She simply listened. Emmett appreciated that. Before long, several children gathered around Slate. They kept a respectful distance, fascinated by the gray stallion whose story had already traveled from Copper Creek. One boy asked whether Slate had really thrown several riders."
More than enough." Emmett said. The children laughed." Will he throw us? " another asked." Not if you give him a reason not to."
Emmett spent the afternoon showing them how to approach a horse without rushing him. He taught them to watch the ears, eyes, and breathing. When someone moved too fast, he did not scold them. He had them stop and begin again. From the shade near one of the fires, an older woman watched him.
Her hair was stre with gray, her posture straight, her face unreadable. Nollie noticed Emmett looking. My grandmother, she said. Suma, does she always stare at strangers like that? Only the ones she hasn't decided about.
That's supposed to comfort me? No. By evening, Suma finally called Emmett over. Nollie sat beside her, ready to translate if needed. Suma asked one question."
Is it true you stood with that stallion all day and never lost your temper? " Emmett thought about it." I lost it in my head more than once, " he said." I just didn't make the horse pay for it." For the first time, Suma's stern expression shifted. A brief smile, small but real.
Nollie saw it, too. And the look she gave Emmett told him that smile mattered. As sunset settled over the camp, one small boy remained apart from the others, watching the horses with both hands buried in his pockets. He did not come closer. Emmett nodded toward him.
Who's that? Nollie's expression softened. Kito, he's eight. The boy glanced toward a pony tied farther down the line, then quickly looked away. He was thrown twice, Nollie said.
Now he thinks horses don't want him near them. Emmett studied Kito for a long moment. Then he looked at the pony. He had come expecting to learn more about Nollie's world. Instead, it seemed that world had just handed him a frightened boy who needed the same thing Slate once had.
Time. Kito did not trust the pony. That much was clear. The small bay stood tied beneath a cottonwood, one hind leg cocked lazily, ears turning toward every sound in camp. There was nothing mean in him, nothing wild.
But fear did not care about facts. Kito remembered hitting the ground twice. That was enough. Emmett did not ask the boy to climb into the saddle. He did not even ask him to touch the pony.
The first afternoon, they simply sat on an overturned log 20 feet away. Kito looked at Emmett like he had lost his mind." We're not doing anything, " the boy said." We are what? " watching. Kito frowned.