Colt by Nancy Springer Page B

that, not while keeping his balance on Bonita, who had to stand sideways to the gate in order for him to reach it at all. Colt set his teeth and grimaced, tugging on the latch handle as hard as he could without pulling himself out of the saddle. “You butthead!” he yelled at the latch, but it did not care. It would not move.
    â€œAw, crud !”
    Once again he sat blinking back tears and trying to think. A person with legs that worked could walk right up to that gate and lift it and slide the latch open.… So what? Being handicapped just meant he had to do things differently—his way.
    Under him Bonita stood patiently waiting.
    Colt smiled. He lifted one of the lead ropes from his saddle and put a loop of it around the latch handle. The other end of it, halter and all, he hooked around the high pommel of his Spanish saddle. “Walk, Bonita,” he ordered, signaling her with his seat.
    The little horse was puzzled, feeling no contact on her reins. Hesitantly she took a few steps forward. The lead rope tightened, metal screeched against metal, the gate latch shot open, and the gate swung wide.
    Liverwurst looked up and came trotting over, eager and interested.
    â€œGood boy! C’mere, atta boy …” From Bonita’s back Colt slipped the halter onto Liverwurst, snapped its throatlatch in place, and gathered the lead ropes into his right hand. “Good old Liverwurst. Come on, big guy. Let’s go get Rosie.”
    Eagerly he sent Bonita up the farm lane.
    He had to ride with only one hand on the reins, the left hand at that. No problem. Bonita did not seem to mind. Colt sent her into a medium-fast gait along the dirt road, because he wanted to get that stretch over with as quickly as possible. With Liverwurst’s sizable body out almost in the middle of the road, he did not want to meet a car. So Bonita did a quick paso corto , and Liverwurst jogged along beside the little mare, apparently thrilled to be along for the ride.… Once he turned onto the state-park trail, Colt slowed the gait. No use taking unnecessary risks. Also, he wanted Liverwurst to calm down. It was going to be trouble enough getting Rosie on top of the gelding if Liverwurst behaved himself. If Liverwurst got happy and full of himself and acted like a jerk, it was going to be impossible.
    Years later Colt still remembered that ride back to where he had left Rosie as the longest one ever. It seemed that way because he had to walk, it was safer to walk, helped the horses to be cool, calm, but it took so long .… There, ages later, finally, far ahead, was Rosie, still with his feet in the lake.
    Rosie was shivering and looked around without enthusiasm as Colt rode up with Liverwurst in tow. “Oh, maaan … ”
    â€œThere was nobody around,” Colt explained. “This is the best I could do. Can you walk at all?”
    With a groan and a grimace Rosie stumbled up. The icy lake water had numbed his feet for the time. Bracing himself against trees, he was able to walk back to the trail.
    â€œOkay. Now climb on something, a rock, a log …”
    It was not too hard to find a suitable mounting block. Boulders and windfalls were everywhere. Rosie got on top of a large fallen trunk, and Colt led Liverwurst up beside it. Liverwurst, he noticed, did not maneuver as well as Bonita. Liverwurst did not want to stand as close to Rosie as was needed.
    â€œLiverwurst!” Colt scolded, prodding the gelding in the side to make him move over.
    â€œAnd you expect me to ride that?” Rosie complained.
    â€œJust get on, Francine, before he moves.”
    â€œShut up, Ozworth.”
    Unable to put all his weight on one foot, Rosie bellied onto Liverwurst and eventually managed to slither into riding position. Colt handed him the lead ropes by way of reins.
    â€œGo slow,” Rosie pleaded. “This animal is slippery.”
    They went very slowly. Colt knew Rosie would be hurting again