Read Online Katie and the Mustang #1 by Kathleen Duey - Free Book Online

had he. Girls weren’t horse trainers.
    “I wish Hiram were here,” I told the stallion. “I could use his advice.” I rubbed his forehead. He shook his mane and raised his head high. He had heard some little sound, a mouse in the straw, most likely. He heard things the other horses never noticed.
    “The weather will soon be warmer,” I told him. “Midnight and Delia will get put out in the pastures.” I rubbed the stallion’s ears, and he closed his eyes as I got the mosquito bites he couldn’t reach by rubbing against the stall planks.
    “Would you let me put a halter and lead rope on you?”
    He tossed his head and then let me pat his neck for a moment before he turned and paced again.
    “If you would, I could probably talk Mr. Stevens into letting you run in the pasture at least sometimes,” I told him as he came back around.
    I rubbed his forehead as he swayed back and forth. Then he paced the circle again. It hurt me to watch him; it was wrong to keep him penned in like this.
    I ran to the barn door and looked back down the path to the house. Mrs. Stevens was out in thevegetable patch by the road. I was supposed to join her when I was done with milking and emptying the night buckets into the privy.
    I stared at her, working the half-thawed ground. Would she notice if I took a few extra minutes? Even if she did, she would shout at me from the garden a few times before she walked up to the barn. I would have time to pretend I had been cleaning the tack room or something.
    I hung the milk bucket in the ash tree to keep Tiger out of it, then ran into the tack room. It smelled of mice and leather grease. The pegs on the right-hand wall held the carriage harness and the heavy-strapped plow rig. The back wall had three saddle trees jutting out. Only one had a saddle on it—and it was seldom used. Mr. Stevens always took the buggy.
    Above the saddle trees were two pegs. One held two bridles, the nickel-plated bits covered in dust. The other had five or six halters, all well used.
    I looked through them quickly. Two were buckled at their last holes—made as big as they could be for the plow team. I finally settled on an old one, the leather worn soft. I carried it back out into the aisle.
    The Mustang was watching me. I walked slowly,letting him get a good look at the halter. He paced his circle three or four times, stopping long enough to stare, then letting his nervousness explode into a half minute of rearing and head tossing.
    “I know you hate the idea,” I said, sure it was true. After all, ropes and leather were the things that had gotten him here, caged in this stall. How could I get him to believe that a halter was the way out, too?
    “Will you trust me enough to at least look at it?” I pleaded with him.
    He was frantic now, switching his tail and breathing harder. “It won’t hurt you,” I promised.
    I took one more step forward. Just then, Tiger came racing across the barn and pounced on the end of the lead rope. I turned to look at her and realized something. The long lead looked like a snake trailing through the straw behind me.
    I pulled the leather strap away from Tiger and slowly coiled it up. Then I faced the Mustang again.
    He was still agitated, but he had stopped switching his tail. I risked a half step, then another half step. When I was close enough to the rail for him to reach out and sniff at the halter, I waited.
    He paced his circle three times, then stopped and leaned out over the rail. I held the halter still, letting him touch it and smell the leather for a long moment. I stood very still, letting him assure himself that the halter meant him no harm.
    “Katie!”
    I sighed. Mrs. Stevens had missed me. What a surprise. I sighed. “I have to go,” I told the stallion. “I always have to go.” I put the halter behind my back and reached out with my free hand. He let me pat him, and tug gently at his mane. I kissed his muzzle. The velvety hair tickled my lips and nose. Then I