by Jessie Haas
The settler rode to her station at the side of the herd; now she was the second herd holder. Sierra looked at Misty, who nodded for her to go ahead. “Remember, your time starts when you pass the yellow stripe on the wall. You’ve got two and a half minutes.” She and Randall positioned themselves near the center of the arena, and Sierra rode forward.
She walked Ladybird past the yellow stripe and into the herd from the right. The cattle crowded each other, each heifer trying to be the one in the middle, but none panicked. The mare moved among them as intent as a stalking heron, ears pricked, noticing each cow in turn.
Misty said, “Two and a half minutes goes by fast!”
No time to think. Holding her rein-hand chest high, Sierra turned Ladybird toward the front of the herd. She was supposed to be making her deep cut, bringing one animal out from well inside the herd, but it seemed like she had most of the cows in front of her, all walking and shoving and jostling toward the turn-back riders.
The cows on the edges of the group turned back toward the main herd. Casually. They weren’t too worried. There were three left out in the open, two Herefords and a black baldy. The baldy looked like a nice cow; bright-eyed, alert, but not hocky. She’d make a game of it, an intelligent try to get back into the herd, not stand there dumbly, or hightail it for the hills. There’s an advantage to being a ranch girl, Sierra thought. I do know cows.
She rode Ladybird toward the three, still at the same slow walk. One Hereford cocked its tail and started pooping. The other Hereford and the baldy ambled back toward the bunch. Sierra started to rein Ladybird after the cow of her choice.
“No time, Ranch Girl!” Misty called. “Poopy Pants is yours. Look happy with the cow you’ve got.”
Cutting was showmanship. No matter what happened, you tried to look like you did it on purpose. Smoothing out her expression, Sierra advanced another step toward the pooping heifer, framed her between Ladybird’s ears, and dropped her hand.
The cow’s head swiveled around and a horrified look came over her. OMG! I’m out here all alone! She made a run to the left, and Ladybird exploded into action, so fast her mane lifted from her neck in a white cloud. Sierra’s whole body jolted. She felt her hat fly off.
Ladybird raced parallel with the heifer. The heifer stopped, Ladybird stopped, and Sierra shoved back on the horn, settling herself deeper in the saddle. She curved her back, sank her weight down into the stirrups, and stared hard at the cow. She was ready now. The cow dashed right; Ladybird was on her. Wind whipped Sierra’s shirt and hair, but her body stayed supple and in sync with the horse.
The heifer stopped and turned toward the far wall, saw the turn-back riders, and kept twirling, all the way around in a circle to face Ladybird. And twirled again. Sierra could almost hear her thinking: What should I do? What should I do? The cow made a dash at Misty, who rode toward her, slapping her thigh. The sharp sound turned the cow back to Sierra, and they dueled again, short dodges back and forth, until the cow turned and trotted away with her head up.
“And quit,” Misty reminded.
Sierra came back to reality with a start. For those few seconds, her whole brain had been taken up with that one cow. She patted Ladybird’s neck, lifted the reins, and backed her up a few steps, while the heifer they’d been working trotted around the outside of the arena and merged back into the herd.
Sierra needed to cut two more cows. She rode into the herd again, peeled off a small group from the outside edge, and moved them toward the middle of the arena. Toward her fallen hat.
A black heifer stopped to sniff the hat, legs braced, ears stiff with shock at seeing the strange object there. Sierra felt her temper rise. Why did this stupid cow have to call attention to her bad riding? You’ll pay for that, Blackie! She edged the heifer away from the group, worked her, let her back in the herd, and cut another cow. Just as she committed, the finishing buzzer went off. Wow. Two and a half minutes wasn’t much time, but it could feel like forever.
Ladybird dropped to a walk. The herd holders left the cows and ambled forward with Sierra, the turn-back riders met them and reversed direction, and they all walked out of the arena in a group, the way they would at a real show. Someone else’s turn now. In a few minutes, Sierra would be a herd holder.
The group of riders passed by her hat—amazingly, it hadn’t been trampled—and Randall bent gracefully from the saddle, scooped it up, and handed it to her. He really was cute. Flushing, Sierra jammed the hat on her head. Granules of dirt trickled down her neck.
“A lot to like about that run,” Misty said. “Sure, you lost your hat, but you could have fallen off. I’ve done that. You took your eye off the cow for a second, is all.”
“Oh!” Sierra remembered looking down at Ladybird’s mane.
“Never look down at the horse. Watch the cow. She’s the one that knows where you’re going next. You’ve gotta forget you even have a horse under you, or you won’t.”
“Yeah.”
Misty went on. “There’s a hundred details you need to learn for competition cutting—and we’ll get to those!—but your instincts are great.”
“But—,” Sierra said. “I never did get the cow I wanted.”
“Doesn’t matter, as long as you make the judge think it’s all going according to plan.”
“Yeah, but—what if there was a cow I really needed to cut out? To give it a shot, or sell or something.”
Misty laughed. “In that case, Ranch Girl, go for that baby! But that’s real life. Competition cutting is a sport—the best in the world, in my opinion—but it’s all make-believe.”
Sierra nodded. She understood. But I’d still rather get the cow I want, she thought. She patted the mare’s golden neck. Ladybird tipped one ear back at her, then pointed it straight ahead in her reserved and regal way. Sierra got the feeling Ladybird disapproved of riders who lost their hats.
“Can I ride Chico now?” Sierra asked. Chico liked her—she was pretty sure of that—and he didn’t make her feel inferior. “I’m only a herd holder.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘only a herd holder.’ It’s an important job,” Misty said. She hesitated. “And I’m not sure he’s ready. But … who’s up next? Randall? All right with you if Sierra uses her bronco?”
Randall shrugged. “Don’t see what harm it could do.”
SIERRA! CHICO CHORTLED DEEP IN HIS THROAT. He missed her, living over here. Yes, he got ridden every day, but Misty didn’t pamper him the way Sierra did. She didn’t have the time.
Sierra didn’t seem to have time today, either. She brushed him and saddled up quickly. She seemed agitated; now Chico started to feel that way himself.
Going into the covered arena, the quick change from sunshine to shadow half blinded Chico for a moment. He could sense cattle, dark shapes loosely grouped at the far end. Sierra headed him toward them, and for a moment panic flared along Chico’s legs. Beasts?
His vision cleared. Only cows. He’d barely had a chance at cattle here; he danced slightly, and flicked his tail. Let’s—
“No.” Sierra walked him to one edge of the herd, turned him, made him stand. Another horse stood opposite, on the other side of the cattle. Three riders approached; the turn-back riders hung back, and the third, Randall, rode into the herd. The cattle stirred around his horse. Chico wanted to stir them, too, but Sierra wouldn’t let him move. He pawed the dirt; a couple of nearby cows showed the whites of their eyes and mixed themselves deeper into the group. Misty shouted something, and Sierra backed Chico away from them.
Randall’s horse was moving some cattle—slowly, at a walk, not the way Chico would have done it, but at least that horse was allowed to do something. Sierra let Chico move slightly forward now. They were helping Randall, but it could all go a whole lot faster—
Sierra turned her head to look at the herd. Chico felt her attention divide and weaken. The heifers paused between Randall and the turn-back riders, looking around, undecided. One swift move was all it would take
—
Chico made the move! One lunge, and the heifers scattered in all directions. Chico took a gleeful bound after the nearest one, and Sierra caught him up short.
Randall turned angrily. “I can’t believe—”
“Clock’s ticking, Randall,” Misty called. “Act like you are in charge, no matter what. Sierra, keep Chico back. Wa-a-a-y back.”
Sierra turned him toward the herd. She was upset, Chico sensed. Well, so was he! All those cows got away! There was just one left. Randall and his horse went back and forth with it for a few seconds, then let it go. It trotted around the arena and dived back into the herd; Chico laid his ears back as it passed, but Sierra didn’t let him take one step toward it.
Randall played with another cow, and then the buzzer went off, and they all turned from the herd. Sierra rode Chico forward, too. The rest of the horses walked, but Chico couldn’t help prancing. All those cattle behind him, standing still. What a waste!
Randall turned to Sierra. To Chico, he sounded like Dean used to, when he was angry and trying to pretend he wasn’t.
“I guess he really is a bronco! I thought Misty was joking.”
Nobody else said anything until they were outside the arena. Then Misty beckoned to Sierra. “Ride over here with me. We need to talk.”
CHAPTER 7
NUMBLY, SIERRA RODE AFTER MISTY. SHE’D just ruined Randall’s run. She didn’t know when she’d ever felt this miserable.
Randall was trying not to show his fury, because being a good sport was important in cutting. But it should never have happened. She should have stopped it.
In the driveway, out of earshot of anyone, Misty turned Ladybird around and looked soberly at Sierra. “It’s time to face facts. Chico needs a lot of work—basic, kindergarten work, and this isn’t the place for him to get it. If he was further along, I could have schooled him while I worked with other riders. But as he is now, he’d only interfere. These kids pay big bucks to come here. I’ve gotta give ’em their money’s worth.”
Sierra nodded. She couldn’t speak.
“If you want to cut this year,” Misty said in a gentler voice, “you can ride Ladybird and I’ll work with you. There’s not many kids I’d make this offer to, but you’re a good rider with a lot of potential, and you know how to stay out of her way.”
It was an amazing offer. Sierra knew that. What thirteen-year-old girl ever got an opportunity like this? Then why should it make her feel so awful? She looked at her saddle horn and part of the answer came. I don’t really ride Ladybird. She carries me around while she does her thing. She’s just babysitting me! Anyway, she’s not Chico. She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t get any words to come.
“If you want to cut on Chico,” Misty went on, “you need to put in a lot of hours on him at home. See if you can get him to relax around cattle. I should have seen that earlier; I did, actually—but I wanted to help you, and I thought he’d work out of it quicker.”
“Sorry,” Sierra whispered.
“No, it’s not your fault. But I don’t have the time to help him through this, and the only cows I have are the ones I lease from your dad. I’ve got to keep them fresh for my other riders. You can do it—you’ve got the ideal setup for pasture training at home. And it’s no disgrace to take a horse back to kindergarten. He’s a smart boy. He can do this, if you can find the way to teach him.”
“Okay.” Sierra’s voice came out gruff and choky. She twisted her fingers into Chico’s black mane. “I guess. I’ll, I’ll—ride him home now. It’s only four miles.”
“Sierra.” Misty’s voice sounded softer. Sierra looked up. “Think hard about this, okay? Just getting Chico ready to start real training could take a while. A year, maybe. And if the horse you love can’t do what you want, or can’t do it soon enough—sometimes it makes sense to move on. Ladybird can teach you a lot.”
Sierra nodded—she was probably supposed to—and turned Chico down the long driveway toward home.
CHICO WAS DELIGHTED. FINALLY, SIERRA WAS taking him somewhere again! Down the driveway, down the road. It felt good to move along and see something different.
The fences ended, and Sierra turned him toward the edge of the road and the grassland beyond. There was a tricky-looking ditch. Chico couldn’t see how deep it was, and of course, it might be full of snakes. Sierra couldn’t make him jump it; she seemed kind of feeble up there anyway, not really in charge. But he didn’t want to make trouble. Something seemed off about Sierra. He gave the ditch one last careful look and hopped neatly over it, feet tucked high.
Sierrra pointed him toward—yes! Toward the ranch. Toward the queen. He struck up an energetic lope, and she let him go—and was it raining? No, that was her, dropping warm tears on his shoulders.
Why? He felt wonderful, enjoying his own powerful strides and the steady drumbeat of his hooves, after weeks of chasing laundry back and forth. This must be good for Sierra, too. It had to be.
Maybe it was. She stopped raining on him. Gradually, she seemed to be gathering her strength. Fine. He slowed to a steady jog that he could keep up for a long time. Finally, she reined him in, with a gigantic sniffle. “Oh, Chico. What am I going to do?”
Ahead, Chico saw a fence, and way ahead he saw cattle. Let’s go! he suggested, grabbing more rein. Chasing cows should cheer her up, right? Well, maybe not. That was when she got upset, wasn’t it? When he bounced at the cows Randall was working. It was all some kind of game. Chico didn’t understand it, but then, the games people thought of never did make a lot of sense to him.
They traveled along the fence line until they came to the gate. Sierra dismounted to open it. She led Chico through, then turned to close it. The reins were draped loosely over her arm, Chico noticed. She wasn’t holding them, she wasn’t on his back, he was practically home again, and the cattle were close enough that he could smell their sweet dusty aroma. He’d been calm, steady, and levelheaded for a long time, but this was just too much.
Chico whirled on his haunches. Sierra lunged for the reins, but Chico easily outran her. He thundered toward the cattle, stepping on one of his reins. Ow! That hurt his mouth. It happened again, and then the reins were gone and he was among the cows, teeth bared, biting backs and tails.
The cows raced away from him at a wild, groaning gallop, toward a nearby clump of pines. They vanished into it and Chico pulled up, aware of an engine sound in the distance. The four-wheeler; he hadn’t seen that in a while.
But where was Sierra? He wheeled, head high, wheeled again, and at last, a long way back, a long way, he saw a small heap of something. What was that?
He loped toward it and circled warily. A human? It smelled like one. It smelled like Sierra—but he’d never seen a human do this, just collapse on the ground all humped up. She hadn’t fallen off; he knew that. And he was sure he hadn’t knocked her down. She’d never gotten close enough. But she was crying. That sound he did know. He minced closer, reached gently toward her half-hidden face, and licked her salty cheek.
She raised her head. “Oh, Chico. Oh, you bad horse!” She hugged his head; it felt uncomfortable, but Chico decided to let her. Something had just happened that should never happen. He was meant to be steady and reliable, even in the midst of great excitement. Dean and his mother and his whole nature had taught him that. And he’d made Sierra cry.
The engine sound was louder, and there was barking. Sierra pulled back from Chico and turned her head. “Of course,” she whispered. “Dad.”
The four-wheeler stopped. Dad got off. Sierra stood up to face him.
“You all right?” Dad asked.
“I didn’t fall off,” Sierra said quickly. “He got away while I was closing the gate.”
“I saw,” Dad said. “You want to ride him back?” Now his voice sounded like Dean’s, full of anger and self-control. He opened the toolbox on the four-wheeler and handed Sierra some frayed pieces of baling twine. With shaky fingers, she knotted them to Chico’s bit in place of the broken re
ins.
“Suppertime, we’ll talk this over,” Dad said. “But I can’t have a horse harassing my cattle, Sierra.” He drove toward the trees, where the cows had disappeared.
Sierra hauled herself into the saddle without a word. The baling-twine reins felt light and floaty. The loose strands tickled Chico’s neck. His mouth hurt from stepping on and breaking his real reins, and now something was even stranger about Sierra. It was like she wasn’t really up there. Nothing was coming from her. She was frozen, shut down.
But they were almost home, and then, there was the queen, in the small pasture with cows and calves grazing alongside her. Chico whinnied. She raised her head and after a moment whinnied back. Chico danced. She did like him. She actually liked him.
MAYBE SHE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO DID. ALL evening, while he watched the cows grazing just beyond the corral fence, and the young calves bumbling around, Chico’s attention was drawn to the house, to the sound of unhappy voices. Sierra had been upset when he ran away; he’d known that. But he’d thought she would get over it, the way Dean always did.
Sierra wasn’t over it. He could tell by the way she behaved when she came out after supper to give him hay. First she acted like he wasn’t even there. Then suddenly, she hugged his neck. She didn’t say anything—rare for her—but he picked up that same dazed feeling he’d gotten from her earlier.
The sun went down, the stars came out, the moon rose. One by one, the lights went off in the house. No late-night visit from Sierra? She always used to come down and say good night.
The queen crunched hay. Chico didn’t feel like eating hay. His mouth still hurt from stepping on his reins, and anyway, he was confused. He listened to the wind in the pines and to the coyotes out there somewhere in the dark. Closer than usual. Their shrieks and wails tore the nighttime quiet to rags.