Emma and the Cutting Horse by Martha Deeringer Page A

of
myself,” Emma said. Her knees felt a little quivery, and she wasn’t
sure how she could put her weight in the stirrups if her knees
wouldn’t hold her.
    “This ain’t a test,” John said. “You’ll do
fine. Walk him into the herd real slow and try to get that black
heifer out. She’s kinda lazy. So is Lucky, for that matter. Go on
now; you’re gonna love it!”
    With some trepidation, Emma urged Lucky into
a slow walk and guided him through the cattle to the back fence, as
she had seen John do so many times. She turned him around and
stopped. One of the herd holders, giving her a “you can do it”
grin, rode forward and the calves began moving around her. When the
black heifer started to pass in front of her, Emma squeezed Lucky
forward and the heifer turned out toward the center of the arena,
trotting forward several steps. Emma’s stomach fluttered. Lucky
followed for a few steps and then stopped.
    “Drop him!” John hollered.
    Emma let the reins out and wrapped both hands
around the saddle horn. When the heifer turned back toward him,
Lucky’s front legs seemed to drop out from under him as he
crouched, and Emma felt like she was going to fall over his
shoulders into the dust of the arena.
    “Push on the horn!” John shouted.
    Emma pushed and righted herself, just as the
heifer ducked to the left. Lucky lunged in front of the calf, his
powerful muscles bunching and his head at eye level with the calf.
Emma pushed hard on her right stirrup and barely stayed on. In her
mind, a picture flashed of John sitting perfectly balanced and
still on a cutting horse without any apparent effort at all. The
calf stopped as soon as Lucky got in front of it, and turned to try
an escape in the other direction. This time Emma was ready and
pushed her heels down hard, hanging on to the saddle horn like a
drowning sailor to a life preserver.
    The heifer slowed after her third dash for
the herd, and Emma dared to glance up at John, sitting on Miss
Dellfene in the middle of the arena.
    “You’re doing great! Relax a little!” John
grinned at her.
    The heifer made one last feeble attempt to
get past Lucky, and suddenly Emma realized that she was sitting up
straight in the saddle, no longer flopping back and forth, but
anticipating the horse’s moves. In a matter of seconds the whole
experience had gone from terrifying to exhilarating. Just as she
felt she was getting the hang of it, the heifer turned away and
trotted off toward the far end of the arena.
    “Tell him to quit now,” John called. Emma
dared to take one hand off the saddle horn, touched Lucky’s neck,
and felt him immediately relax. Her heart was hammering.
    She squeezed the gelding forward and rode up
beside John, who reached over and patted her on the arm.
    I’ve seen a few grown men eat arena dust
during their first ride on a cutting horse, kiddo,” John said. “You
were really getting the hang of it. Want to go again?”
    “Not right this minute. My knees are shaking.
But you were right, I did love it. I’ve never ridden a horse on
automatic pilot before.”
    “Okay, then. Take him over to your dad and
let’s see if he’s as good a rider as you are.”
     

 
    Chapter
Ten
     
    At home, Emma concentrated on getting Camaro
started under saddle. She drove her on the lunge line wearing the
saddle nearly every morning, and then she began putting a bridle
with a snaffle bit over her halter so the mare could get used to
carrying the bit in her mouth. For several days, Camaro chewed on
the bit, dripping slobber on the ground as she tried to spit it
out. After a week of wearing the bridle Emma felt everything was
ready for her first real ride. Her dad agreed to make time the
following Saturday morning to watch her in case things went south
like they had with Miss Dellfene.
    The day was already hot by 8 a.m. and
Camaro’s sluggish performance on the lunge line suggested that she
was hoping for a nap in the shade. Emma’s dad came into the arena
and