Winter Run Read Online Free Page A

competition from the machines. And time was becoming money. Even so, there were still some people like the professor who cared about the woods—not many, but enough to keep George busy, at least for a while.
    Because Silver Hill was so far from George’s home, his two workhorses would be fed ear corn in the barn at the Corn House, where Charlie and his parents lived, and turned out in the broom sage field behind it at night. Charlie was intensely interested, as he was with anything new. Other than his unsatisfactory experience with Bat, he knew next to nothing about riding beyond the fact that you pulled on a single rein to turn left or right, both reins to stop, and kicked with your heels to go. Leonard Waits, who owned two big workhorse mares in addition to Bat, had let Charlie sit up on one of the mares a few times. Charlie had also watched Leonard put on the stiff, old work bridles with their twisted wire bits and blinkers. So he knew how to do that much. There were no saddles at the farm; the professor had long ago given up riding. Anyway, the time of horses was ending.
    But not for Charlie.
    • • •
    Monday of the first week in June, the horses had arrived in George’s neighbor’s cattle truck. Their heads hung so far out over the side of the truck you would have thought they would either fall out or jump out at the first intersection. But they were quiet creatures and it took a lot to surprise or scare them. The neighbor backed the truck up to a bank and off they came. To Charlie’s delight.
    “What’s his name, Mr. Maupin? He sure is big. How old is he?” Charlie began his usual flood of questions. George Maupin knew who Charlie was, as everyone did, but he had never been around him to any extent and was surprised and amused at the rush of questions.
    “His name’s Jim, Charlie. I reckon he’s about ten. I got him when he was a colt. Give a hundred dollars for him. I knowed the mare he come from and she was a big, strong, gentle mare. I never did hear who his daddy was. Anyway, he growed up to be a good one. Strong like his mama. And you can drop the lines on him in the woods and he won’t move a step till you come back.
    “Can I ride him, Mr. Maupin?”
    “Well, Charlie, I don’t know about that. Maybe …” His voice drifted off. He was a man who seldom spoke without cause, and he was a little bit amazed by Charlie. George wasn’t used to little kids who talked a mile a minute in grown-up language, so he inadvertentlyopened the door to what was to become another one of Charlie’s passions, because “maybe” always sounded like “yes” to Charlie.
    Jim, who stood at least three feet taller than Charlie at the shoulder, was totally gentle. That first evening he munched his ears of corn and then stood quietly while Charlie figured out how to get the bridle on him. This problem was solved by leading the huge horse up to a fifty-five-gallon drum, after putting a hay bale next to it. Charlie then crawled up the bale onto the barrel and finally got on a level with Jim’s head. Once the bridle was on, he coaxed him forward so he could leap to his back, clutching the little pillow he used for a saddle. That first evening when Matthew saw Charlie emerge from the barn, ducking his head down by the horse’s withers so he wouldn’t get knocked off by the overhead and clutching his pillow, he burst out laughing. Once in the barnyard Charlie put the pillow behind himself and hopped backward onto it. So there he was: the nearly eight-year-old boy, smiling in his blond way, proud that he had managed to get himself tacked up and mounted even if his charger was a gaunt and tired workhorse.
    “Charlie, you can’t just go riding that horse,” Matthew said. “You know he don’t belong to us. And, anyway, once George starts logging, this horse’ll be tired from a day’s work, so why should he have to put up with your foolishness after his dinner. It’s his time to rest.” This made sense to Charlie,