The way it turns out, with all the chores needed doing in the main barn, I never get back to check out the new horses until lunch break. What I do is take my sandwiches and sit up on this broken old feed wagon, which is high up enough so you get a good view of the corrals.

Rick has got charge of the whole show, like you’d expect, and he’s put the new horses in a holding area, near enough to some of the older horses so they can get acquainted, and sniff each other, but still kept far enough apart so they can’t kick or tussle. Takes a while for horses to make friends with each other, just like with people.

Most of what Mr. Jessup brought in are Arabian broodmares, like he mentioned. That means they’ll each have a baby horse once a year like clockwork, and the raising and selling of those foals is what keeps butter on the table at the Bar None — that’s what Rick says.

I guess you already know how much I like them fine-looking Arabians, with their silky tails and pretty faces, but what has me curious is this new rodeo horse. They most always use quarter horses for rodeo work, and in case you don’t know, they call it a quarter horse because it runs real fast for the first quarter mile. After that, your average Thoroughbred is a whole lot faster, which is why they ended up breeding the quarter horse for working around the ranch. It has kind of short legs, but it’s real powerful and sure-footed and quick, and you can train it to do most anything, which is why it makes the best rodeo horse. Rick says, you put the brakes on a quarter horse, you better hold on, because that animal can stop on a dime.

A real cowboy, working cattle and roping steer, I bet he won’t have nothing but a quarter horse under him if he can help it.

Anyhow, Rick has put the new quarter horse in its own corral, and that horse is acting pretty calm and confident, considering he just got off a long ride in a trailer truck. His coat is this shimmery, golden brown that makes you want to run your hands over him, and the way he holds his head, it’s like he knows he’s important. I’m kind of edging my way along the corrals, because I don’t want to spook him none, when suddenly there’s this voice behind that makes me jump.

“That’s Pit Stop,” Mr. Jessup says. “He may be the best roping horse in this part of the world.”

“He looks pretty near perfect,” I say.

Mr. Jessup looks at me and then nods to himself. “You’ve got an eye for horseflesh, I can tell,” he says. “You want to give me a hand with old Pit Stop?”

Joe Dilly probably wants me back in the barn, but I guess it’ll be okay if I help Mr. Jessup instead. He puts this fancy roping saddle on Pit Stop and cinches it tight while I hold the halter and stroke his velvety brown throat, and I can tell right off that horse has got a peaceful and gentle disposition, and that he likes to be handled. Some horses, you try and slip the bit into their mouth, they’ll kind of shudder and fight it, but Pit Stop is real polite. It’s like he wants the bit in his mouth.

I’m just kind of standing there, watching Mr. Jessup ride that rodeo horse around the ring, when he turns to me and says, “Well, he’s about warmed up. How’d you like to be the steer?”

At first I don’t know what he’s talking about. Then I see this rig set up on wheels, it don’t look like a steer except it has a pair of fake horns up front.

What you do is push that contraption around the ring and Mr. Jessup throws his rope at it for practice.

He’s pretty good, too. Mostly he gets his loop around the horns. Once he roped me, which gave us both a good laugh, and Pit Stop, well you never saw a horse move so smooth and certain. He never gets the least bit flustered or nervous, which is partly why he’s a champion roping horse.

“I guess that’s enough showing off for one day,” Mr. Jessup says, coiling up his rope.

I figure he’s done, and I’m getting ready to lead Pit Stop back to the corral and rub him down when Mr. Jessup stops me. “Hold on there,” he says, and real quick shortens up the stirrups. He pats the saddle and says, “Go on, take him for a drive.”

Of course there’s nothing I want more than to try out a real rodeo horse, but for some reason my stomach feels like it’s going down an elevator.

“You can’t go wrong with this horse,” Mr. Jessup says. “You make a mistake, he’ll still do the right thing.”

Well, I manage to get into the saddle without falling off, which is a start, and Mr. Jessup hands me the reins and says, “Keep a soft hand.”

That means don’t yank on the reins.

“A horse trained like this one is, he’s so used to going through his paces you don’t hardly have to touch the reins at all,” Mr. Jessup says. “You just shift your balance here and there, as natural as you can, and he’ll know what you want.”

That sounds too good to be true, but sure enough, Pit Stop is a mind reader. Before I’m hardly thinking “go left,” he goes left, and there’s something about the way he moves, it feels like you’re just gliding along. Smooth and gentle and powerful all at the same time.

Mr. Jessup lets me run that fine roping horse around the ring for a while. I don’t try nothing fancy, just getting a feel of how he moves, and I can tell Mr. Jessup thinks I’m doing okay. “Not bad for a little feller,” he says. “Of course this animal is a size or three too big for you, but you manage to keep your balance in the saddle. You do a lot of riding, do you?”

“No, sir,” I say. “I’m pretty busy helping Joe.”

“Uh huh,” he says, and he looks over my shoulder, like something has caught his attention.

That’s when I notice Joe. He’s standing in a shadow inside the barn and he’s watching me. I don’t know why, but it gives me this chilly feeling in my spine, like he’s mad about something and I don’t know what.

But then when I get back to the barn all he does is clap me on the shoulder, real friendly, and say, “I should have knowed you was a born rider.”