulling up the driveway to the Rising Star, it was evident the farm was failing. The horses in the pastures were few, fences were in disrepair, and the outbuildings needed paint. When they reached the barn, there was one stable hand there to greet them. After brief introductions, the stable hand, an older cowpoke who had seen better days himself, led them to the owner’s house on the property. “Mr. Ganning is expecting you,” he said and knocked on the front door.
When the door finally opened, there stood a short, rotund man of maybe fifty years, holding a pipe in his right hand. “Mr. Glidewell?” Ganning asked, scanning the three strangers at his door. James nodded, introduced Wil and Capp, and extended his hand. Mr. Ganning limply shook James offer of greeting and introduced himself. Putting down his pipe in a ceramic dish on a table near the door, he left it to smolder. He grabbed a coat on the hall tree, changed into riding boots and suggested everyone move on to the porch and back down to the barn.
Mr. Ganning, obviously bitter and upset over his failing circumstances, walked quickly down to the barn, taking two steps for every one of the other four men. He explained he had a few horses he was ready to let go for the right price. One was a young temperamental stallion who was difficult to train. Given his financial situation he had not been able to hire the proper trainer. Another was a three-year-old filly they had tried to breed four times, but none had taken. “We have been using a stud named Dandamore. In his glory days, he won a stake race and made us some money. We retired him and put him out to stud. He’s proven. Sired many foals. Guess it is the filly who ain’t up to it,” explained Ganning. “I’d let her go cheap. Don’t know what good she’d do. We had her with Dandamore a week ago. Gave her one last try,” said Ganning.
Wil was listening intently. When they got to the corral where the filly was kept, she was looking at the men standing at the fence. Wil liked the looks of the filly, a light chestnut with white markings. She was alert, curious about the strangers in her midst, but thin. Wil had a filly like her who was difficult to breed, but eventually when she was older she conceived. “I’d like my son to check her out. See if she is sound. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. There are leads in the barn,” said Ganning, nodding at his stable hand, who ran to get the necessary tack.
“Don’t need a saddle—just halter, reins, and grab a lunge line too,” yelled Capp.
Returning, the stable hand entered the corral and called to the filly. She came willingly as the handler stood his ground so as not to cause her to shy away. When she was haltered and secured with the lead, Capp got to work checking her conformation and putting her through her paces. She performed well and seemed to enjoy the attention. Capp liked this horse, but without proof she could conceive she may not be a good choice. He undid the lunge line, handed it to the stable hand, and climbed back over the fence.
“Does she have any race experience?” asked Capp.
“A little. She did fine, but our interests were not in training this filly to race,” explained Ganning.
“I see,” said Capp and then walked over to his father, who was alone at the corral fence. “She’s really thin. That may be why she isn’t producing foals.”
“Yes, I noticed that,” said Wil.
“Maybe worms?” suggested Capp, who then walked back to Ganning. “You ever deworm this filly?”
“Yeah, just a few weeks ago. We take care of our horses here,” Ganning said, somewhat insulted at the question.
“Good,” said Capp and then went to speak to James, who was waiting near the corral fence. “I’d get this filly for a good price. I bet you anything we can breed her. She’s a fine horse, a really fine horse, great disposition.” James nodded and slapped Capp on his back as they walked
