CHICO CLIMBED EAGERLY INTO MISTY’S stock trailer, lured by the thrilling scent of cattle. The ride was short, though. He’d barely started to eat from the hay net when the trailer slowed and stopped, and he stepped out into another new world.
Same huge sky, mountain backdrop, sweep of high dry grassland. There was even a small log ranch house. But everything else was completely different.
There was a big metal barn and a broad, covered arena nearby. Dust rose from a high-walled pen across the yard, and Chico heard cows moving. From another pen came a creaking sound, like the clothesline next door at Dean’s house, where the neighbor used to reel out her sheets on sunny mornings. Chico thought he heard a horse moving in that pen.
A pickup truck drove out. Another drove in. Five more were parked in the sun. Everywhere, young people in big hats rode horses between the buildings, or clustered at the backs of trucks, talking. They all seemed calm, purposeful, cheerful.
“Hi, there!” Misty rode toward them on a superior-looking palomino mare. The mare didn’t need to say Queen! She just flicked a slender ear at Chico, and he suddenly felt meek and polite.
“Take Chico into the barn and saddle up,” Misty said to Sierra. “I’ve got a lesson to finish, and then we’ll see what we’ve got here.”
Sierra led Chico into the barn. It was big and full of horses. She tied him in the aisle, and then went back to the family truck for brushes, bridle, and saddle. Sierra was nervous. Chico felt her hands shake as she groomed and saddled him.
After a while, Dad said, “Looks like they’re done.” Sierra unhitched Chico and led him out. A sweating horse was led from the high-sided corral. Misty, on the palomino, waved.
“Bring him over.” She dismounted, and Sierra put Chico’s reins in Misty’s hand. Chico tried to watch everything at once—Sierra, the new mare, Misty—while still listening for and smelling cattle. Where were they?
Misty and Sierra talked—but who could listen to people with all this going on? Then Misty swung up onto his back, and Chico had to give her all his attention. Unlike Dean or Sierra, Misty seemed to sink down through the saddle and become part of him. That could be good or bad. Chico
didn’t know which yet, only that without seeming to touch the reins or use her legs, she was moving him into the high-walled pen. She was good!
The weathered plywood walls blocked his view. The footing was sandy, not too deep; good. Somewhere beyond the plywood, cattle lurked. Chico traveled around the pen with one ear tilted toward the wall, listening for them. Misty asked him to pick up the pace: jog, then lope; some circles, a few spins, and sliding stops. Chico didn’t hold out on her; something told him that wouldn’t be wise. He didn’t try any shortcuts, either.
Misty reined him to a stop at one end of the arena, touched something on her waist, and her voice came from the speaker-boxes as well as from up there in the saddle. “All right, Joe.”
A section of wall opened. Chico raised his head, watching intently as two young heifers trotted through, ears back and tails anxiously high. Yes! He’d known there were cattle! His cattle, the same lively, wiggly yearlings he’d helped bring in the other day. It would be fun to make them run—
Misty’s soft, clever hand suddenly seemed made of iron, unbudgeable. It allowed him forward only slowly, only a little. Closer, closer—the young cattle started to move away from him and the iron hand froze, keeping him at
exactly that distance. The heifers walked around the outside wall. Chico pranced beside them, level with the last cow’s hip. Once, twice around the pen—
The hand relaxed. Chico spurted forward. The cattle swung around and went back the other way. Chico would have darted after them, but the hand prevented that.
Misty said, “Joe, let the rest of them in.”
The gate swung wide and fifteen more young cattle came through. They milled around, close to each other, watching everything suspiciously. When most of them finally stood still, Misty’s hand relented. Chico danced toward them, with low, purring snorts. Oh boy! This is going to be good!
“You weren’t exaggerating,” Misty’s loudspeaker voice called out to Sierra. “This is getting a little Western!”
Closer. Closer. Misty was aiming Chico straight toward the cows. But she expected him to go slow? To heck with that! Chico tucked his chin, the reins flapped loose for a second, and he bounced into the middle of the herd.
With startled bawls, the cattle scattered in all directions. Which to chase? Chico hesitated, and Misty caught up with his mouth again—not harshly, but he felt her anger. Yikes! He’d just displeased a real queen.
Dad didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Sierra saw him press his lips shut and take a deep breath, and her
face went hot with embarrassment. Chico was being awful. She didn’t dare look up as Misty rode close.
But if Misty was angry, she concealed it well. “Mr. Bonteen, that wasn’t cutting,” she said. “We never harass your cows like that. Sierra, hop up on Ladybird and let’s see what you can do.”
Ladybird? The famous Ladybird? The one in Sierra’s Misty pictures? Ladybird was quarter horse royalty. More important, she was a world-class cutting horse; umpteen championships, a gazillion dollars in earnings … Oh sure, just climb on! What if Sierra did something wrong? What if—
She got herself in the saddle somehow and looked half blindly toward Misty, who shouted, “Smile!”
Sierra jumped and almost fell off Ladybird. Misty’s chuckle filled the ring.
“Seriously. Relax. Ride in a circle down there and let me watch you.”
Sierra obeyed. She felt stiff, and she knew that was wrong—but what could she do about it?
“Slouch in the saddle,” Misty instructed. “Make your back soft and curved, just like a banana. Try to sit on the back pockets of your jeans.”
I know that, Sierra thought. At least, I’ve read it …
She let her spine soften, felt her way onto her back pockets.
“Good!” Misty said. “Now mash down in the stirrups, point your toes out—good. That’s the cutter’s slouch. It’d win you last prize in an equitation class, but that’s what keeps you on a cutting horse.”
She had Sierra jog, then lope.
“Now, grab the horn with your right hand and push on it. Feel how that gets you deeper in the saddle? That’s what’ll really save your butt.”
While Sierra practiced, Misty and Chico gathered the cows in a bunch. Chico danced up and down. Foam flecked his jaw and spattered his chest. He was acting like a raving maniac, not a well-mannered town boy. Somehow Misty kept him under control while seeming to ignore his bad behavior, but—
“Now”—the microphone picked up Chico’s loud breathing as well as Misty’s voice—“ride Ladybird right into the bunch, at a walk. Wander through, pick a cow—any cow, as long as it’s near the edge—and just stare at it. And see what happens.”
This was it! Holding her rein hand high, Sierra rode into the bunched cattle. It was like gliding a boat into deep water. The animals swirled and eddied around her, their backs just below the level of her knees. Ladybird moved so gently, the cows were barely disturbed. Sierra noticed the one with scars from an earlier coyote attack.
“Pick one,” Misty reminded her.
Sierra focused on Scar. Without any more telling than that, Ladybird also focused. With slight movements left, right, left, the mare guided the heifer toward the outside edge of the herd, and then beyond it—
“Drop your hand!” Misty barked.
Oh yeah. The rider chose, but the horse delivered. Once you committed to your cow and got it outside the herd, you were supposed to turn things over to the horse. Sierra rested her left hand on Ladybird’s neck and braced her right against the horn.
Suddenly, the heifer realized she was out there alone, away from all the others. She ducked back toward them and wham! Ladybird spun into her path, crouching low. Sierra gasped. A cutting horse dropping on a cow felt like a fast ride on a down elevator.
“Stay loose! Mash down in your stirrups—”
The heifer dodged right, Ladybird followed, and Sierra’s liver and a few other internal organs slammed into her rib cage. She pushed back on the saddle horn, which snugged her down in the saddle. She felt like a passenger—better hang on tight, or she’d be an ex-passenger!
With a moan, the heifer made a run for it. She wanted to get past the horse and dodge back into the group. Swift as a pouncing cat, Ladybird shadowed her and brought
her to a halt. They went nose to nose, locked in a trancelike stare—
“And quit,” Misty said. “Pick up the reins and give her a pat on the neck.”
In a daze, Sierra obeyed. She’d just cut her first cow. She’d brought it to a standstill. She felt scattered, as if she were in three places at once. It was hard, trying to focus on her own body, on the horse beneath her, and on the cow. Misty made it look so easy and full of grace—
Misty rode toward Dad, motioning Sierra to follow her. She got off Chico, and Sierra slid off Ladybird.
“Okay,” Misty said. “Here’s what ought to happen. Sierra learns on a horse that’s already good at competition cutting. Chico gets started right by a good trainer. In a couple of years, you two get together and burn up the youth circuit, because you’ve both got buckets of talent.”
A couple of years? Sierra thought. She looked at the ground.
“The thing is,” Misty went on, “is that Chico’s cow crazy, and he’s learned to ignore a rider. But he’s the horse you have, and he probably fell into your lap for a reason. So leave him here with me for a few weeks. I’ll work him, you’ll do some work on Ladybird, and then we’ll see if he’ll partner up with you. If he does, he might make a cutting horse. But he’s got to learn that a rider is a
partner, not an adversary. If he doesn’t—” Misty stopped herself. “But we’re going to teach him that, so I won’t finish that sentence. Unsaddle him and put him in the fourth stall on the right, Sierra. And I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”