The silhouettes of nineteen horses stood in the middle of the Belmont track, tails swishing, heads bobbing. To a human, the horses were mere shadows on the dusty earth. But to the horses in the surrounding stables, they could see the ghosts perfectly and without fear. Seabiscuit, ever the ladies' man, nickered to a nearby black mare only to receive a snort of contempt.
"Where is Black Gold?" Kelso demanded, "Are we to wait all night?" The hot-headed gelding stamped his hoof hard into the sandy ground.
"Be patient Kelso," Native Dancer rolled his eyes, "It's not like we don't have forever to wait." Kelso glared at the gray stallion, but remained quiet. All of a sudden, the shape of a horse appeared nearby. Whispers of 'Finally' came up in the large herd until they realized who it was. The brown stallion looked very old, his knees bent and his neck straight and sunken in. His large eyes were sad, and his coat bore the scars of a lifetime of abuse.
"What are you doing here?" Kelso growled, "This is a race for Champions, not the likes of you!"
"That is ENOUGH Kelso." The herd parted to let a large chestnut stallion pass, his head was held high and his voice rang with authority. The horses near the old horse backed away. "Welcome friend, welcome Brokers Tip." Man O' War gently touched the old horse's shoulder. The brown horse dipped his head in respect.
"Thank you Man O' War. I have come to say that my brother, Black Gold, is unable to participate in this race," he paused, "I am to take his place." Some of the horses gasped, others nodded in understanding.
"What do you know of racing?" Eight Belles questioned, "In life, you only won once!" Brokers Tip gazed at the filly that he knew only too well. He had spent many an hour watching over her, impressed and admittingly infatuated with her. He watched her grow up and die doing what she loved; a filly that would never become a mare.
"I know more than you think Bell," he surprised her with her nickname, "because of the cruelty of man, I was denied victory in life. Now I must be denied running in death?" Ruffian stepped forward and nuzzled him.
"I think he should race," she said softly, "he's got heart." Man O' War nodded his head.
"He will race."