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do,” Clint promised.
    So they sat at the starting point, both watching Canby, waiting for him to call for the start.
    â€œGo!” the trainer said, clicking his watch.

THIRTEEN
    A few miles away, two men were watching Easy Going work around the track. Daniel Farnsworth and Seamus Callaghan watched as their jockey, Tommy Baze, put their horse through his paces.
    â€œHe’s movin’ beautifully,” Callaghan said.
    â€œHe sure is,” Farnsworth said. “These locals don’t have a chance. Our only competition is Sunday Song.”
    The two horses—Easy Going and Sunday Song—had managed to avoid each other up to now. The Derby would be their first race against each other, and they were getting all the coverage.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Callaghan said. “We’ll beat him.”
    â€œWe’d better,” Farnsworth said.
    * * *
    At Two Chimneys, owner William Kingston and trainer Ollie Shoemaker were watching Lorenzo Capp run Sunday Song around the best training track in Kentucky.
    â€œLike a freight train,” Kingston said. “He’s gonna go around that Derby track like a train, leaving everything in his wake, gasping.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Kingston looked at his trainer and said, “You don’t sound as sure as I do, Ollie.”
    â€œThat Easy Going,” Ollie said, “is some horse, Mr. Kingston. And there’s—”
    â€œI know that, Ollie,” Kingston said. “But so is Sunday Song. In fact, Sunday Song is better. If you don’t know that, then maybe I need another trainer.”
    They had been together a long time, but that didn’t stop Kingston from threatening to fire Ollie every time they didn’t see eye to eye.
    â€œWell, boss,” Ollie said, “I’ve also been hearing some talk about a local horse.”
    â€œWhat local horse?”
    â€œThey call him Whirlwind.”
    â€œI never heard of him. Is he entered in the Derby?” Kingston asked.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œWho trains him?”
    â€œA local trainer named Canby, Ben Canby.”
    â€œI never heard of him either,” Kingston said. “Ollie, I’m not going to worry about a horse I never heard of that’s being trained by a man I never heard of. I’ve got enough to worry about,” Kingston said.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œJust see to our horse,” Kingston said.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Kingston watched Shoemaker run to meet the jockey and the horse. For a moment he thought he saw a glint of light on a hillside beyond the training track, but then he told himself he was being too paranoid.
    He turned to go into the house.
    * * *
    In truth, there was somebody watching Sunday Song work, someone watching Easy Going, and even someone with a stopwatch watching Davy Flores put Whirlwind through his paces.
    Not to mention the Gunsmith riding on that big gelding of his . . .
    * * *
    Clint let Davy take Whirlwind out, holding Eclipse back a bit. It didn’t take him very long to realize that he could have run the little three-year-old down anytime he wanted to—but he didn’t want to.
    He ran along behind the animal, watching him, liking the ease with which he moved, his fluidity, the muscles bunching beneath his hide, his tail swishing as he ran. Clint wondered if that would happen during the race.
    After a couple of furlongs he urged Eclipse on and they caught up to the colt, going stride for stride with him. He could see that Whirlwind knew Eclipse was there, and he increased his pace a bit, even as the jockey tried to restrain him. With that kind of competitive spirit, the horse would do well in the Kentucky Derby, where he would only be facing other three-year-old colts.
    Clint eased off on Eclipse, allowing Whirlwind to pull ahead, and he simply paced him from behind for the rest of the workout. When it was over, Davy slowed the animal down, but kept him