Gypsy Horsemen, Tramps, and Thieves

By David J. "Josey" Huffman

In this book Gypsy, Horsemen, Trumps and Thieves, I have taken three real-life stories and woven them into one book.

The book starts out on a poor man's farm just outside Winchester, Kentucky, in September 1953.

A fifteen-year-old boy Dewey "Pappy" Beauchamp puts all his faith in a ten-month-old black thoroughbred colt named Mountain Cat. The colt is all Dewey Beauchamp has to work with and hold onto.

The majority of the book takes place from May 1999 through November 1999.

Instead of separating the book by chapters, I used the days of the calendar to track the story.

In the horse racing world, things can change in a heartbeat. You learn to keep your eyes and ears open and your mouth shut. It is not the life for the faint of heart.

A wise man told me when I first started racing horses, "Son, there is a hell of a lot more bad luck, then there is good luck in the race horse business." He was right, but when good luck shows up, it's contagious.

Enjoy the story, my friends. It has been written and lived with a Texas heartbeat.

I would personally like to thank Jesus for all my blessings and his saving grace. I would have been lost without it. God bless, America!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662420610

Book preview

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Gypsy Horsemen, Tramps, and Thieves

David J. Josey Huffman

Copyright © 2021 David J. Josey Huffman

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-2060-3 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-5274-1 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-6624-2061-0 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Foreword

Prologue

Racing Terms

Gypsy Horsemen,

Tramps, and Thieves

If the fast horse could talk

oh the tales he could tell,

of the thievery amongst men

and their foolishness as well.

—Kentucky Mountain Folklore

Foreword

My name is James Tucker Calhoun. The story you are about to read is true. I know because I was there, and believe me, I came for the money, not just for the ride. The names of the characters in this story have been changed to protect the guilty.

J. T. Calhoun

Prologue

September 8, 1953

Winchester, Kentucky

Mae Beauchamp took the pipe out of her mouth and knocked the burned ashes out of the bowl of her pipe on the arm of the wooden rocking chair she was sitting in. Mae stood up. No sense puttin' in off any longer, she told herself. It was time to tell her two boys that they were moving to Louisiana so they could live with her side of the family.

The family of her husband, Ben, here around Winchester were sorrier than pig shit, and she didn't like her two boys, Dewey and Hickory, spending so much time around them. Lord, Mae said quietly to herself, I want my sons to grow up and become more than just horse thieves and common drunks.

Mae walked across the front porch of their four-room unpainted wood house and into her and Ben's bedroom. She slid the old camelback trunk over at the foot of their bed and pulled up the loose plank board, where she hid the family cashbox. Mae counted the cash first, which totaled $2,711, then she counted eighty-three silver dollars, put the box back under the floor, and put the loose board and camelback trunk back in place. Mae walked through the old house and out onto the back porch steps.

She hollered, Dewey, you and your brother come out of that horse barn. We need to talk.

Mae watched her sons come out from the barn and walk across the backyard. She was proud of her two boys. They were tall and thin like her Pa and hardworking too, a characteristic that their father, Ben Beauchamp, had yet to acquire. Dewey Beauchamp, the oldest boy who was going to be fifteen years old in December, reached the back porch first. His younger brother Hickory, who was ten years old, was right behind him.

Boys, you need to start packing up all our feed buckets, water troughs, ropes, and tack. We're movin' to Vinton, Louisiana, as soon as Clarence and Uncle Bud get up here with their trucks, and I reckon they'll be here day after tomorrow.

What about the horses, Ma?

Don't you worry about the horses, Dewey. We're gonna keep the best six mares and that black yearling colt you so damn proud of. Mr. Jonah Lee, the horse trader, is coming by, and I'm gonna sell him the other four mares and the eight weanlings.

What about Pappy, Ma? When's he comin' home?

I'm getting ready to go to town now, boys, and see if I can get Sheriff Howard to let him out on bail.

Dewey and Hickory were quiet as they stood looking at their mother. Mae finally clapped her hands together. I know Southwest Louisiana isn't a step up from Kentucky boys, but at least we have decent kinfolk there who care a little bit about us. Go start packin', boys, go on get. Mae clapped her hands together again.

Dewey and Hickory walked slowly back to the old horse barn.

Mae went back into the old wood house, grabbed her purse, and walked back outside and over their 1951 black Ford pickup, started it up, and headed toward town, which was six miles away. Once Mae reached the small town of Winchester, she went first to the Clover Lane grocery store and paid the $34.88 on her account. Ike Ramsey, the store owner, was puzzled because after Mae had paid off her balance, she thanked him and left without charging any groceries to take home. Mae next stopped by the old brownstone two-story jail that sat behind the country courthouse to talk to Sheriff Otis Howard. Sheriff Howard stood up when Mae walked into his office. Afternoon, Mae, how can I help you?

I'd like to talk to Ben, Sheriff.

Sheriff Howard shook his head sideways. Now, Mae, you know damn well that visiting hours are on Saturday afternoon from one till three.

Well, how much is his fine, Otis?

Sheriff Howard pulled a piece of paper out of a wire basket that was sitting on his desk. The judge told me yesterday, Mae, since this wasn't Ben's first arrest, it was a $50 fine or thirty days in jail.

Mae thought for a moment, then told Sheriff Howard, I guess thirty days isn't that long of time. Does he need any smokes?

No, Mae, the county provides tobacco for all the prisoners.

Thank you, Otis. Mae turned around and walked out of the building.

She then drove over to the filling stations and filled the truck up with gas and had the oil and water levels in the engine checked. Mae thought about stopping by the electric co-op and telling them to shut the power off next Monday but decided not to. No sense in letting the whole town know I and the boys were leavin' state, she told herself.

As she pulled the pickup back out on the main highway and headed back to their farm, she suddenly felt like a huge rock had been lifted off her shoulders. To hell with Ben, she thought. She wasn't worried about him following her and the boys down to Louisiana. She knew when he got released from jail, he wouldn't make it any further than the Dew Drop Inn, which was the town tavern three blocks north of the jailhouse, and she and the boys could make a fresh start with their lives.

September 10, 1953

Dewey helped his Uncle Bud pull the ragged old tarp over the back end of their pickup, which had all their furniture, tools, and tack packed in it and tie it down. The other two large six-wheeled trucks with the five-foot-high sideboards were loaded with nervous horses, who were taking turns trying to kick down the walls of the truck they were enclosed in.

They'll settle down once we get rolling, Uncle Clarence told the boys.

One truck had four mares in it, the other truck had two mares and the black colt, Mountain Cat, whom they had separated in the truck box with two sheets of four-by-eight plywood so the two mares wouldn't kick sixteen different kinds of horse shit out of the young stallion. Dewey and Hickory walked over to where their mother was, trying to come to an agreement with the horse trader, Mr. Jonah Lee. Dewey walked up closer so he could listen to them dicker.

Mae, I'll give you $80 each of the four blood mares and $30 apiece for the weanlings. That's more than a fair price, ma'am. Jonah Lee then ran his right hand through his long scraggly beard that hung down to the middle of his chest. He spit a half plug of chewed tobacco on the ground. I'd give you another $100, Mae, for the black colt up in the truck. I'd sure hate to see one of those mares hurt him. Y'all gotta long drive down to Louisiana, ma'am.

Dewey walked up between his mother and Jonah Lee. He reached into the front pockets of his overalls and pulled out a wad of cash. He counted out eight $10 bills and six $5 bills. Here, Ma, I'll give you $110 for the black colt, and after I get done proving him at the racetrack as a three- and four-year-old, I'll let you breed your mares to him for free.

Mae took the cash from her son. Where did you get so much money, Dewey?

I've been savin' it up, ma'am.

Mae turned back toward Jonah Lee. I no longer own that black colt, Mr. Lee, but I will accept your offer on the mares and the babies.

Jonah Lee counted out $560 cash and handed it to Mae, who gave him the Jockey Club papers on the four mares and a bill of sale for the twelve head. Jonah Lee tipped his hat and wished Mae and her boys good luck in Louisiana.

Mae took a last walk around the farm to make sure they hadn't overlooked or left anything. She them got in one of the big trucks with her brother, Clarence. Clarence's oldest boy, Lonnie, was driving the Ford pickup, and Dewey and Hickory were in the other big truck with their Uncle Bud.

Mae hollered out the window of the truck to Dewey, Are you sure we've got everything, boys?

The only things left, Ma, is the old house and the trees.

Uncle Bud started laughing. Let's go, boys. And he put the truck into first gear.

As they pulled out of the farm lane and on the highway, Hickory started crying. I'm never gonna see our farm or Pa again, Dewey.

Dewey put his arm around his brother's shoulders and pulled him closer to him. You're gonna like Louisiana, Hickory.

Whose gonna be my Pa, Dewey?

Dewey took a big breath. It's all right, son. I guess you can call me Pappy now. Dewey stared out the window of the big truck and watched the farm that he had been raised on and the countryside that he was familiar with fade out of sight as they rolled down the long lonesome highway to their new home, just a few miles north of Vinton, Louisiana.

Tuesday, May 4, 1999

Sunland Park, El Paso, New Mexico

The morning sun was slowly coming up over the brown rock foothills of El Paso, as quarter horse trainer, Brad Van Allen, gave J. T. a leg up on Miss Smooth Jet.

Keep her wrapped up tight, pardner, Brad told his rider. The challenge trials in Minneapolis are less than three weeks, and I want this big horse sittin' on go.

Don't worry, boss. I'm not going to let her down and have her take off this close to race day, but God bless she's getting hard to hold back lately.

Well, just keep her wrapped up, hotshot. This is going to be our year to hit the big time like a Louisiana rainstorm you won't be able to stop us. Brad laughed and unsnapped the lead rope as J. T. and the big bay mare trotted out onto the racetrack.

It always amazed J. T. how everybody in the racehorse business talked and thought that fame and fortune was waiting just around the corner. J. T. had grown up around running quarter horses on the ranch of his grandfather, Slim, in Stockdale, Texas, a small town about thirty miles southeast of San Antonio. J. T. had started galloping horses when he was twelve and had his jockey license when he turned eighteen. However, after six years on the Texas Fair circuit in the summer and Sunland Park in the winter and spring, trying to keep 122 pounds on his five-foot-ten body had become damn near impossible. So at the age of twenty-five, James Tucker Calhoun had picked up his assistant trainer's license and gone to work for Bard Van Allen.

J. T. was starting his third year working for Brad, and he was hoping they would win a big futurity or derby this year so, next year, he could get his trainer's license and start running his own barn. J. T. had spent the last seven years working his tail off for rich horse owners, and watching his hard work and knowledge pay dividends for them, it was time J. T. thought to start working for himself.

As J. T. rode out onto the racetrack, he stood up in the irons of the saddle and picked Miss Smooth Jet's head up with the reins and let her move out at a slow trot. This five-year-old mare could literally fly she had already earned more than $300,000, and this spring, she seemed ready, in J. T.'s opinion, of becoming a serious contender for a world championship. Brad and J. T. were both hoping that her success on the racetrack would carry their careers to a higher level. J. T. rode around the outside rail of the track, letting her build up into an easy lope without straining him or his horse until her ears pricked forward, letting him know that her engine was warmed up.

As they started around the track for their second lap, J. T. calmly sawed the reins back and forth to keep his horse from taking hold on the racing bit with her teeth and them trying to run off with him, like a true racehorse will do when they are feeling right. When they came around the back turn for the second time, J. T. stood up straight legged in the saddle and throttled the mare back down into an easy trot. He rode up past the grandstands and then turned the mare back toward the barns and eased her into a controlled walk trot.

When they approached the exit gate of the racetrack, Brad rode up alongside J. T. on Charger, his pony horse, and snapped a lead rope to Miss Smooth Jet's bridle.

She's sure starting to pull hard on the bit, J. T. told him.

We will rest her up today and tomorrow, and then you can pull out early Thursday morning. I'm gonna send those two two-year-olds of Lowell Olsen's and an older gelding with you and the mare. Think you can handle the drive by yourself, hotshot? Brad asked J. T.

As long as I can stop for a break in Oklahoma at your brother Vernon's house, I can.

Good deal, partner. I'll call Vernon later and tell him.

As they rolled up to the Van Allen barn, Ernesto, one of the grooms took the lead rope from Brad as J. T. jumped off the mare.

Let's get rolling, boys. We've got ten more to gallop this morning. Then Brad turned Charger and rode off toward the racing office.

J. T. galloped out four more horses and made sure that Tony, their exercise rider that Brad had recently hired, galloped the other six horses Brad had wanted to worked this morning. J. T. and Brad had an agreement that J. T. would supervise Brad's shed row and exercise all the horses in Brad's A barn, or the runnin' kind, as Brad often referred to his top horses as. The horses in the B barn were to be ridden by the other exercise riders who worked for Brad. In the spring of 1999, Brad Van Allen had thirty-six horses stabled at Sunland Park—sixteen were the runnin' kind, in Brad's opinion, and the other twenty were considered to be in the B barn. Brad also had another twenty-six horses that he was training, stabled in Remington Park, in Oklahoma City. Brad's third wife, the young and beautiful Suzanne Van Allen, was in charge of Brad's barn in Oklahoma City when he wasn't there. Brad split his time up between the two horse barns, depending on which horses were racing and which track would be having the bigger races on the weekends that would attract the racing industry's wealthier owners. Brad also has sixteen horses in training that were stabled at Retama Park in San Antonio that were being taken care of by Brad's ranch foremen, Lee Ray Hayes, although Lee Ray had last month informed Brad that this would be his last year working out on the road. Lee Ray had told Brad he and his family would work and live on Brad's ranch just west of Houston, Texas, in Katy until hell froze over, but his two children were in junior high, and his wife needed him at home.

The Fourth of July weekend would be the start of the summer quarter horse racing meet at Sam Houston Race Park. There, the entire Van Allen racing team would stay until Labor Day weekend, then when that racing meet was over, whatever horses that were still running competitively would all go to Dallas for the fall meet at Lone Star Park in Grand Prairie, which runs from the last weekend in September to the weekend before Thanksgiving. Brad had teased J. T. on more than one occasion by telling him to hang loose, son, you're running with the horsemen now.

Thursday, May 6

At 3:30 a.m., Thursday came early, and as always, before a long trip, J. T. had trouble sleeping the night before. No matter how tired he was from his daily labors, J. T. always got a little paranoid before a big run, especially hauling out of El Paso in the springtime. It wasn't the four horses he was hauling or the long drive to Minneapolis that had J. T.'s adrenaline pumping, but it was the added cargo, a real payload, two hundred kilos of Acapulco Gold, packed and sealed in the storage compartment underneath the nose end of the six-horse aluminum Featherlite trailer he was pulling. J. T. had been introduced into the world of smuggling marijuana at the ripe old age of twenty-four by his father, Dr. Clayton Doc Calhoun.

Once a well-respected horse veterinarian throughout South Texas and New Mexico, Dr. Calhoun had retired from private practice in the fall of 1996 to work exclusively for Brad Van Allen's racing stable in an advisory position. He also served Brad's stable as the liaison between Colonel Robert Sanders and the Tuscon connection out of Nogales, Mexico. It was a convenient arrangement for all who were involved in this smuggling operation of the championship team, as Brad Van Allen referred to them.

Brad's connections out of Tuscon would deliver the load to El Paso. There, it would be packed into a special fabricated compartment with a false bottom in the nose end of the trailer underneath the sleeping/dressing room compartment. The only way to get to the load was to cut out the door above it that was welded shut and covered with a mattress and clothes they had bought from a goodwill store.

From El Paso, it was Doc's responsibility to deliver the load to Colonel Robert Sanders, an auctioneer and antique dealer in Minneapolis, also one of Doc's oldest and trusted friends—the two men had served in Vietnam together and they had both come home from there physically sound and absolutely fearless.

Once the load reached Minneapolis. Colonel Bob Sanders would take the trailer to his refinishing furniture shop, cut out the door, unload the kilos, pay off Doc in cold, hard cash, put a temp plate back on the compartment in the nose of the trailer, and then distribute the load to the Rollins brothers in Des Moines, Iowa.

Brad and Doc started working together in the spring of 1996. Brad had bought some medicine from Doc to enhance the performance of the two horses, Sooner River and Cajun Baby, he had running in the $185,000 Texas Spring Derby. The two horses had run first and second, and a trusting partnership was formed. By the time October of that year had rolled around, Brad and Doc had become close friends. Their friendship and mutual trust, along with their connections and the convenience that each man brought to the partnership, made a solid team. Doc and J. T. went to work for Brad in November of 1996. They had run their first load in March 1997.

Brad's connections out of Tuscon were two business partners that Brad had known since the old days when he used to spend the winters at Rillito Park, just out of Tuscon, conditioning racehorses.

J. T. was a natural fit for the partnership. He was an excellent hand with the horses, a top-notch rider, and he had learned at an early age from Doc that if a horseman was to be successful in the racehorse business, never trust anyone outside your immediate family, never flash your cash, and above all, keep your mouth shut. The next six and a half months were to go fast, and they would bring fame and fortune to the championship team beyond their wildest dreams.

J. T. pulled off I-10 and slowly eased his foot down on the truck's brakes, as he entered the customs checkpoint just outside Van Horn, Texas. All vehicles were required by law to go through the checkpoint, and since they were hauling horses, each animals' health certificates and current Coggins test would have to be inspected. As J. T. pulled the one-ton 1998 Dually to a stop, he remembered Doc's warning: always leave the diesel engine running in case the drug dogs were on duty, the nose end of the trailer where the cargo was concealed was directly above the trucks exhaust pipes. Doc had told J. T., I don't know if the dogs can smell through that diesel fumes or not, but there's no sense making it any easier on their noses.

J. T. gave a sigh of relief when the two agents walked out of the small brick building and there were no dogs in sight. The older agent walked up to the driver's window. J. T. pushed the button, and the window rolled down. He handed the horses' paperwork to the man.

Where you going so early in the morning, son? the agent asked as he took the folder from J. T.

J. T. quietly answered, Oklahoma City, sir.

Brad had a circular emblem on the truck doors that said Van Allen Racing Stable Katy, Texas. The older agent looked through the papers while the other agent walked around the truck and trailer, inspecting the rigs license plates and inspections sticker. The older agent then asked, How many horses you hauling?

J. T. answered, Four, sir. And knowing they would open the trailers drop-down windows to count the horses, J. T. added, Be real slow when you open those windows, two of those boogers might try to jump out on y'all. It's their first time away from home.

J. T. put the horses' health papers back in his briefcase, rolled up the window, put the truck in gear, and eased back out onto I-10. Once he was back out on the interstate and had the truck up to sixty-eight miles per hour, he gave a huge sigh of relief.

The checkpoint was about thirty miles outside Van Horn, Texas, and it was the critical point of the trip. Once J. T. had passed through the US Customs checkpoint, they were home free unless he did something stupid like attracting a state trooper's attention by speeding, and he wasn't about to let that happen. This was JT's fifth trip in the last two years as the mule for the championship team. His take from the profit off the load was always $16,000. J. T. wasn't sure what Doc and Brad were making off the load, but it didn't' really matter. Doc's end of the loads always got put back into their ranch they owned twenty-five miles east of Austin, Texas, and since Brad always took care of all the details, J. T. just didn't concern himself with it.

Once J. T. had the truck and trainer rolling at seventy-two miles per hour, he set the cruise control and then started to relax and think about the purpose of the trip, which was running Miss Smooth Jet in the National Bank Challenge Trials and qualifying her for the $400,000 National Bank Challenge Championships, to be held the last weekend of Lone Star Parks race meet in November.

Miss Smooth Jet was a homegrown foal from the bloodstock of Mr. Leonardo Soliz's horse ranch down in the Rio Grande Valley. Over the years, Leo had bred, foaled out, and raced the top-quality quarter horses throughout the southwestern states and Mexico. Leonardo had worked hard all his life and built his father's small business outside Mercedes, Texas, into one of the largest produce trucking companies in the Rio Grande Valley. Valley Freight Lines was a multimillion-dollar company that had provided Leo's family, as well as his two sister's families, a very comfortable lifestyle. Leo had been running his horses with a young black trainer out of Texas named Bobby Singletary and had been doing all right. Last summer, they had won a couple of big races at Delta Downs and had a run second with Miss Smooth Jet, in the Remington Park Championship in Oklahoma City.

Somewhere along the line, Bobby had gotten larceny in his heart, as Leo had politely put it, and started robbing him blind on the training bills. In October 1998, on the backside at Lone Star Park, Leo had calmly confronted Bobby and informed him that he was moving his six horses over to Brad Van Allen's barn. Bobby tried his best to prove his innocence by blaming his bookkeeper and offering to make it up to Leo anyway he could. Leo firmly instructed Bobby to move the horses over to Brad's barn immediately.

J. T. and Doc had witnessed the confrontation, and Doc had later joked to Brad, That the cheatin' little bastard was lucky that Leo was in a good mood that afternoon, or Bobby could have lost more than the training bill on six horses. J. T.'s first impression of Leonardo Soliz was Here is a man to be taken seriously.

As J. T. pulled the truck and trailer off I-10 and onto I-20 North to Dallas / Fort Worth, he smiled at how pretty the sun looked coming up over the West Texas desert. In seven and a half to eight hours, he thought to himself they would be going through the Dallas / Fort Worth metroplex, and four hours after that, they should be getting close to Vernon Van Allen's farm, outside Choctaw, Oklahoma. There, he would stop for the night, unload the horses, and give them a ten-hour break before driving the rest of the way to Minneapolis.

J. T. had discovered over the years of hauling horses across the country that if a horse had enough room in the trailer to stretch out its back legs to urinate, they could easily go twelve to fourteen hours in a trailer without any problems, as long as it wasn't the middle of July in South Texas. Hell, J. T. thought, last November, he and Doc had hauled five pregnant thoroughbred mares from the Keenland Mixed Sale in Kentucky Doc had brought back to their ranch and had driven twenty-one hours straight, stopping only for fuel. J. T. laughed out loud, thinking about that trip. Doc had driven the first eight hours, and when they had stopped to fuel up in West Memphis, Doc had bought a bag of ice and tossed it into the cooler of the back seat of the crew cab. He then pulled a fifth of Jim's Beam out from under the truck's seat and said, Tucker boy, take us home. The good doctor needs a drink.

One thing J. T. had learned over the years was that when the good doctor started drinking whiskey, he did not stop until all the stories were told and the Jim Beam bottle was dry. J. T. had driven Doc home on many a night and had heard all his stories more than once, but J. T. didn't mind although he worried about Doc's health. He kept quiet about Doc's drinking binges because Doc was all the family J. T. had that was still alive. J. T.'s mother had left them when he was three years old and had gone back home to Mississippi. When he was a young boy, he had often had dreams at night of his mother coming back home to them, but she was always gone when he awoke. J. T. couldn't remember now when the last time he had dreamt about her—he knew it had been years. They had buried Doc's father, Corbin Slim Calhoun, two years ago in March back in Stockdale, Texas. Doc had then sold their 300-acre farm, and with the proceeds from the sale of the Stockdale ranch, Doc had purchased their present 120-acre ranch that was located outside Manor, Texas, and about thirty miles Northeast of Austin. J. T. and Doc both liked the new ranch better with the rolling hills of pasture, the white pipe fence, the four-bedroom rock house, and a sixteen stall barn with an office. It rained a lot more on the new ranch, and it was centrally located between Houston and Dallas, and besides, J. T. had often thought to himself, the only thing back in Stockdale were dead memories planted yesterday. He was looking forward to making some new memories.

J. T. pulled into Vernon and Barbara Van Allen's farm around 8:30 p.m. Thursday night and was surprised at how tired he felt when he stepped out of the one-ton crew cab. He stretched his arms high over his head and slowly rotated his hips to get the kink out of his back.

Your starting to act like an old man, J. T., Vernon told him as he walked out of the front porch of his red brick house.

J. T. laughed, then walked over and shook Vernon's hand, and said, I can still jump up in the saddle every morning, Vernon, but seventeen hours is a long time to be sitting behind a steering wheel.

Vernon chucked and replied, I'm sure it is, son. Come on, let's get these horses unloaded before they tear your trailer down.

Vernon and J. T. spent the next half hour unloading the four horses.

Damn, that's sure a nice-looking mare, Vernon exclaimed as J. T. led the big mare into the barn.

You're lookin' at the next world champion, sir, J. T. told him as he walked the mare into her stall.

J. T. had put hay and fresh water into each horses stall and laughed at the four horses who all seemed a little miffed that there was no grain for supper.

Aren't you going to give them any feed, J. T.? Vernon asked.

No, sir, I don't like to grain my horses when they're traveling, J. T. replied. Less chance of them collicking this way. Besides, we'll be in Minneapolis tomorrow night. I'll start feeding them grain again Saturday morning. Two days without their grain won't hurt them any, the young horseman added.

J. T. then asked Vernon to come and look at one if the two-year-old colts down at the end stall. This is one fine colt here, Vernon. He's been showing a lot speed in the mornings, J. T. said. I think he's the runnin' kind for sure.

Is he one of Brad's horses? Vernon asked.

No, J. T. replied. He belongs to one of Brad's owners who lives in Minneapolis, who also owns the bay colt in the stall. J. T. pointed to the stall across the alleyway of the barn. We're gonna run both of them in the Minnesota futurity about three weeks from now. J. T. then told Vernon, I sure like the way you have your barn set up, Vernon. How come you don't raise any racehorses on this farm, we'd sure run 'em when they were old enough to race for you.

Vernon laugh and said, No, son, I've got my two old roping horses, and Barbara has her two paint mares that were left over from when our two girls lived at home and were showing horses. Taking care of four horses is enough for me and Barbara. Besides, I just retired from years of delivering mail. I want to take it easy for a while.

J. T. said, Well, you've sure got a nice place here, sir.

Thank you. Now let's go see if Barbara saved anything for you to eat up at the house, Vernon replied.

Vernon turned off the light in the barn and left one light on in the alleyway, and the two men walked up to the house in the dark.

After J. T. had eaten his supper, Barbara asked him if he would like another helping.

No, ma'am, J. T. answered. I'm stuffed. That was the best meal I've eaten in a long, long time.

James Calhoun, you don't eat enough to keep a bird alive. No wonder you're so skinny, Barbara scolded.

Well, you may be right, ma'am, J. T. said. But I'm still eating better than I was three years ago when I was trying to make weight every weekend.

Barbara laughed and said, I suppose you're right about that, hon. Then she looked at Vernon and back at J. T. and asked, How come Brad has decided to start racing horse in Minnesota? My lord, he's got horses scattered all over the United States.

Well, J. T. said slowly as he reached across the table and took the can of Coors Light Vernon handed to him, Brad thinks we have a really good chance to win the NBC Challenge at Canterbury Park this spring. Since we kept the big mare in training this winter, she's in peak form, so if we get her qualified now, we can let her down this summer at Brad's farm in Katy and keep her fresh during July and August when it's so hot. Then come September, we can gear her back up for the finals at Lone Star in November. Those two colts I'm hauling belong to the Olsens. They live up in Minneapolis, so Brad promised them last Labor Day out in Ruidoso that if they bought those two yearlings, he would run them in the futurity they have up in Minnesota.

Vernon chuckled and then asked, Well, are you planning on spending the whole summer up in Minnesota, J.T.?

No, just until we win all their money, replied J. T. Brad says that is gonna be our year, and I think he might be right, the young man boasted.

Vernon laughed and said, So if Brad's down in El Paso where his newest wife staying, he's still married, isn't he?

Yes, J. T. answered. He took a drink of his beer and then replied, As far as I know, I try to stay away from Brad's love life.

Barbara, who was loading dishes in the dishwasher, stopped and said, That's smart thinking, James. Why, Brad's old enough to be her father. What was he thinking when he married her? she asked.

Vernon laughed again and said, I don't think he was thinking. He was just blinded by her good looks.

Barbara shook her head sideways and, as she closed the dishwasher door, said, Well, a pretty face doesn't make a pretty heart.

J. T. started laughing and said, Ma'am, I don't think that girl even has a heart.

They all laughed, and then Barbara said, "I don't know about you two, but I'm ready for bed. James, your bed is down at the end of the