Calder Brand - Janet Dailey Page 0,69

took off his hat.

“This is my neighbor, Mr. Loren Hollister,” Blaise said, making the introductions. “He owns that big spread to the north of here. He’s interested in your method of horse-breaking, so I offered him a demonstration.”

“Dollarhide.” Hollister, who’d evidently been told Joe’s name, extended a hand. Dressed in new denims and an expensive-looking leather jacket, he was a small man, lean and distinguished looking, with a well-trimmed mustache and iron gray hair. His handshake was firm and confident. Joe had seen his house from the wagon road. Built of logs, like most of the homes in these parts, it was raised on a stone foundation with second-floor dormers, a shingled roof, and a tall stone chimney at one end. Seeing it, Joe had vowed silently that someday he would have a house just as grand.

The girl nudged Hollister’s arm, as if to remind him that she deserved an introduction, too.

“Oh—and this is my daughter, Amelia,” he said. “When I told her I was going to see a man who tamed wild horses, she insisted on coming along.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint you, Amelia,” Joe said.

“I’m sure you won’t.” Her disarming smile made his chest swell a little.

The six mustangs—four mares and two geldings that had been castrated by the trader—were in a corral, separated by a gate from the round pen where training was done. Choosing a buckskin mare, Joe mounted up and used his horse to cut her away from the others and herd her into the training pen. Then, dismounting and leaving his own horse by the fence, he walked to the center of the pen on foot and stood perfectly still.

Horses are curious animals. He heard Elijah’s voice, speaking in his head. Give them enough time to feel safe, and after a while they’ll start to wonder about you. Give them more time, and they’ll decide to investigate.

Blaise, Hollister, and Amelia stood outside the log fence, watching. Joe had cautioned them to be quiet. The other mustangs watched from the corral. Even watching was part of their training.

For now, the mare was keeping her distance, snorting and dancing nervously. Joe opened his hand to reveal a small carrot. Elijah had taught him a song in the Kiowa language. Singing softly, he held his hand flat, with the carrot on his palm.

Seconds passed, then minutes. The mare was calm now, but still not coming any closer. Joe stayed in place as if he’d sprouted roots. More time passed. Ears pricking, nostrils flaring, the mare extended her neck and inched forward. This was a dangerous time. She was still a wild animal, big and powerful. If she spooked, she could kick or bite him, even kill him. At this point, the trust had to be as much on his side as on hers.

Joe waited, still singing, as she edged closer. With a sudden move, she snatched the carrot from his hand and danced away, still cautious but less fearful than before. The next time would be easier.

Making sure the mare was at a safe distance, Joe walked back to the fence. “Seen enough?” he asked Hollister.

“For now,” Hollister said. “But I’d like to see more when I’ve got time. And I’ve got a lot of questions.”

“Lunch is almost ready,” Blaise said. “My wife’s set extra places. You join us too, Joe. You can answer Mr. Hollister’s questions while we eat.”

As they walked back toward the house, Joe paused to wash his hands at the outside pump. Amelia stopped beside him. “What you did with that mare was amazing,” she said, her eyes shining. “How did you learn to do that?”

“It’s a long story,” Joe said. “I’ll tell you sometime if you want to hear it.”

“I’d love to hear your story.” She fell into step beside him.

“That’s good,” Joe said, “because I’d really like to hear your story, too.”

Lunch was homemade vegetable beef soup and fresh buttered bread—a plain meal, but Florence Ransom was a good cook and did her best as a hostess. She’d used her nice dishes, set a bouquet of wildflowers on the table, and fed her two boys on the back porch so they wouldn’t distract the adults.

It was Loren Hollister who controlled the conversation. Most of his questions were directed at Joe. “I like your approach to breaking horses. But doesn’t it take a long time?”

“Just a few days. Maybe a week to do a good job,” Joe said. “And I can train several horses at a time. The idea is they learn