The first big gust from the crowd came as Seabiscuit was led from the barn to the paddock. Marcela, who had stood with him in the barn, stayed behind."I'd seen Johnny's leg," she said."I just couldn't watch it."
When Pollard walked into the paddock, he was greeted by Doc Babcock, who had flown down from Willits. The doctor carefully unrolled Pollard's leg bandages.
Yummy, who was there at the start, was there for the end. David Alexander was with him. Yummy, Alexander remembered, "sidled up to me like some character out of a spy novel."
"I've got it," Yummy whispered.
When Alexander asked what he had, Yummy flashed a little bottle of bow-wow wine, secreted away in his coat pocket. He told Alexander about his promise to Pollard: If he won, Yummy would sneak it to him.
Pollard strode over to his mount. Smith pulled the saddle over Seabiscuit's withers and tighted the girth. Marcela's Saint Christopher medal shone against the saddle cloth. Howard was beside himself with anxiety. When he was nervous he was talkative, and he had spent the afternoon called Marcela at the barn over and over again and chatting at her. Now he prattled on at Pollard, giving him every needless detail of how to ride the race. Pollard humored him, then turned to Smith. The old cow-puncher lifted Pollard onto Seabiscuit's back.
"You know the horse, and the horse knows you," said Smith, winking. "Bring him home."
Howard tapped out a cigarette and tried to light it. His hand were trembling so much that his match went out. He lit a second match, then a third, and they too sputtered out. Alexander wished him luck.
"You're shaking like a leaf," he said watching Howard work on the fourth match.
"I guess I'm a little nervous," Howard replied, smiling.
Seabiscuit and Pollard stepped down the long lane toward the track. Howard was whispering, "I hope he can. I hope he can. I hope he can." His jaws quivered.
As Seabiscuit stepped onto the track, swinging his head left, then right, the fans erupted in a massive ovation, drowning out the bugle playing "Boots and Saddles." There was no question about the crowd's allegiance. In the paddock the horsemen, virtually to a man, were hoping that if they didn't get it, the old Biscuit would. "I'd like to see Seabiscuit win," said a rival owner, "even though I'm running against him." Up in the press box, Jolly Roger and all the other Wise We Boys had dropped their objectivity. Even Oscar Otis was up there, cheering Pollard on.
Alexander looked up at Pollard as he passed. The Cougar, Alexander later wrote, had "the old impish go-to-hell grin" on his face. Alexander thought of Huck Finn.
Seabiscuit walked to the gate, the applause building and building. In the hush of the barn, Marcela suddenly changed her mind. She ran down the shed row, cut out into the daylight, and rushed toward the track. She knew she couldn't get to the grandstand in time. She spotted a water wagon parked ahead, track workers perched up on top of it, and ran toward it. Her dress whipped in the wind.