Read Online The Black Stallion's Blood Bay Colt by Walter Farley - Free Book Online

forehoofs like a boxer feinting a blow.
    â€œThere it be,” Uncle Wilmer said, finishing his job.
    Taking the small halter, Tom climbed through the bars of the paddock fence.
    The colt stopped playing and stood still when he saw him.
    Tom moved forward, calling to the colt. He had gone only a few yards when he stopped, hoping the colt would come to him.
    The forelegs were spread far apart, the big and fuzzy eyes upon him. There was a moment’s hesitation, then the colt was moving slowly toward him.
    For a few minutes Tom remained still, only talking to the colt; then, slowly, he raised the halter.
    There was a quick, sudden movement as the colt pulled back, startled by the leather that had touched him. Twirling, he ran to his mother and hid behind her.
    Tom heard his uncle’s deep chuckle, then, “Grab him, Tom. You ain’t goin’ to get it on him that way.”
    Tom walked slowly toward the mare. He touched Jimmy Creech’s letter in his pocket. Jimmy had said, “You got to be patient with him. You got to work slow.”
    The Queen raised her head to look at him. She pushed her muzzle into his hand, and finding nothing to eat turned back to her grazing. The colt was on the other side of her, and Tom walked around, only to have the colt move quickly beneath his mother’s whisking tail and away from him.
    Tom waited a few minutes before following him. The colt knew something was going to be done to him and he was going to avoid it if he could. Tom held out a handful of crushed oats. But the colt ignored the feed, sweeping beneath the mare’s belly to reach the other side of her.
    The Queen saw the feed and reached for it. Tom let her have it, hoping the colt too would show an interest and come to him. But he didn’t. He remained behind his mother, hidden from Tom’s sight.
    Several more times Tom cautiously attempted to approach him, and only once did the colt stand still long enough for Tom to put a hand on him. He was able to run his hand up and down the short neck, but as soon as he moved the halter toward the head the colt drew back, frightened and rearing.
    â€œYou’re goin’ to make a balker of him sure as anything,” Uncle Wilmer called. “You let him get awayfrom you now and you’re goin’ to have trouble with him, all right. Like I been tellin’ you, you got to show him who’s boss. You got to show him now.”
    Close to an hour went by with Tom making futile attempts to reach the colt. The sky glowed with the brilliant red of sunset. Tom moved with the colt, hoping to get the halter on him.
    Uncle Wilmer still leaned upon the paddock fence, shaking his head repeatedly, shouting his criticisms.
    And his uncle’s words rang in Tom’s ears even when the man was quiet. “You’re lettin’ him get away with it. I never seen the like of it. You’re goin’ to make him an outlaw, all right, if you don’t show him who’s boss right now. You got to teach him to do what you want. You got to have a firm hand.”
    As the minutes passed, Tom’s eyes became more grave. Was his uncle right? he wondered. Was he letting the colt get away with too much? Jimmy Creech had said that he must have patience, but he had also said, “I don’t mean you shouldn’t have a firm hand with the colt. He’s got to learn obedience and he has to learn it early.”
    Wasn’t his uncle saying exactly that? Perhaps he was doing more harm than good by letting the colt get away from him. Perhaps the colt should be held, even against his will, while the halter was put on. He’d find the halter wouldn’t hurt him. He’d get used to it and everything would be all right.
    Tom waited until the colt’s interest was diverted from him to the Queen, then he went forward, quietly walking up to the foal as he nursed. He placed a handon the fuzzy coat, and the colt was too absorbed in his feeding to pay any