Hokey Pokey Read Free Page A

tires, where the rubber met the dust, were faintly heaving. Steam rose from the black leather saddle. Somewhere a coyote howled.
    Every atom of the steed was aimed at Jack. Was itgoing to charge? The stallion was now moving again, moving forward, slowly, unmistakably, right for him. He foot-pushed Dusty’s bike backward. He turned the front wheel to two o’clock. He pressed one foot down, ready on the high-side pedal …
    And on that morning of surprises, experienced another: fear did not come. Feeling unright, he reached for fear, but it was not there. He blinked. Onward came the stallion—he could now hear the tires’ groundcrinkle—yet stare as he dared, he found no menace. In goggle-eyed, gape-mouthed shock he stood there like a dummy as the steed advanced until in all its imperial presence it stood no more than two feet in front of him. And somewhere in his mortal brain a miraculous thought unfolded like the morning wings of a dragonfly:
I have been blessed
. Something in his undeserving, unremarkable boyself had apparently caught the eye of the King of the Plains, and the King was doing no less than conferring on him a kind of knighthood of equals.
    Well (Jack smiles to recall), with a small condition—for as he shed Dusty’s nag and curled his trembling fingers around the steed’s regal, ribbed handlegrips, as he solemnly placed his left foot in the left stirrup, as hebrazenly swung his right leg over and settled into the sunwarmed saddle, the King rose up on its hind wheel, pawed at the clouds and proceeded to give him the fright and the thrill of his lifetime. Thinking back on it later, Jack decided that it would have been an insult to the Law of the Plains for any great wild one to submit without a fight, even to an equal. A steed must be himself. A rider must prove himself.
    But for the moment there was no thinking, only hanging on for dear life as the stallion bucked and pitched and snapped and lurched in untamed fury to unseat its sitter. Most of the time the only parts of Jack in touch with the careening bronc were his hands, as his feet, legs and butt went flouncing in the air. But somehow he hung on, and finally, finally the steed slowed to a trot and—just like that—was no longer wild.
    Was his.

AMIGOS
    D USTY AND L A J O have started out in different directions but now find themselves dovetailing back to each other. “Maybe we should separate,” says Dusty. He looks at LaJo but gets no answer. “Jack said.”
    “So?”
    Dusty pokes him. “You know what?” No answer. Pokes him again. “Man. Don’t you even want to know
what
?”
    LaJo’s eyes are on his sneaker tips, kicking dirtballs. “What?”
    “I’ll tell you what. You always say
so
.”
    “So?”
    Dusty cracks up. “See?” Pokes. “
So
. I’m gonna call you So Man.” Still walking, he puts his face directly into LaJo’s, sees the faint lipcurl. “
See
. You wanna say it again, don’t ya? You’re ready to say it again.…
So
.”
    LaJo grins—he can’t help it. “So what do you think’s gonna happen if we find her, you all that big talk back there.”
    “I don’t know,” says Dusty. “Lasso her.”
    “Yeah.” LaJo smirks. “Right.”
    Dusty kicks dirtballs. “I’m just saying … I don’t know … I just feel bad, is all. It’s one thing to lose your bike, or to crack it up, but for somebody to
steal
it … man. And of all bikes,
that
one. And a
girl
did it.
That
girl!”
    “Ain’t just him,” says LaJo. “It’s costing us too. Look”—he takes two running steps and kicks a stone—“we’re walking, ain’t we?”
    Dusty nods vigorously. “You got that right. I hate it.” Looks at his feet. “Can’t believe I’m doing it. All I’m saying is I feel bad. It could happen to any of us.”
    “Yeah.” LaJo shoves him sideways. “Would you feel bad if it was my bike she stole?”
    Dusty shoves back. “Hey, you know it, LJ. We’reAmigos.” He holds his fist out for a bump. LaJo gives it