Emma and the Cutting Horse (11 page)

Emma nodded. She was beginning to realize
that there was much more to cutting a calf than most onlookers
noticed.

Emma was just beginning to relax when John
looked across the fence at her and asked, “Want to take a shot at
ridin’ a cutting horse?”

Now her heart was in her throat again.

“That bay gelding tied to the fence in the
back of the arena is an older fella. He knows his stuff and ain’t
too hard to ride. I’d like for Miss Dellfene to be in the arena
when another horse is cutting cattle. She needs to learn that she
can relax when other horses are working the herd. I’ll talk you
through what to do. Want to try it?” John asked.

Emma looked mutely at her father.

“Go ahead,” he said. “You’re a good rider,
and it’s always fun to try new things. I’m sure John wouldn’t ask
you if he didn’t think you could do it.”

“Okay,” Emma said. “Tell me what to do.”

“There’s a bridle hanging on the saddle
horn,” John told her. “Put it on him and ride him around a little
to get the feel of him and warm him up.”

The bay gelding was smaller than Ditto, and
had a Roman nose. Emma slipped his halter off, and he opened his
mouth to accept the bit and stood quietly while she pulled the
bridle over his ears. She led him a few steps away from the fence
and tightened up the cinch. When she stepped on, the stirrups were
much too long.

“Take him over to your dad and get him to
shorten the stirrups. You have to keep your weight on your feet
when you’re ridin’ a cutting horse.” John said.

Emma’s dad came into the arena and put the
stirrups up until she felt comfortable in them. The saddle had a
very different feel than her own saddle. It was a cutting horse
saddle with a wide pommel. Oxbow stirrups swung from the stirrup
leathers and helped hold Emma’s feet in position. The seat of the
saddle was completely flat with no built-up area in the front and
it had a smaller horn for easy gripping. She moved the gelding over
to the rail and walked him several rounds in the back half of the
arena so the cattle wouldn’t be disturbed. When she squeezed him
with her legs he broke into a rough trot, and Emma had to put most
of her weight in the stirrups to keep from bouncing.

“Kinda rough, ain’t he?” John asked,
chuckling as she passed by. “Lope him a round or two and then I’ll
tell ya how to get him into the herd and cut a calf.”

Emma pulled him back to a walk and then
tapped him with her outside heel, asking him to lope. He had a nice
slow lope, but his circles got smaller and smaller, as though he
was in a hurry to get to the center of the arena and stop. Emma
reined him over to the fence and made him stay close to it, and
when he realized that she was not going to let him choose the
course, he did as she asked.

John got back on Miss Dellfene and walked her
to the center of the arena.

“Bring him over here, Emma, and I’ll fill you
in on what to do,” John said.

Emma walked the gelding over to John, and
Miss Dellfene backed her ears and stepped away, as though the
gelding’s presence offended her.

“You have a good seat in the saddle,” John
told her. “Your dad told me that you have been riding colts for him
for years and know what you’re doing.”

“Thanks,” Emma said nervously.

“Don’t worry about what to do when you get a
cow cut out. Lucky knows his business; all you have to do is keep
one leg on each side of him. Once you get a cow out, drop the
reins. Well, don’t
really
drop them; just give him a lot of
loose rein and hold on to the saddle horn with one hand. Maybe even
both hands. When he starts to work the calf, keep your weight in
the stirrups and
push
on the saddle horn.”

“Push?” Emma asked.

“When you push, it forces you back against
the cantle of the saddle so you don’t flop around so much. You can
stop him anytime by putting your hand on his neck, just in front of
the saddle horn. Don’t try to turn him with the reins; a cutting
horse has to work the calf all by itself. I’ll tell ya when to
quit.”

“I hope I’m not about to make a fool of
myself,” Emma said. Her knees felt a little quivery, and she wasn’t
sure how she could put her weight in the stirrups if her knees
wouldn’t hold her.

“This ain’t a test,” John said. “You’ll do
fine. Walk him into the herd real slow and try to get that black
heifer out. She’s kinda lazy. So is Lucky, for that matter. Go on
now; you’re gonna love it!”

With some trepidation, Emma urged Lucky into
a slow walk and guided him through the cattle to the back fence, as
she had seen John do so many times. She turned him around and
stopped. One of the herd holders, giving her a “you can do it”
grin, rode forward and the calves began moving around her. When the
black heifer started to pass in front of her, Emma squeezed Lucky
forward and the heifer turned out toward the center of the arena,
trotting forward several steps. Emma’s stomach fluttered. Lucky
followed for a few steps and then stopped.

“Drop him!” John hollered.

Emma let the reins out and wrapped both hands
around the saddle horn. When the heifer turned back toward him,
Lucky’s front legs seemed to drop out from under him as he
crouched, and Emma felt like she was going to fall over his
shoulders into the dust of the arena.

“Push on the horn!” John shouted.

Emma pushed and righted herself, just as the
heifer ducked to the left. Lucky lunged in front of the calf, his
powerful muscles bunching and his head at eye level with the calf.
Emma pushed hard on her right stirrup and barely stayed on. In her
mind, a picture flashed of John sitting perfectly balanced and
still on a cutting horse without any apparent effort at all. The
calf stopped as soon as Lucky got in front of it, and turned to try
an escape in the other direction. This time Emma was ready and
pushed her heels down hard, hanging on to the saddle horn like a
drowning sailor to a life preserver.

The heifer slowed after her third dash for
the herd, and Emma dared to glance up at John, sitting on Miss
Dellfene in the middle of the arena.

“You’re doing great! Relax a little!” John
grinned at her.

The heifer made one last feeble attempt to
get past Lucky, and suddenly Emma realized that she was sitting up
straight in the saddle, no longer flopping back and forth, but
anticipating the horse’s moves. In a matter of seconds the whole
experience had gone from terrifying to exhilarating. Just as she
felt she was getting the hang of it, the heifer turned away and
trotted off toward the far end of the arena.

“Tell him to quit now,” John called. Emma
dared to take one hand off the saddle horn, touched Lucky’s neck,
and felt him immediately relax. Her heart was hammering.

She squeezed the gelding forward and rode up
beside John, who reached over and patted her on the arm.

I’ve seen a few grown men eat arena dust
during their first ride on a cutting horse, kiddo,” John said. “You
were really getting the hang of it. Want to go again?”

“Not right this minute. My knees are shaking.
But you were right, I did love it. I’ve never ridden a horse on
automatic pilot before.”

“Okay, then. Take him over to your dad and
let’s see if he’s as good a rider as you are.”

Chapter
Ten

At home, Emma concentrated on getting Camaro
started under saddle. She drove her on the lunge line wearing the
saddle nearly every morning, and then she began putting a bridle
with a snaffle bit over her halter so the mare could get used to
carrying the bit in her mouth. For several days, Camaro chewed on
the bit, dripping slobber on the ground as she tried to spit it
out. After a week of wearing the bridle Emma felt everything was
ready for her first real ride. Her dad agreed to make time the
following Saturday morning to watch her in case things went south
like they had with Miss Dellfene.

The day was already hot by 8 a.m. and
Camaro’s sluggish performance on the lunge line suggested that she
was hoping for a nap in the shade. Emma’s dad came into the arena
and stood by the mare’s head as Emma stepped on. Unused to the
weight pulling on her left side when a rider mounted, Camaro took a
step to the left. The saddle slipped a little on her back. She had
what Emma’s father called “mutton withers.” Her back was wide and
flat and her withers didn’t hold the saddle in the center as well
as horses with more pronounced withers did.

“Whoa,” Emma said, lifting the reins. She put
her foot in the opposite stirrup and straightened the saddle,
sitting still for several minutes to give the mare a chance to
relax. Then she leaned slightly to each side so that catching a
glimpse of her up there would not take the mare by surprise.
Finally, she patted her on the neck, picked up the reins again and
squeezed gently with both legs and said, “Walk up.” Nothing
happened.

“Why don’t I lead her a little ways to show
her what you want,” her dad asked, taking a gentle hold on one rein
and stepping forward. Emma squeezed again and Camaro stepped out
obediently. Her dad removed his hand from the rein but kept walking
forward. Camaro followed.

“Now let’s see if you have any brakes,” her
father said when they got near the end of the arena. Emma pulled
gently on the reins and said “whoa,” and Camaro stopped. She knew
that word all too well. Emma immediately released the pressure on
the bit. The movement of the bit in her mouth started her chewing
again, but she soon gave it up.

“I think you got this,” her dad said patting
the mare and walking behind her toward the gate. Emma squeezed
again and said, “Walk up.” Camaro took two or three steps and
stopped.

“I think that’s going to be your major
battle,” Emma’s dad said from outside the fence. “You’re going to
have to convince her to keep moving until you decide it’s time for
her to stop.”

“That sure wasn’t my problem with Miss
Dellfene,” Emma joked, squeezing again until Camaro stepped
forward.

In spite of her gentle nature and slow gaits,
Camaro learned surprisingly fast. She was a pleaser and did her
best to cooperate with Emma. On the first few rides, Emma’s legs
ached from squeezing her forward, but she soon learned to keep
moving until Emma signaled for a change. Her trot was pretty rough,
but it gradually smoothed out as Emma bumped the reins to slow her
to a jog. Western horses were supposed to perform at a slow jog
unless asked for more speed, and Camaro was content to saunter
along. She carried her head low as a quarter horse should, and
before long Emma had enough confidence in her to ride with a loose
rein.

Several times Emma saw Kyle leaning on the
fence watching her. He watched briefly since he was in the middle
of chores, but he usually gave her the thumbs up sign. The early
evenings were blistering hot and Emma’s tank tops left her arms as
brown as a Texas pecan. Her father didn’t hold with riding in
shorts and sneakers, so her lightest jeans and boots kept her legs
paler than her arms and face and a lot hotter. Last winter she had
decided to grow out her short, brown hair, and it could finally be
tamed into a short ponytail, although curly wisps soon broke free
and fluttered around her face. A pink baseball cap kept her nose
from blistering and peeling.

“Are you up to riding Rosie in the arena with
Camaro and me?” Emma asked Kyle as Thursday approached.

“Sure thing, Susie,” he said. “If you’re not
afraid we’ll outclass you.”

“Actually, I’m hoping that having you in
there will help convince Camaro to lope. I’ve been drumming on her
ribs with the heels of my boots, but she just trots faster. She’s
definitely not one of those super sensitive horses that comes
unglued when you kick her.”

Thursday arrived with a rare summer breeze
from the north, and all the horses were energized by its relative
coolness. Camaro had known Rosie all her life, and gently touched
noses with her when Kyle led her into the arena.

“Let’s get them warmed up first,” Emma said,
“and then I’m going to try to get Camaro to lope behind you and
Rosie.”

“Okay,” Kyle said. “If she throws you way up
in the air, I’ll try to catch you.”

When Kyle signaled Rosie to lope, Emma lifted
her reins, leaned a bit to the left and said, “Canter.” Camaro
jumped forward to follow Rosie, and cantered behind her for several
strides, but then she began to toss her head and crow-hop. Emma
didn’t have any trouble staying on board, but she pulled the mare
in a small circle to the left as she had seen Gary do with Miss
Dellfene and then squeezed her into a canter again. Kyle was too
busy checking Rosie’s lead to look back.

There was no recurrence of the crow-hopping
behavior as they repeated the maneuver in both directions, and Emma
concentrated on keeping Camaro’s lope slow by staying behind Rosie
and bumping the reins. Emma could already tell that she was going
to love riding this mare, although it would be a long time before
she was as reliable as Ditto. A few more successful sessions like
this and she would be ready for a pasture ride.

* * *

August came, and school started again. To
Emma’s horror, Candi Haynes was in her American History class. She
sat in a back corner with one of her snooty friends, whispering and
laughing. The whispering continued, even after the teacher came in
and called the class to order. The teacher, Coach Davis, directed a
withering glare at the girls, which quieted them temporarily. Emma
took a seat on the other side of the room near the front. She had
only glanced at Candi for a moment, but something about her seemed
harder and angrier. Emma decided to ignore her unless she was
provoked, and bent over to fill out the endless first day of school
forms that were handed out in every class. When the bell rang at
the end of the period, she took her time gathering up her books and
papers. She didn’t want to appear to be racing out of the room to
avoid a confrontation with Candi. To her surprise, Candi and her
friend were already strolling out the door when she looked up.