Katie and the Mustang #1 Read Free Page A

they wanted to.
    Hiram shouted something I couldn’t understand,and I fidgeted. What would Mr. Stevens do to the horse? I knew I shouldn’t leave the house without asking Mrs. Stevens, but I knew just as well that if I asked, she would forbid me to go at all. And, as usual, she would get angry at me, instead of at her husband.
    The reason she was standing in the yard in her wrapper instead of dressing and running to help was that she knew her husband would be upset since he hadn’t
told
her to come. I felt sorry for her. She spent half her time guessing what he wanted of her—and usually guessed wrong.
    I grabbed my jacket from the hook, and moved a hat to cover its emptiness. Pulling it on, I went out the back door, opening and closing it in quick swooshes. The hasps were well oiled; squeaks bothered Mr. Stevens.
    It was a dark night. The moon wasn’t up yet. I crawled through the lilac hedge, then ran on the far side of it, half bent over, until I got well clear of the yard. I could hear the men shouting at the stallion.
    I ran up the path toward the barn door. The dogs were still barking a little, but unless someonelet them out of their pen, they knew their job was done. I had the hedge between me and the chicken coop. I could hear worry clucks inside, but no more than that. I was glad. Broken eggs and ruined chicks would only cause more trouble in the house.
    Mr. Stevens had hung his lantern from one of the iron spikes driven into the wall of the barn. I stayed outside, just beyond the pale amber light, standing in front of the ash tree, hidden by the darkness but still able to see in through the open door.
    The Mustang stallion was rearing, crashing his hooves on the top rail of his stall, dancing backward, then rearing again.
    “Giddown, you crazy fool!” I couldn’t see Hiram, but that was him, his voice calm but loud.
    “Get back!” Mr. Stevens yelled. “He’ll break out of there any second.”
    Hiram laughed. “No, no he can’t. That’s good thick wood, that rail.”
    The stallion reared again, then again. Hiram came into sight, the long buggy whip in one hand.
    I flinched when I heard the first pop.
    The stallion squealed, baring his teeth; he reared again.
    The whip popped again, and the Mustang slewed sideways, his ears tight against his head.
    He plunged in a circle, then stood at the back of the stall, his head high, his nostrils wide.
    “There now, you settle down,” Hiram said gently. “It’s all right now. See?” Hiram added, looking at Mr. Stevens. “Something scared him is all.”
    “Well done,” Mr. Stevens said.
    Hiram chuckled. I could just see the side of his face. He was breathing hard, but he was smiling. “I didn’t touch him with it. Just the noise to startle him. He learns fast.”
    Mr. Stevens came to stand beside Hiram. “He surely does, Hiram,” he was saying. “When someone makes him learn.”
    I watched him take the whip from Hiram and approach the stall. He leaned over the rail and slashed it across the Mustang’s face. I cried out, but neither of them noticed because the Mustang squealed, a long, high-pitched sound of rage. Then he exploded and lunged forward, teeth bared, slamming against the stall gate.
    Mr. Stevens stumbled, his coat sleeve catching for an instant on the splintery rail. Hiram leapt forward and grabbed his collar, dragging him backward. He steadied Mr. Stevens for a second before he let go. He looked disgusted. “And now you teach him that you hit him no matter what he does!”
    I watched Mr. Stevens square his shoulders as he faced Hiram. “I taught him to leave my stall rails in one piece; that’s what I taught him,” he said coldly. “The horse trader said a man has to be tough with these wild ones, has to let them know who is boss.”
    I watched Hiram, one hand over my mouth to keep from making more noise. Hiram pressed his lips together, his cheeks flushed. He was angry. And he was right. It didn’t make any sense. If the horse was