Wild Horses Read Online Free Page B

she was able to secure the bandage in a tight knot.
    Taking a deep breath, she sat back on her haunches. Now it was important to get the stallion on his feet. If he stayed down until help arrived, he would lose heart. He had to get up under his own steam. Yet how was she going to help him stand? She looked round, searching for the right idea.
    The herd was still milling around in the gully. Lucky was waiting nearby. If she borrowed his head collar and halter rope, which the Half Moon horses sometimes wore under their bits and bridles, she might have the solution.
    So she slipped quickly to where Lucky stood and, with hasty fingers, fumbled with the wet straps and buckles. At last she slid the head collar off and unhitched the halter rope from the side of the saddle horn. Then she ran back to the black stallion.
    “Now trust me,” she urged, offering him the head collar. Of course, he’d never seen anything like this before. Would he take it quietly or resist?
    The horse’s head drew back from the contraption. Through his pain and confusion, a deep instinct told him that the head collar was not to be trusted. This was a trap.
    “Not for long!” Kirstie whispered. “I promise!”
    With one hand on his neck, she used the other to ease the head collar toward his soft, gray nose. Again he jerked away. Kirstie insisted. She took her hand from his neck and offered the collar with both hands. This was going to be the only way.
    The more the stallion leaned away, the firmer she became. She urged the collar onto him, talking quietly, easing the straps over his nose and under his throat. Since he couldn’t move from the spot where he’d fallen, in the end he had to accept.
    The collar was on, buckled tight. The rope trailed across the rocks. The horse shook his head, ears back, hating the feel of the straps.
    Getting to her feet, Kirstie judged the best move. It was the left leg that was injured. It now stuck straight out, stiffened by the tight strapping around the knee. But the right knee looked sound. What she had to do was to use the collar and rope to persuade the horse to rise to his feet, taking his weight on the right leg only. So she went round to his right side, carrying the rope, bringing his attention to that side.
    He followed her with his deep brown, intelligent eyes. As she tightened the rope and raised it, he seemed to understand. With his back legs he shifted his weight the way Kirstie intended. He kept his left front leg straight and bent his right leg under him.
    “That’s great. Good boy!” Kirstie held her breath. If he could get up, if he could be on his feet by the time Charlie came back, she reckoned he stood a chance.
    The stallion fought to keep his balance. He was pushing with the sound front leg, but it was a lopsided movement that he’d never made before. He felt the halter rope tug his weight to one side, whinnied with pain as for a moment he tried to bend the strapped and injured knee.
    The horses in the gully heard the cry and broke apart, trotting wildly in different directions down the length of the canyon.
    “Try again!” Kirstie whispered to the horse, pulling hard on the halter rope.
    He pushed. His back feet found the ground, his legs straightened, and he tipped forward onto the sound right knee. Kirstie pulled on the rope. Up, up!
    And he made it at last, whinnying at the pain in his left knee, swaying as he rose, until he was up on his feet, towering over Kirstie, straining at the rope and pulling away from her.
    “Easy, easy!” She tried to hang on. But once more the horse was powerful. Yes, he stumbled when he tried to put weight on the injured leg, but he was fighting her now, wrenching the rope from her hands. It burned her palms as he tugged free.
    She gasped and let go. The horse had trusted her only so far. Now he was up and wild again, snaking the halter rope through the air in an effort to rid himself of the hated head collar.
    And the herd was gathering, waiting by the