Free Paint the Wind by Pam Muñoz Ryan Page B

with short tugs. Now, the bridle. For your first few lessons, I’m going to put it on over the halter, so I can keep you on a lead rope.”
    Aunt Vi lifted the bridle over the horse’s head, tickling the edges of the horse’s mouth until it opened so the bit could slip inside. She fit the bridle over the ears. “Maya, you don’t have to remember everything today, because you’re going to hear me give you these directions thousands of times until it all becomes a habit and you can do it automatically. Understand?”
    Maya nodded. She reached up and stroked the sleekhair on Seltzer’s neck and down toward his barrel. Standing so close, she felt an intense energy, yet at the same time an unusual calmness, as if she and the horse were somehow tied together and communicating in an ancient language. No wonder her mother had loved horses.
    Aunt Vi helped her into the saddle and adjusted the stirrups. On a lead rope, Maya walked the horse in a large circle around Aunt Vi, first one direction and then the other. With each step, she felt the sway of Seltzer’s shoulders.
    â€œNow let’s try a slow jog. Press on his sides with your legs and cluck to him.”
    â€œHe won’t go too fast, will he?” asked Maya. “Because I usually, almost always get migraine headaches if I go too fast.”
    â€œMaya, I have you on a lead rope. I’m not going to let the horse go too fast or get away from either one of us.”
    Maya clucked and Seltzer picked up speed. She felt the staccato of his jog. Aunt Vi had been right. It wasn’t too fast at all. A wave of confidence washed over her, as if someone had given her a teaspoon of poise and selfassurance. For more than an hour she paid diligent attention to Aunt Vi’s every instruction: Look out to where you want to go. Sit tall. Keep your heels down. Say whoa like you mean it.
    After they removed Seltzer’s tack and turned him into the corral, Maya wanted that feeling back. “When can I ride again?” she asked.
    â€œTomorrow morning and every day after,” said Aunt Vi. “Now head back to camp. When you see Payton, send him up here. I’m going to work with him for awhile. He’s a different boy on a horse. Riding might as well be a tranquilizer for him, and I want him to find that quiet spot in his mind as much as possible. Don’t forget your chores, Maya. Haul about a dozen pieces of wood from under the tarp to the pile next to the fire and then sweep out the kitchen tent, your tepee, and mine.”
    Maya nodded and ran back to the campsite, thinking that she was a different girl on a horse, too. Only for her, it wasn’t a quiet spot. It was a happy, buoyant place. She called for Payton, but he didn’t answer. She moved the wood for Aunt Vi and looked around the campsite again. Where was he? Maya took the broom to her tepee. When she lifted the flap, she saw that the lid was off her box of horses. The photo of her mother lay on the canvas floor. And the figures had disappeared. Maya ran toward Payton’s tent.
    She found him on a flat rock behind his tepee a few feet above the river, the horses in a pile next to him.
    He held a miniature palomino in his hand. “Done with your pony ride? I bet you didn’t even get off the lead rope.”
    â€œThose don’t belong to you. Give … give them back.” Her voice shook with anger. “Where’s the brown-and-white Paint?”
    He searched through the pile and held it up. “You mean this one?”
    Maya walked closer. “Give it to me!”
    Payton stood up, swung his arm back, and threw the brown-and-white horse into the dense willows.
    â€œNo!” Maya ran to the spot where she thought it had landed. She pushed her way into the bushes and searched the ground near the bank. She swept the dried leavesaway, saw what she thought was the horse, but instead brought up a handful of twigs. She continued in a