Meg clipped a long lead rope to Mr. Gray Hat.
The gray threw his head and danced away, then, at Meg’s urging, began circling the arena at a trot.
She let Mr. Gray Hat run on the long lead, allowing him to get comfortable with her and with his new situation.
She stood out in the middle, her eyes pinned on the horse.
In a few minutes, he seemed to become more fluid, almost relaxed. Meg knew then that this was a good horse. But three years of neglect had made him cranky.
She tugged on the lead. Mr. Gray Hat slid to a stop. He lowered his head and eyed her.
She approached slowly, her hand extended so the horse could smell her, like you’d come up on an unknown dog.
Mr. Gray Hat stood his ground. He blew and stretched his neck.
Meg inched closer.
The gray snorted and jerked away.
Meg pulled him back and again reached out.
This time he held, and Meg ran her hand over his nose, which he seemed to like. She stepped closer and gently rubbed his face and neck.
As if under some kind of spell, the horse dropped his head low, then lower still, his eyes half-closed. A lump rose in Meg’s throat. You poor thing. All you needed was for someone to pay attention to you.
The spectators were silent.
Meg slipped Mr. Gray Hat’s worn leather halter off and replaced it with the one in her back pocket. It was bright red and hand-tied. To this she attached the long lead, with two thin strips of cowhide on the end, called a popper.
Meg sent him around the arena in a clean, swift trot. When Mr. Gray Hat started to take off, Meg shook the rope sharply and spun his hindquarters away by tapping his flank with the popper.
The horse whirled around, stopped, and stood still, looking at her with surprise. For a moment his ears flattened back, a sign of anger.
But they didn’t stay there.
Meg whispered a few soft words and again held out her hand.
The man in the tan hat shook his head in disbelief as his horse walked toward her and stood, head down, as if shy.
Meg cooed, her voice falling softly from the speakers. “Easy, now. We’re doing fine. Yeah.”
Again, she sent him around the arena, this time at an easy trot, giving him less and less lead rope so he’d close in around the saddle and blanket standing upright in the middle.
Mr. Gray Hat circled and circled, until his curiosity got the best of him. He broke stride and moved in toward the saddle and blanket.
“There we go, now,” Meg whispered. “There we go.”
She waited, watching.
The horse quickly lost interest and looked up to stare at the crowd, as if remembering that they were there. This caused a sprinkle of laughter.
He looked back and stepped closer to the saddle and checked out the smell of it.
“This is where patience comes in,” Meg told the spectators in a low voice. “You have to let the horse have a say in the process.”
Mr. Gray Hat picked up the saddle blanket in his teeth and shook it.
The crowd roared with delight.
Meg smiled when she saw Josie standing and clapping.
“This horse has a sense of humor,” Meg said, taking the blanket back.
“And you, young lady, have a magic touch,” the man in the tan hat called out.
The gray looked over at him. More laughter.
“Okay, you little monkey,” Meg said. “Now you’re showing off.”
Meg grinned and looked toward her audience. “You don’t make a horse learn something, you let him learn it.”
She took the saddle blanket and rubbed it about Mr. Gray Hat’s shoulders and withers. He seemed almost content with all the attention.
He stood perfectly still as Meg placed the blanket on his back. She lifted the saddle up against her hip and without taking her eyes off his, or her hand off the lead, lightly swung it into place.
The gray scooted forward a step, and Meg wiggled the lead. He lifted his head but held still.
Then, whispering softly, Meg slipped around to the other side and caught up the cinch with one hand, loosened the latigo strap with the other, and gently drew it up firm about the belly.
When Mr. Gray Hat crow hopped to the side, Meg soothed him until he was still.
The gray was saddled.
The crowd stood and clapped and whistled.
Let’s see how far we can take this. Meg put a foot into the stirrup and climbed into the saddle.
Mr. Gray Hat sidestepped, then backed away and reared up on his hind legs. Meg leaned forward so she wouldn’t be thrown off the back, grabbing his mane and the saddle horn. “Easy, boy, easy.”
Mr. Gray Hat bucked once and broke into a stiff-legged trot. Meg rode him around the arena, and as she did, he settled into a smooth and fluid lope.
After two laps, she reined him in near the stands. The gray pranced with his head high, skittish but responsive to Meg’s hand.
She’d done it.
“This isn’t magic,” she told the crowd. “Anyone can do it if they’re willing to take the time. You just have to learn the horse’s way of talking to you. Simple horse language. Nobody, and no horse, likes to be bullied or forced into doing something, right?”
She looked over to the man in the tan hat. “Now, come on out here, mister, and eat your hat.”
The audience roared as he hunched out into the arena, the brim of his hat in his teeth.