12 Sports Aces, May 1943 — page 67: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

128A dred thousand dollars’ worth! The kind of horse you'd expect a fellow like Tip . Murray to own. Bad Boy took the bit in his teeth. Jackie’s arms went worriedly tight to hold the big red horse in. Bad Boy was a fast starter. Rate him, that’s what he had to do. Rate him—or the big fellow would kill off all his speed within four furlongs! Remiss and El Cato moved ahead as Jackie checked the red long enough for the racers on the outside to swing to the tail. Holler Guy came along- side, It would take an excruciating 1:49 to win the mile and a sixteenth today! Passing the stand, the big red stayed with the pack. El Cato was out front and Sparrow Maid was closing. Flying dirt slapped into Jackie’s face. The breath ~ pounded from him. Up there in the stands, he knew, Tip was watching him, shout- ing, gesturing with clenched fists, won- dering if his new rider was going to make good. El Cato was still out front. Jackie spoke to the Bad Boy. His response came like a giant dynamo of power. Bad Boy was a champion and knew he was a champion. His heart might be going out of him, his wind might be a painful rasp- ing ache, but he’d never show it. In the backstretch, Jackie let the big red out. The dizzy pace knocked the blood from Jackie’s brain. The half mile post was a fog in hig vision. But he thought, Ill take him through for Tip. I’ll make good. I’ll make up to Tip for sticking by me. Jackie drove to overtake Sparrow Maid. El Cato pocketed Bad Boy, and Jackie moved to squeeze through on the inside. Hooves were a maelstrom of thunder all about Jackie. He thought he would never ‘get through—but then he was through! Bad Boy ran like a robot. The strapping red was showing that Tip’s scraping a hundred grand for him was worth it. He was showing he was a crazy, running fool who never heard of tortured nerves or throbbing, racking muscles. He was one length, two lengths, three lengths out front! HOMESTRETCH HEADACHE oe brought up a laugh. 65 Dt Be Doe Bee Ge OH OH AUB Gor Orr Or On C1 rOreSreGerQerOeOeee KE POINTED for the last turn. Jackie’s tired knees and calves gripped numbly at the big red’s withers. He heard the aching rattle of Bad Boy’s breath, and then he heard hoofbeats be- hind him!. Jackie glimpsed the outthrust head of El Cato. He saw fluttering silks and he knew Sparrow Maid was moving to the outside for room. They were coming like windswept shadows. They turned for home, came down for the finish line, their jockeys whipping’and pumping. Other horses moved up on Bad Boy then. In wild tumult, a half dozen horses levelled for the finish. Jackie felt Bad Boy quiver under his legs. The Boy’s red head twisted at an angle and his eyes were crazy. Froth was at his mouth. Jackie clutched for his whip in sudden, desperate panic. He felt Bad Boy’s last tremendous surge. He’d win. He had to win. But El Cato and Sparrow Maid forged toward the wire. Remiss drove alongside. Then they were over the line, and the tumult of the crowd pierced the bitter tu- mult in Jackie’s brain. The loudspeaker yawped, “The winner: El] Cato. El Cato by a length. Sparrow Maid by a nose. And Remiss—” He’d lost! Tip gave him a chance, gave him his best horse to ride— and he’d lost! Jackie saw Tip come down out of his box. His face was a pale yellow and his thin hair was disheveled. He took the blanket the stableswipe held ready for Bad Boy. Jackie dismounted. Murray,” he choked. Tip Murray’s thin-haired head was down. He said nothing. Jackie dragged back to the jockey house. Hollis found him there later, pack- ing his riding clothes into a bag. “Hey, watcha doin’? the little ex- jockey asked. “I’m cleaning out my locker,” Jackie said. “I’m through. Mr. Murray doesn’t have to tell me.” Hollie gave him a slow look. “Because you brought Bad Boy home fifth?” He “Don’t be a drip. “Tm seb Eomichoo (E(@) S|