Cowboy Colt (6 page)

Dream and I keep jogging until we meet Cassie and Rashawn at the arena. “I can't believe you guys are here already.”

“We couldn't wait to see you and Dream,” Rashawn says.

That makes me feel pretty good. They're terrific friends, even if I am the third wheel. “I hope Mr. Harper says it's okay to ride Dream.” I look at my horse and stroke her jawline with my finger.

“I bet he will,” Cassie says. She nudges her pony to come closer. It takes a couple of squeezes with her knees. Misty can be stubborn sometimes. “She looks great, Ellie. She's really put on a lot of weight. In a good way,” she adds quickly.

“Is Mr. Harper here yet?” I can't wait to get the okay to ride.

Rashawn shakes her head. “Just us. Nobody else yet.”

“Except Colt, right?” I look around. “Where is he?”

“Colt?” Cassie frowns at Rashawn. “I haven't seen him. Have you?”

“He's not here yet,” Rashawn says.

“Are you sure? I stopped by his house. He wasn't home.”

“There he is!” Cassie shouts. She urges her pony forward, a step at a time.

I turn, expecting to see Colt. But it's Mr. Harper. He's driving his truck with the four-horse trailer hitched behind it. I sure hope I won't be needing one of his riding horses. I want to ride my Dream.

The second Mr. Harper and Ashley step out of the truck, I'm waiting for them. “So? What do you think, Mr. Harper? Is Dream ready yet?”

He takes one look at her. “Ellie, it's hard to believe this is the scraggly mare that had us running all over town trying to catch her. You've done a good job fattening her up. I'd say you're good to go.”

“Yes!” I hug my horse.

He tosses me a safety helmet and asks if I want to borrow a saddle. But I decide to ride bareback, like my buddies.

The other 4-H riders start showing up, about a dozen kids riding in from all directions. Mr. Harper saddles Hancock's Warrior, a bay jumper, for Ashley. Two girls don't have horses of their own. So one takes a gentle saddle horse I've ridden lots of times before, and the other mounts a Tennessee walking horse I've ridden once.

“Where's Colt?” Mr. Harper asks.

“I guess he isn't here yet.” I look around the field again. No Colt.

“I hope he shows. I brought Galahad for him.” He grins at me. “But I think we have more important things to think about now. Ellie, how would you like a boost up on your new horse?”

The instant I slide onto Dream's back, I feel like I belong here. It's like my legs and her sides were made to fit together like this. The only problem is that her spine is still a little too sharp for comfort. But I know it will soften up as she puts on more weight.

“Um . . . maybe I'll take you up on that offer to borrow a saddle, Mr. Harper.”

Cassie and I borrow English saddles, and Rashawn borrows a Western saddle with an extra-long cinch.

I mount without any help. I am so grateful to be sitting on my own horse.
Thanks, God. Thank You, thank You, thank You.

“Way to go, Ellie!” somebody shouts. It's Miranda, a sixth grader, who rides an Appaloosa that's solid brown on the front half but spotted on its rump.

Other kids shout out congratulations too.

Then Dream and I ride into the arena for our first horsemanship lesson. The rest of the morning is a joyful blur. Mr. Harper shouts out instructions as we circle the arena.

“Balance, balance, balance!”

“Check your position! Don't let your ankles cave in. Toes pointed in.”

“Sit tall in the saddle, people! Look up and past your horse's ears.”

“Relax your arms. Elbows close, but not touching.”

“Don't forget to breathe! Your horse will pick up your tension.”

After a while, though, it all becomes natural. Dream and I simply ride, enjoying each other's friendship.

* * *

I'm the last one to leave the fairgrounds when the lesson ends. I hang around the Harper trailer while they load their horses.

“I can't believe Colt didn't show,” I tell Mr. Harper. “I know how psyched he's been about working with Galahad.” Galahad is a young gelding, but he'll make a super cutting horse. Quarter horses usually make the best barrel racers.

“Well, there will be other chances. I'm sorry I had to cancel horsemanship next Saturday, though.” Mr. Harper unties the last rope from his trailer. “I can't let Ashley miss that Breckenridge show. Too many points at stake, and that show's in our circuit.”

“That's okay, Mr. Harper. It's Colt's birthday party on Saturday anyway.”

As Mr. Harper leads the saddle horses into the trailer, I imagine it's a week from today, Colt's birthday.

The whole class has turned out for Colt's birthday party, except Ashley, who has to go to the horse show. It's a perfect day—sunny and warm but not too hot. One by one, Colt unwraps gifts from our classmates. There's only one left, the gift from his best friend. Me.

“Come outside, Colt,” I tell him.

He frowns, but he follows me out to his backyard. And there stands Galahad, the beautiful bay quarter horse.

“Mr. Harper, how much would Galahad, or a horse like Galahad, cost?” I ask.

He stops what he's doing and eyes the quarter horse. “I don't think I have a mind to sell Galahad. He's a good one. I think he's going to make a great barrel racer. But I imagine any good cutting horse would go for a few thousand dollars or more.”

“A few . . . ?” I can't finish. I knew a registered quarter horse would cost a lot of money. Only I didn't know it would cost
that
much.

How am I going to come up with that kind of money?

9

Gift Horse

I should be totally thankful and happy as I ride home. And I am. I got to ride my own horse at 4-H horsemanship. Dream did everything right too.

Not only that, but Larissa never showed up. One more thing to be thankful for.

Only I can't stop thinking about getting a horse for Colt. I'll never be able to afford a horse, especially a quarter horse like Colt wants.

I ride the first half of the trip home using a saddle from Mr. Harper and lead Dream the last half to cool her off. When we get to my backyard, I brush her dry and thank her for giving me the best ride of my life.

Ethan and the Bear are still throwing pitches. Actually, they look like they're mostly talking. Except Ethan doesn't speak, and the Bear can't sign.

I wave to them, then go inside so I can get to work finding Colt a horse. First, I start searching the Internet, but all the horses are too expensive and too far from Hamilton anyway. Finally I give up on cyberspace and set up an office at the dining table, like Dad does. Armed with old copies of our local newspaper, I track down every lead.

Every horse listed in the paper is too expensive. I call about all the ads that don't give a price, and they're asking for even more than the others.

When Mom gets home from the fire station, I tell her my plan . . . and the problem with my plan.

“I see what you mean,” she says. She hangs up her fire station volunteer gear. “But as your granny used to say, there's more than one way to skin a cat.”

It's a nasty saying. But I'm pretty sure it means there may be other ways to get my friend a horse.

“What about getting a horse from one of the animal shelters?” I ask.

“The shelters I know of are sending horses to that wildlife refuge down south, in the Ozarks,” Mom says. “I'll make some calls. But don't get your hopes up.”

But I have to keep my hopes up. After all, we got Dream from a cat farm. Horse miracles do happen. And if they can happen once, why can't they happen twice?

“Are those two still at it?” Mom asks, staring out the back window.

We watch them huddle, then come away and pitch, then huddle again. “The Bear doesn't know sign language, does he?” I ask.

“I don't think so.” Mom gets two bottles of water and tosses them to me.

I take the water outside and offer to sign for Ethan and the Bear.

The Bear takes his water and downs it in one gulp. For the next fifteen minutes he barks orders at me as if I'm the one pitching. I sign to Ethan:

No rainbow tosses. Straight and flat, even in warm-ups.

Most kids finish a pitch with their arm next to their waist. Don't! Bend that knee and keep going.

The Bear drops his hat beside Ethan's left foot and tells him to pick up the hat after every delivery. I watch a few pitches, followed by hat pickups. It works. Ethan's pitches are straighter and faster than ever.

They both do what the Bear calls a flamingo drill. He makes me do it too. We stand with one knee lifted, trying to keep our balance, and stay in that position as long as we can.

In flamingo position, I ask the Bear, “What about a curveball? Our friend Colt was going to help Ethan with his curve.”

“No curve!” the Bear shouts. “No slider! No junk!” Even with all the shouting, he hasn't lost his balance. He keeps standing on one leg, the other knee bent. “Throwing junk is how kids hurt their arms!”

Ethan signs,
The Bear is teaching me a changeup pitch instead of a curve. No stress on the arm with a changeup.

Ethan jogs to a little mound they've built in the backyard. He throws a couple of pitches that I assume are changeups. They look slow.

I would hate for Ethan to ruin his arm when he is only in second grade. Maybe it's a good thing Colt didn't help Ethan with a curveball after all. I was so mad at him when he didn't show up to help my brother before the ball game. I was even a little mad at God for letting Ethan get stood up like that. But maybe God was looking out for Ethan's arm all along.

“Girl!” The Bear's shout brings me back. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“What?” I glance at him, then at Ethan. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be signing. “Sorry.”

Ethan takes off his glove and jogs over to me.
What's wrong, Ellie?
he signs.

I shake my head. “It's Colt.”

Did you two fight again?

“No. I want to get him a horse for his birthday. But I don't have the money. I guess it's a crazy idea.”

“You got yourself a horse,” the Bear interrupts. “How'd you swing that?”

I sign the Bear's words to Ethan. He nods. “I prayed for it. But it took years and years. This time I only have a week.”

A sound comes from the Bear's mouth. At first I think it's a giant roar. Then I realize . . . it's laughter. He laughs until tears stream down his face. When he's done, he says, “All this fuss is over a horse you don't got?”

“Yeah,” I admit.

“You need a horse. I have one I need to get rid of.”

“You have a horse?” Somehow I can't picture the Bear on a horse.

“I do. But I don't get down to the ranch much anymore. I've been trying to find the old boy a good home.”

Old boy.
I picture a horse that looks kind of like the Bear, old and frail. “How old is your horse?”

“About fifteen, I reckon.”

Fifteen isn't that old for a horse. Not if the horse has been taken care of.

I sign to Ethan,
Did you pray for a horse for Colt?

Nope. It's all you, Sis. And you must be getting better at it. It didn't take you seven years this time.
He laughs, a sweet noise that sounds like it comes directly from his heart.

I'm afraid to get excited about this. I want to ask the Bear more questions. Has he taken good care of the horse? What kind of horse is it? But Granny used to say you should never look a gift horse in the mouth, meaning don't be ungrateful about something you've been given for free. So I keep my mouth shut.

Ethan must be on my wavelength, though. He signs,
What kind of horse is it?

The Bear waits until I'm done interpreting Ethan's question. Then he answers, “A cow horse. Ol' Bullet might not be much to look at. But he's got heart. And heart can take you a long way in just about any business.”

10