The Horse Tamer Read Free Page B

for some reason he’s afraid of it. So when he’s
made
to go, he runs away tryin’ to get clear of it.”
    They gathered all the stable pails they could find and put them in the back of the wagon. From the moment one pail clanged against another the colt became uneasy. At first there were only little spots of perspiration on his gray coat but later, as Bill Dailey intentionally banged the pails against each other, white lather appeared between the colt’s hind legs. He began digging into the dirt road with his right foreleg.
    When Bill Dailey took up the reins and clucked, the colt wouldn’t budge. “There’s our balker,” Bill said quietly.
    “The noise made by Capersen’s pails and tinware is our answer then,” Hank added. “But why is he scared, Bill?”
    “I don’t know, and it’s not important just now. All we need to do is to teach him that he has nothin’ to fear from such noise.”
    “Maybe he stepped in a pail and hurt himself once,” Hank suggested.
    “Maybe he did. It’s happened before.” But the man wasn’t talking to the boy. His words were for the colt and they were as soft and kind as his hands. He rubbed him and soothed him, humming all the while, and then he gave him an apple.
    Later he removed all the pails from the wagon and, slinging one over an arm, returned to the colt. The animal fastened frightened eyes on the pail but Bill ignored it completely, merely continuing to talk soothingly to him. Soon he got the colt to take one step forward and then another. Finally he was able to walk him up and down the road, the pail swinging lightly between them. The colt’s eyes never left it but no longer did he perspire in the cool morning air.
    By noon Bill Dailey was able to drop the pail on the road without upsetting the colt. Still later in the day he was kicking it, sending it along with loud and seemingly never-ending clanks. When the colt had become so accustomed to the noise that he ignored the pail completely, Bill told his brother that he felt their work was done.
    Throwing the pail into the wagon, he picked up the reins. “Now, boy,” he said, “let’s go home!”
    The colt went down the road at a hard trot, the pail rattling and the dust and dirt rising in his wake.
    Finn Caspersen returned the following afternoon and the gray colt was hitched up to his loaded wagon.He drove noisily down the road and back, stopping and starting at will. Finally he said in amazement, “Dailey, I wouldn’t have believed this possible. What did you do to him? What system did you use?”
    “My own,” Bill answered, smiling faintly. “A few apples and a pat on the head.”
    The big man removed his stovepipe hat. “Be honest with me, sir! I know nothing about horses except how to drive them in the course of my work but I would pay five dollars to learn what you did!”
    “It’s not worth five dollars,” Bill protested. “Your colt was afraid of all the noise your pots, pans an’ pails made. I showed him that he needn’t be. That’s all there was to it. Trouble is, mister, you didn’t even take the time to find out.”
    Finn Caspersen drew himself up to his full height. He didn’t relish being criticized so sharply.
    “Pails, pots and pans you say?” he asked finally, regaining his professional composure. “Now that you mention pails I recall …” He paused to run a big hand through his unruly hair. “It most certainly does fit very well with what you have told me.” He paused again, this time breaking out into hearty laughter before he went on.
    “I remember this colt as a weanling,” Caspersen said with the air of one about to tell a good story. “He belonged to a friend in Harrisburg who had no pasture. Since the colt was very friendly he was allowed to go grazing on people’s lawns. They all got to thinking of him as they would a big dog. But one old man in the neighborhood got sore and tied a big tin pail to his tailto frighten him off. The colt was all right until he