hold of the saddle horn.
Bud had worked himself into a frenzy. He leapt wildly, arching his
back as he shot upward, then tossing his head as he smashed his
hooves to the ground. My eyes could barely unscramble what they saw.
Golden wheat flew in every direction, while the blue sky and the
mountain lurched absurdly.
I was so disoriented that I felt, rather than saw, the powerful penny-
toned mare moving into place beside me. Shawn lifted his body from
the saddle and tilted himself toward the ground, holding his reins
tightly in one hand while, with the other, he snatched Bud’s reins from
the weeds. The leather straps pulled taut; the bit forced Bud’s head up
and forward. With his head raised, Bud could no longer buck and he
entered a smooth, rhythmic gallop. Shawn yanked hard on his own
reins, pulling the mare’s head toward his knee, forcing her to run in a
circle. He pulled her head tighter on every pass, wrapping the strap
around his forearm, shrinking the circle until it was so small, the
pounding hooves stood still. I slid from the saddle and lay in the wheat,
the itchy stalks poking through my shirt. Above my head the horses
panted, their bellies swelling and collapsing, their hooves pawing at the
dirt.