Aunt Emma looked at the foal, then at the boy. She lowered her eyes as she said, “Well, see that you do, Tom.” And her voice was amazingly soft for Aunt Emma.
Uncle Wilmer had had his head cocked, listening, but he hadn’t caught the woman’s words. He turned to her questioningly, but she swept by, ignoring him.
When Aunt Emma reached the gate, she stopped. “Wilmer!” she shouted. “You come along. I got work for you!”
Grudgingly, Uncle Wilmer moved away from the fence after one more look at the foal. “It’s a good one, all right,” he said mostly to himself. And only when he was about to follow Aunt Emma did he turn to the boy to say, “Don’t suppose you fed the chickens, did you, Tom?”
The boy’s gaze left the foal for Uncle Wilmer. “I forgot them. I’m sorry. I’ll do it now.”
His uncle walked toward the gate and, without turning his head around, said, “It’s all right. I’ll feed them. You stay with him.”
So Tom stayed with his colt. And he decided he was going to stay there all day, if he could. He didn’t want to miss a thing. He’d even write Jimmy from here. He would say, “Dear Jimmy, he came this morning. A colt, just like you wanted. And I think he’s the most beautiful, most wonderful colt there ever was.… ”
HARD HANDS
5
Very often during the following week, Aunt Emma suggested bluntly to Tom that he might as well sleep in the barn for all she saw of him. “Land sakes!” she told him. “Next thing we know you’ll be eating oats!”
And, more often than not, whenever the word oats was mentioned, Uncle Wilmer would turn to Tom, shake his head sadly, and say, “You’re wastin’ good money, Boy. The mare don’t need oats now. Grass is plenty good enough for her. Grass makes milk for the colt.”
And Tom would always reply, “She needs both, Uncle Wilmer. Jimmy Creech says she does.”
“ ‘Jimmy Creech says this’! ‘Jimmy Creech says that’!” Uncle Wilmer would bellow, stalking from the room.
But his uncle’s tantrums did not bother Tom any more than did his aunt’s sarcastic remarks about his living in the barn. For Tom’s world now centered there and he accepted it. Hour after hour, day after day, he watched the colt.
He saw the sharp ribs seemingly disappear overnight and the chunky body fill out before his eyes. No longer did the colt shuffle along on uncertain legs. After his second day he was trotting about the paddock, falling only when he took too fast a turn.
And Tom watched him with wondering eyes, marveling at the rapid growth and agility of one who only a few days ago had been so helpless.
By the end of the first week, the paddock was almost too small for the frolicking colt, and Tom knew that the time had come to put him and the Queen in the pasture. He had waited for the colt to gain full confidence in his long legs before putting him to the task of coping with the pasture’s hilly and uneven terrain. He had another reason, too, for having kept the Queen and her colt in the paddock. Here he could get to the colt more easily than he’d be able to do in the acres of pastureland. Winning the colt’s confidence and handling him often was his most important job now. And it was a job he loved doing.
Tom would enter the paddock, slowly approaching the colt. And the colt would watch him with curious and still uncertain eyes. For the colt now knew who his mother was, and he kept close to her, using her big body as his protection against the world.
Always Tom would stop a few feet away from the mare. He would then stoop down, and sometimes even sit on the ground, for he had learned that the smaller he made himself the more confidence it gave the colt.
The Queen would come to him, looking for the carrots in his pockets, and the colt would follow. While feeding the mare, Tom would remain very still, never making a move to touch the colt until the small head was thrust down to him and the soft muzzle searched curiously about his clothes. Tom would let him nibble his fingers and felt only the slightest edges of the colt’s teeth, which were finding their way through tender gums. Very often then, the colt would encircle him, pulling at his clothes, while Tom ran his hand gently over the furry body and down the long slim legs to tiny hoofs.
Uncle Wilmer watched Tom’s handling of the colt with great curiosity and apparent concern. “Y’oughtn’t to make so much of him,” he would say. “You’ll get more out of him if you show him who’s boss right away, while you can still handle him. No sense in makin’ up to him like you do. Git in there and hold him, if you want to brush him. You let him do what he wants and he’ll kick the teeth out of you before long. He’s gettin’ stronger every day, an’ if you don’t act now, it ain’t goin’ to be so easy later on.”
Tom had listened, knowing his uncle meant well, but he wanted the colt to come to him of his own accord. He couldn’t have done it any other way. But he knew, too, there was much to what his uncle was telling him. He knew he had to be more careful now, for the colt was throwing his hind legs around more often and with more force. The hoofs, while still small, could do some injury if well directed.
So as Tom sat on the ground with the colt encircling him, he was more cautious, more alert than he had been the first few days, and he was on guard against the slightest movement of the hindquarters toward him.
Jimmy Creech had said to handle the colt as much as possible, but he hadn’t told him how to go about it. Until he heard from Jimmy, he would go ahead as he was doing, regardless of his uncle’s advice, even though Tom knew it was being given in his own best interest.
Jimmy Creech’s next letter came with the late afternoon mail during the middle of the colt’s second week. Eagerly Tom took it from the mailbox in the upper road. But before opening the letter, he turned to look at the barn set far below him. Across the waving fields of tall grass he could see a corner of the paddock, and there, sprawled in the sun, lay the colt.
He opened the envelope and began reading Jimmy’s large handwriting.
Clearfield Fair
July 10
Dear Tom,
I couldn’t have asked for anything more than a colt, and I’m so glad everything worked out okay. I sure understand how you must have felt, and George says he does, too.
I only got your letter today because George and I are now at the Clearfield Fair, and your letter was forwarded back home before reaching us here.
Now I’m going to tell you what to do until we all get back to Coronet. It’s not much you have to do, Tom, but it’s very important. I can’t tell you how important it is.
First thing you have to do is to win the confidence of the colt. Make sure he learns he has nothing to fear from you. Handle him all you can. Get him used to having your hands running all over him and picking up his feet. The more used to it he gets the easier it’s going to be later for all of us.
I want you to get a halter. A soft web one is best if you can get it. Put it on him now, so he can get used to it. It’ll also make it easier for you in catching him when he’s in pasture. I want you to start leading him around in a few weeks, first behind the mare, and later away from the mare. You’ll need help, so maybe your uncle will give you a hand. But I want you to be leading the colt, remember that.
He might give you a little trouble at first, Tom. He might not like being led about and not being allowed to go his own way. You got to be patient with him. I know you will be, and that’s why I turned over the mare and now the colt to you. Most men, and that includes myself, don’t have the patience we had when we were your age. That’s why I believe the colt will do better in your hands than mine or anyone I know. You’ll have to work slow, teaching him one thing at a time. When you first try to lead him, let him go his own way, if he has a mind to. Don’t fight him. Just go along with him, until before long you’ll find that you’re guiding him and he’s going along with you. But it may take days or weeks, Tom, and that’s what I mean when I say you got to have patience.
I don’t mean that you shouldn’t have a firm hand with the colt. He’s got to learn obedience and he has to learn it early in lif
e or else he’ll be a rebel later. And when he gets to be over a thousand pounds it’s a terrible job trying to make him unlearn any bad habits he picked up as a youngster. I’m simply saying that you can teach him obedience by winning his confidence and having him learn willingly just as easily as anyone can do it by force. And the results are a million times better! I’ve seen too many people try to knock obedience into a colt by giving him the rough treatment. They say it’s faster, and they’re right. But what they forget is that they usually break the colt’s spirit, too. And when that’s done you’ve killed what may have been a fine horse.
I didn’t mean to go on for so long, Tom, but I did and I’m glad I did. Do what you can with the colt, and if you can bring him back to Coronet in September knowing how to be led and having full confidence in you, I’ll be a very happy man.
Just one other thing, and that is I want you to give the colt all the oats he wants as soon as he starts stealing any from the mare and shows an interest in grain. Crushed oats are better than whole oats, for remember he’ll only have milk teeth in a couple of weeks and he won’t be able to do a good job of masticating his food.
George and I did pretty well at the Carlisle and Indiana County fairs, because Symbol is showing some speed. I’m hoping for even better results here at Clearfield. We’ll be here a week, then on to the Bedford Fair. Write to me c/o race secretary at either place.
George and I send our very best to you, and we’d sure like a photograph of the colt when you get one.
Your friend,
Jimmy Creech
Tom reread the letter before starting down the hill toward the barn.
I’ve been doing the right thing then, he thought happily. I’ve been trying to win the colt’s confidence just as Jimmy has told me to do.
When Tom reached the paddock, he found his uncle leaning on the fence. The colt was racing about, while the mare watched him. The Queen suddenly whirled, following the colt about the paddock. Together they ran, sending large divots of earth flying in all directions.
“They ought to be out in the pasture, all right,” Uncle Wilmer said.
“I’m putting them out tomorrow morning,” Tom shouted, as the colt flung his hind legs high behind him, imitating his mother.
Uncle Wilmer nodded approvingly, then said, “You shoulda done it days ago.”
Tom said nothing until the mare and colt had stopped running; then, turning to his uncle, he asked, “Where can I buy a halter in town?”
“Heh?” his uncle asked, moving closer to Tom.
Tom repeated his question in a louder voice.
“What you want it for?” Uncle Wilmer asked.
Tom gestured in the direction of the colt.
“Don’t need a halter yet,” the man said. “Y’won’t need one for a couple months at least.”
Tom raised the envelope he held in his hand. “Jimmy Creech wrote—” he began.
Uncle Wilmer shook his head so severely that the battered hat toppled from his head. Bending down to pick it up, he muttered, “Jimmy Creech. All I hear from you is Jimmy Creech.”
Tom said nothing, and his uncle turned to look at the horses.
Shrugging his shoulders, Uncle Wilmer continued, “If it was my colt instead of Jimmy Creech’s, I’d—” He paused and, shaking his head again, added, “But it ain’t. I got a pony halter you can use. It’ll fit him. You won’t find anything better in town.”
Tom waited while his uncle went into the barn and came out again, carrying the halter.
There was an unusual gleam in Uncle Wilmer’s eyes as he tossed the halter to Tom, saying, “You go ahead, then.”
Tom felt the leather and found it soft. Jimmy had said a web halter, if he could get one, but certainly this would do until he was able to find a web halter. But, he decided, I’d better punch a couple more holes so I can make it smaller; the colt’s head isn’t very big. Turning to his uncle, he asked him for his jackknife and Uncle Wilmer produced it from his pocket.
“I’ll do it,” Uncle Wilmer said. “You just hold the strap up against the fence here.”
The man made several attempts to locate the strap before the point of his knife sunk into the leather. “Eyesight ain’t what it used to be,” he muttered. “I remember the day when out huntin’ I could pick off a rabbit over two hundred yards—” His voice descended to the depths of his chest, and Tom turned to look at the colt.
There was a flurry of flashing legs as the colt once again dashed about the paddock, while his mother remained still, grazing, with only an occasional look at him. Taking too sharp a corner, the colt stumbled and went down hard. He lay still for a few seconds, then raised his head, looking dazed and a little surprised by his sudden collapse. He pulled his forelegs up and then just sat there, still looking about him. Finally he uttered a short snicker, his hind legs came up, and once more he was on his way, madly encircling the paddock, pausing only occasionally to rear upon his hind legs and paw the air with his forehoofs like a boxer feinting a blow.
“There it be,” Uncle Wilmer said, finishing his job.
Taking the small halter, Tom climbed through the bars of the paddock fence.
The colt stopped playing and stood still when he saw him.
Tom moved forward, calling to the colt. He had gone only a few yards when he stopped, hoping the colt would come to him.
The forelegs were spread far apart, the big and fuzzy eyes upon him. There was a moment’s hesitation, then the colt was moving slowly toward him.
For a few minutes Tom remained still, only talking to the colt; then, slowly, he raised the halter.
There was a quick, sudden movement as the colt pulled back, startled by the leather that had touched him. Twirling, he ran to his mother and hid behind her.
Tom heard his uncle’s deep chuckle, then, “Grab him, Tom. You ain’t goin’ to get it on him that way.”
Tom walked slowly toward the mare. He touched Jimmy Creech’s letter in his pocket. Jimmy had said, “You got to be patient with him. You got to work slow.”
The Queen raised her head to look at him. She pushed her muzzle into his hand, and finding nothing to eat turned back to her grazing. The colt was on the other side of her, and Tom walked around, only to have the colt move quickly beneath his mother’s whisking tail and away from him.
Tom waited a few minutes before following him. The colt knew something was going to be done to him and he was going to avoid it if he could. Tom held out a handful of crushed oats. But the colt ignored the feed, sweeping beneath the mare’s belly to reach the other side of her.
The Queen saw the feed and reached for it. Tom let her have it, hoping the colt too would show an interest and come to him. But he didn’t. He remained behind his mother, hidden from Tom’s sight.
Several more times Tom cautiously attempted to approach him, and only once did the colt stand still long enough for Tom to put a hand on him. He was able to run his hand up and down the short neck, but as soon as he moved the halter toward the head the colt drew back, frightened and rearing.
“You’re goin’ to make a balker of him sure as anything,” Uncle Wilmer called. “You let him get away from you now and you’re goin’ to have trouble with him, all right. Like I been tellin’ you, you got to show him who’s boss. You got to show him now.”
Close to an hour went by with Tom making futile attempts to reach the colt. The sky glowed with the brilliant red of sunset. Tom moved with the colt, hoping to get the halter on him.
Uncle Wilmer still leaned upon the paddock fence, shaking his head repeatedly, shouting his criticisms.
And his uncle’s words rang in Tom’s ears even when the man was quiet. “You’re lettin’ him get away with it. I never seen the like of it. You’re goin’ to make him an outlaw, all right, if you don’t show him who’s boss right now. You got to teach him to do what you want. You got to have a firm hand.”
As the minutes passed, Tom’s eyes became more grave. Was his uncle right? he wondered. Was he
letting the colt get away with too much? Jimmy Creech had said that he must have patience, but he had also said, “I don’t mean you shouldn’t have a firm hand with the colt. He’s got to learn obedience and he has to learn it early.”
Wasn’t his uncle saying exactly that? Perhaps he was doing more harm than good by letting the colt get away from him. Perhaps the colt should be held, even against his will, while the halter was put on. He’d find the halter wouldn’t hurt him. He’d get used to it and everything would be all right.
Tom waited until the colt’s interest was diverted from him to the Queen, then he went forward, quietly walking up to the foal as he nursed. He placed a hand on the fuzzy coat, and the colt was too absorbed in his feeding to pay any attention to him. Tom ran his hands over the small body, waiting.
When the colt had finished he turned to Tom, but made no effort to get away. The boy knew that only his raising of the halter would cause the colt to run. His arm was around the colt, his body pressed close to him. All he had to do was to hold him still for a minute while he got the halter on him. His grip tightened about the muscular body. He thought he’d be able to hold him now. As he continued talking to the colt, he raised the halter.
A startled look came into the colt’s eyes at sight of it. He felt the arm about his body. He pulled back, dragging Tom with him. Then he half-reared, twisting and turning as he came down.
Tom felt his grip on the writhing body slipping, and realized he couldn’t hold him. Rather than fight the colt any longer, he let him go.
“Now y’did it!” his uncle yelled, coming into the paddock. “Y’tried to hold him an’ he broke away from you! He’ll never forget it if you don’t teach him better.”
Uncle Wilmer swept past Tom, still shouting. And before the boy had any inkling of what his uncle intended doing, the man had the colt hard up against the Queen’s side.
The colt tried to get away, but Uncle Wilmer moved quickly, his long arms encircling the colt’s chest and haunches. Then there was a sudden twist, and the man heaved the colt off his feet and threw him to the ground, holding him still with his hands and knees.