Free The Trainmasters by Jesse Taylor Croft Page B

never have hired that jockey, Fletcher.”
    Cornelius Vanderbilt had also noted that Fletcher was not using his whip. But he was not at all disturbed by this. He thought
     the jockey was smart in conserving his horse’s energy.
    The horses were now approaching the far turn, and Fletcher was still letting his horse run loose and free.
    “Do you see? Now! Use it! Use it!” Patterson screamed. “Did I tell you what I paid for that glorious piece of horseflesh?”
     he said to his companions and then sighed. “Did I tell you what I paid for that animal my jockey is destroying?”
    “Yes, you did,” Daniel Drew said under his breath. “Ten times.”
    But Patterson ignored the remark and went on, delirious with anxiety. For by the end of the far turn, his horse had dropped
     behind Emerald by six lengths. “I paid five thousand dollars for that horse. And it was worth every penny. He has won every
     race I’ve entered him in; and he’s already sired three fine foals. And now!”
    “Worth every penny,” Drew said. There was sarcasm in his voice, but Patterson either didn’t notice or else didn’t pay attention
     to it.
    When the horses passed the clubhouse veranda, Vanderbilt took a close look at both of them. Emerald was straining, he noticed;
     but Berber was moving smoothly and easily. He smiled, then leaned over close to Daniel Drew and whispered in his ear. “I’m
     going to win, Dan’l. I’m sure of it.”
    “You’re mad, my friend,” Drew answered. “And you know it.”
    Vanderbilt laughed. Then he twisted around and lifted his glass from the table and took a long sip.
    Patterson, meanwhile, was urging his horse ahead with his hands. “Faster! Faster! Faster!” he screamed. “Hit him, Fletcher,
     you bastard. Whip him!”
    By the time the horses reached the near turn again, Emerald was ten lengths ahead. But Berber was still moving easily and
     smoothly.
    At the far turn, Emerald had maintained his lead, but Berber had lost no more ground. Their status was the same when the two
     horses passed the starting line for the second time. Vanderbilt saw then that Emerald was breathing hard and raggedly, but
     this didn’t surprise him. Nevertheless, he began to stamp his foot nervously.
    At the near turn, Berber had shortened Emerald’s lead to eight lengths. And along the straightaway he crawled up another two.
     At last, Fletcher was using his whip.
    Patterson was white with screaming. “Now you do it! Now! Now! At last! Please God you’re not too late.”
    “Give it to him! Trounce that mare,” Daniel Drew screamed at Emerald. “I have a hundred dollars on you!”
    Vanderbilt took another sip of whiskey. Except for the stamping of his foot, he looked calm and detached, but his hand gripped
     the glass like a vise. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the great, colorful balloon that had been carrying passengers
     up and down for most of the afternoon.
    “Berber! Berber!” Patterson yelled. “Come on! On!”
    By this time, Vanderbilt’s feet stamping had turned into a little, nervous jig. And he was muttering something that was audible
     only to himself.
    The horses were three lengths apart at the far turn.
    Then Cornelius Vanderbilt finally spoke out. “All right. Now! Give it to him, Berber, you bastard! Win!”
    And now the two horses were neck and neck … with an eighth of a mile to go.
    Berber crossed the finish line two and a half lengths ahead of Emerald.
    “Goddamn!” Vanderbilt hollered in triumph. “That is
some
extraordinary horse!”
    “The
best
. The
very
best!” Patterson screamed in reply, whooping like an Indian. “BERBER!” he continued, even louder than before, for the crowd
     below the veranda had gone wild. “You’ve done it, in spite of that ass of a jockey.”
    Daniel Drew, meanwhile, simply turned toward Vanderbilt and gave him a rueful wink.
    “That idiot,” Patterson went on, “no longer has a job with me.”
    After the tumult of the crowd died down