The Horse Tamer by Walter Farley

Finn Caspersen had left town with $970 with the aim of showing that there were.

T HE M USTANG

10
    Mr. Miller’s gray horse was known throughout the Pittsburgh area as the Mustang. He had been shipped from the West with a carload of wild horses, and although he possessed great powers of endurance and strength there was nothing well-bred about him.
    The Mustang was as ugly as Tar Heel had been handsome. Bill Dailey watched him being led into the ring for the second time, realizing more than ever that he’d thrown his money away in buying him. Worse still, and more important, he began to doubt his ability to control such an animal before the large crowd that had returned to watch. If he failed, he’d be worse off than before and penniless as well.
    He took the Mustang from the groom and held him by a long lead rope. Unlike his first appearance in the ring, the Mustang was quiet, much too quiet. He crouched near the rail, never raising a hoof and apparently indifferent to the noise and gazes of the spectators. There was something about his appearancethat bothered Bill Dailey. He had never seen another horse like this one.
    The Mustang had his head down and his ears, which were as heavy and long as a mule’s, were thrown back and outward. His underlip was large and it hung down, leaving his mouth partly open. His eyes were sullen, those of a wild animal, and his nostrils were huge. He was long-haired and at present very dirty, probably as a result of not having been groomed in many months. But outlined beneath his unkempt coat was a body of heavy bone and muscle.
    He was the worst horse Bill Dailey had ever seen
and the most dangerous
. There was no telling what the Mustang would do.
    The crowd was more quiet now, waiting for Bill to start. He glanced at his young brother, nodding and trying to reassure him that this horse was no different from any of the others he had tamed. But he saw that Hank wasn’t being fooled.
    “Let me have my stick,” Bill called to him.
    He turned back to the horse, speaking to him kindly, but his voice had no effect on the sullen eyes or the hanging head. Bill touched him lightly with the long slender stick Hank had given him, to learn what the Mustang would do when prodded and under pressure. He found out immediately.
    There was a quick unwinding of the crouched body as the horse jumped and struck out furiously with both fore and hind legs. But his flaying hoofs were wide of their mark, and he stopped almost as soon as he’d started. Once more he crouched by therail, his eyes rolling now and his huge nostrils opening and closing like a bellows.
    As Bill watched him, he knew for certain that taming this horse would take days and days of work and that even then … He listened to the murmurs from the crowd that was waiting for him to go on. He started forward.
    Strangely enough, the Mustang made no move as he approached him. Bill got close enough to touch the shaggy body with his hand; the horse continued standing quietly and sullenly.
    Bill got over his surprise quickly. He was ready for anything, for now he knew that it was the nature of this horse to strike when apparently submitting to control. His resistance followed no set pattern. He was unpredictable and therefore extremely dangerous.
    Bill picked up the shaggy tail and knotted the end. The gray horse remained still. Bill put the halter rope through the tail and tied it with a half-hitch knot so he’d be able to release it quickly when necessary. There was still no resistance on the part of the Mustang, only a more noticeable blowing of his nostrils.
    Next, Bill attempted to pull the horse in a circle, but the Mustang wouldn’t budge. Even being prodded with the stick had no effect on him. As Bill prodded harder the Mustang dropped to his side and lay quietly.
    There was nothing left to do but untie the tail. As soon as Bill did so, the Mustang jumped to his feetand came at him with battering hoofs which he narrowly avoided. But