“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Maizie, you have more courage than you know. Look how you can sing in front of folks.”
“I like doin’ that. Comes natural.”
“It’s dangerous, horse racing, for man and beast. You have to be strong.” Maizie looked into Capp’s brown eyes and could tell he meant it.
“People die racing horses? Could Tilly race a horse?”
“Haven’t seen Tilly ride. Doubt she’s strong enough, though she wouldn’t like me saying it.”
Maizie felt some comfort in that remark.
“She sure knows about racing, though. But you got to be careful around horses. Everyone has to be careful. They are big, powerful animals.” Maizie listened and noticed how different Capp’s tone was from when he left Glidewell in the fall. He was easy and warm, making her feel like she was his friend.
When all the horses were saddled and the parade was about to begin, the bugler played “Boots and Saddles,” marking the nearing of the big race. The mayor of Louisville stood on a platform waiting for the bugler to finish. Stepping to the microphone, he made a few welcoming remarks and then yelled, “Riders up!” The crowd cheered as every jockey was given a leg up by a groom and found his center on the saddle.
“Come Maizie, we got to get back to the stands. It won’t be long now.” Capp grabbed her hand and they ran through the crowd back to the stands.
Slowly the horses began their walk to the track to be introduced one at a time to the throng of eager spectators. The crowd grew silent as the University of Louisville marching band began to play “My Old Kentucky Home,” the anthem of the Kentucky Derby. The crowd got to their feet and sang the words of Stephen C. Foster’s ballad. Some swayed arm in arm, others stood alone fighting off tears, but all sang with feeling. It was a tradition that had been carried on since Colonel Bradley’s Kentucky-bred Behave Yourself won the Derby in 1921. On that day, eleven years earlier, the crowd had spontaneously broken out in “My Old Kentucky Home” to celebrate the local horse’s victory. Every year since, the song marked the beginning of the ceremony leading up to the running of the Derby. On the last note, the crowd emitted a deafening roar. The race was now imminent. The crowd remained standing. A few ran, hoping they could place a last-minute bet.
Twenty competing jockeys rode their thoroughbred mounts to the starting gate. Some of the horses were visibly excited, others calm. Handlers helped horses and jockeys, one by one, into the gate stalls. Burgoo King had drawn post thirteen and Brother Joe post eighteen. Neither positions were considered good, but anything can happen in a horse race.
The start was clean. The crowd roared as the field of competitors charged past the grandstands. Economic took the lead, followed closely by Burgoo King; both horses neared the inside rail, the pack following close behind. Burgoo King held on to a third-place position around the first turn, and Economic sat comfortably in the lead. Suddenly Burgoo King took the outside, stretching, running hard. Brother Joe was moving into fourth place. Colonel Bradley’s horses were pounding around the bend. Burgoo King’s jockey released his hold slightly and the thoroughbred increased his speed. Brother Joe lost ground and fell back in the pack. Burgoo King passed Economic, increasing his lead, and was five lengths ahead nearing the finish line. A roar went up when Colonel Bradley’s horse finished first, followed by Economic and Stepenfetchit. Burgoo King, who ran the race in two minutes and five seconds, took the $5,000 gold cup and a cash reward of $52,350. Although this was a sweet, unexpected victory for Colonel Bradley and Idle Hour Farms, there was some disappointment. The horse expected to win, Brother Joe, finished nineteenth due to a tendon pull. And the last horse, listed twentieth on the race results, didn’t even finish. Liberty Limited fell lame and pulled up. His jockey wouldn’t allow the horse to complete the race. Anything can happen in a horse race.
James, Mary, Maizie, Capp, and Wil were throwing their arms around each other, celebrating the Idle Hour Farm’s victory. “Mary, you realize we own horses with the Idle Hour blood in their veins? We could have a winner in the future. Have you ever seen anything as exciting?”
Mary looked at James, raised her eyebrows, and then grinned. She placed her hand on his lapel and said, “Nothing is quite like a horse race, James.” James threw his betting ticket in the air, having placed a few dollars on Brother Joe, and hugged her again. Wil grinned like the Cheshire cat, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a solitary ticket for a $100 bet. Handing the ticket to Capp, he laughed. “Here Capp, read it to everyone.”
Capp’s eyes grew wide. “Dad, you bet on Burgoo King?”
Wil took off his Stetson and scratched his head. “You know, son, there was something about that horse. I noticed it in his workouts this week. He was a serious horse with heart. I just had a feeling about him. When I saw him this morning he was pawing and snorting in his stall and then he gave me the eye. Seemed like he knew that today was the day: his only chance to win this race.”
“Didn’t know you brought that kind of money with you, Dad,” said Capp.
“Just so you know, I always have a hundred with me. Think a man may need it one day. Today was my day. Come with me, Capp. Let’s go get my payout.”
“I’ll be. You bet on a long shot with a poor post position. Congratulations, Wil. I have a lot to learn,” admitted James. “You go get your pay. How much would that be?”
“One thousand, three hundred and twenty-four dollars. Not that I’m counting.” Wil laughed.
Capp and Wil headed to turn in the winning ticket and collect the winnings. Leaving the stands, they made their way to
