Free Quarter Horse by Bonnie Bryant Page A

something at the bull in Spanish. Confused, the angry animal stopped and pawed the ground for a moment, his breath coming in loud snorts. As he tried to decide what to do next, the point clown sneaked along the fence and opened the temporary pen next to the racetrack.
    “See if you can get him in here, Sal,” the clown called. “I’ll head him off this way.”
    Sal nodded but didn’t take her eyes off the bull. “Come on, Bossy,” she called to the animal sweetly. “You’ve already dumped your rider. Now you need to go bye-bye!”
    The bull stared at her. She waved her scarf as if she were bidding someone farewell, then twirled it over her head like a lasso. The bull snorted once and ran straight at her, his hooves thundering in the dirt.
    “Heads up, everybody!” the barrel man yelled. “Here he comes!”
    Still twirling the scarf, Sal ran straight for the open pen. The bull chased her at a hard gallop. As fast as Salwas running, the bull was gaining on her. His horns were not ten feet away from her when she scurried into the pen and scrambled up the fence on the other side. Bellowing loudly, the bull rushed in behind her, and the point clown slammed the pen shut behind him. The stadium erupted in wild cheers.
    “Folks, that was San Antonio Sal doing that fancy piece of footwork with that bull,” the adult ring announcer said. “Let’s give her and all our hardworking rodeo clowns a big hand!”
    Sal bounded happily back into the ring and bowed, then ran over and pretended to give the limping cowboy a big kiss. The crowd roared and clapped even harder as she clowned her way back to the junior ring.
    “Wow,” Carole breathed as Sal climbed back over the fence. “That was really scary!”
    “I know,” Lisa said shakily. “My heart’s beating like crazy. And look. That bull still hasn’t calmed down.”
    Carole looked over at the temporary pen. The bull stood in the middle of it, staring at Sal, still pawing at the ground and bellowing.
    “Whew!” Sal said, wiping her forehead as she walked over to the girls. “That was a close one! I didn’t think that little ol’ temporary fence was going to hold me when I started climbing it! It must be made out of chicken wire!”
    “Sal, we were so scared,” Lisa said. “I had no idea bulls were that fast.”
    “They can be when they’re mad. Apparently that critter is having a bad rodeo day!” Sal laughed as she caught her breath. “How’s the pole bending going?”
    Lisa and Carole looked at each other. In all the excitement, they’d totally forgotten about the pole bending contest. Immediately they turned their attention to the junior ring, where Gabriel had just finished.
    “Oh, good,” Lisa said as the announcer called Stevie’s name. “We haven’t missed Stevie. I hope she remembers everything Sal taught her about pole bending.”
    “I do, too,” said Carole. “That way she might at least do better at this than she did at goat wrestling. Stevie doesn’t need to be the comic relief again!”
    The girls watched as Stevie and Tumbleweed positioned themselves behind the starting line. The buzzer sounded, and Tumbleweed leaped forward at a gallop. They twisted around the first pole, then the second. Tumbleweed wove around the poles surefootedly, using all his quarter horse instincts. Carole and Lisa noticed that Stevie leaned back ever so slightly in the saddle when Tumbleweed changed his leads, just the way Sal had told her. They turned around the end pole in a cloud of dust, then began twisting back through the course to the finish line. Stevie’s hat flew off her head again as Tumbleweed lengthened his stride into a hard gallop. A cheer went up from the crowd as they finished.
    “A mighty fine run for Ms. Stevie Lake!” the announcercalled. “Give her a big hand, and we’ll have our winners in just a minute.”
    The crowd clapped for Stevie. Several wild cheers rang out from the wagon train contingent. Lisa and Carole looked at each