Free Emma and the Cutting Horse by Martha Deeringer Page B

fastest
horses on four legs for a quarter of a mile.
     
    “Think she’s ready for the saddle yet?”
Emma’s father asked when he passed by Camaro’s pen. “I’ve watched
you drive her on the lunge line and she seems to have that down
pat.”
    “I think she’s ready,” Emma said. “She knows
her voice commands, but she sure doesn’t get in a hurry when she’s
lunging. When I say ‘trot’ she slows down in the trot until she’s
just barely moving.”
    “That’s an asset as far as I’m concerned,”
Emma’s father said. “I like my horses to take their time unless I
ask for speed. Can’t stand to ride a horse that jigs and jumps
around all the time.”
    Emma brought her saddle and blanket from the
tack room in the hay barn and threw it onto the top rail of the
fence. Her father leaned on the rail thoughtfully.
    “I’ll let you handle this unless I see that
you need some help,” he said.
    Inside the pen, Emma put a halter on Camaro
and tied her to the fence with a horseman’s knot, pleased that her
father thought she was up to the challenge after what happened with
Miss Dellfene. If a horse got in a storm, she knew to pull the tail
of the knot to instantly release it. But, there was no storm with
Camaro. She sniffed the blanket and stood calmly as Emma rubbed it
over her back and neck and along her haunches. Then she centered it
on the mare’s back and picked up her saddle. With the right stirrup
hooked over the saddle horn she showed it to the mare and then
lifted it gently onto her back. Camaro turned her head to look but
stood quietly. Walking behind her to the opposite side, Emma
straightened the cinch and stirrup and went back to the left side
to fasten the cinch. She pulled the latigo slowly to tighten it,
watching the mare’s ears. Camaro raised her head a bit when it
tightened around her belly. All through this procedure, Emma talked
softly to Camaro, explaining what she was doing. The mare turned
one ear to listen, but her eyes looked soft and relaxed.
    When she had pulled the cinch snug, Emma
untied Camaro and walked around her, slapping the saddle and
shaking the stirrup leathers to convince the mare that there was
nothing to be afraid of. Then she tugged gently on the lead rope
and led the mare into the center of the pen. She moved stiffly
beneath the unfamiliar weight, but there was no sign of the
explosion that Miss Dellfene had produced at this point. Emma
talked softly, patting her neck and telling her “good girl” each
time she did something correctly. Emma hadn’t realized she was
tense until she felt her shoulders began to relax. Her father gazed
into the distance where the cows were eating their morning hay on
the hillside, an unconcerned look on his face.
    “Okay, Emma, you’ve got this under control,”
he said. “I’m going out and count calves. Just keep on with what
you’re doing. All that time you’ve spent with her in the past is
paying dividends now.” He strode toward his truck without a
backward glance.
    For the next half hour, Emma led Camaro
around the pen, stopping to shake the saddle occasionally and
checking to be sure the cinch was still tight. More experienced
horses held their breath when the cinch was pulled tight and let it
out later leaving the saddle loose, but Camaro hadn’t learned that
trick yet. She changed directions often but nothing worried the
mare, and she knew that it was best to quit when things were going
well. Young horses, like young children, didn’t have a very long
attention span. Before she pulled the saddle off, she put her left
foot in the stirrup and applied a little weight to the side of the
saddle. Camaro took a step to the right, but didn’t seem especially
upset. It would have been so easy to swing into the saddle, but she
knew her father wanted to be present the first time she got on.
    “Good girl,” Emma said again, patting her
fondly on the neck and scratching under her chin. She tied Camaro
to the fence and loosened