“I think Joey will win,” Jim said. “Temporarily, anyway.”
The men sat quietly in their saddles, watching the youngster in his struggle to win Fury back. Joey was pleading softly, with both arms outstretched. Ten yards from the trembling stallion he stopped and called Fury’s name. He was no longer pleading, he was demanding obedience. Fury looked at the outstretched arms, took a pace forward, then glanced back into the woods. Finally, with a sigh that was almost human, Fury made his decision, cantered to Joey’s side, and pushed his muzzle against the boy’s shoulder. Joey placed his palm against Fury’s soft upper Up and rubbed it lovingly.
“Thanks, Fury,” he whispered. “I’m glad you decided to come with me, instead of her.”
The stallion threw his head back and nickered with delight. Grasping the thick mane, Joey vaulted to his back and rode him across the clearing.
“Good work, Joey,” Jim said.
Pete’s eyes twinkled. “What was so good about it? A strong he-male’s better’n a purty female any day. Right, Joey?”
Joey rubbed Fury’s left ear and nodded.
Riding in a circle, to avoid meeting Mr. Yancey again, they made their way back to the skid trail a half-mile below the logging operation. It was high noon as they cantered through the gate of the Broken Wheel.
Chapter 2
A MASCOT FOR FURY
Spring came early to the valley. In April, after Old Man Winter had retreated for good, the Broken Wheel Ranch hummed with activity. Jim Newton’s business was to capture and gentle wild horses, and sell them to cattlemen as working ponies and to rodeos as bucking stock. In preparation for the coming of the new herd of mustangs, Jim and a group of newly hired hands had built several new corrals and stocked the hayloft with feed. When all was ready, the riders set out for the roundup.
Catching the wild horses called for plenty of hard work and hard riding. Traps were built in selected spots, where the mustangs were watering. The traps, actually a series of corrals, were set up in canyons or deep draws, so that once the horses entered the chutes they found themselves at a dead end, unable to escape. After a day or two in the catch corrals, to get them accustomed to a fence, the animals were herded down to the BW and turned loose in the new enclosures.
Now, once again, Jim Newton was in business. The next step was to break the green broncs to saddle and bridle. When this exhausting work was completed, the new stock was ready for sale.
Jim and Pete had not seen the white mare during the roundup. Jim reasoned that she had either eluded them or run away to join another herd. During the breaking period, Fury was ever on the alert. Standing at the edge of his own corral, with his head held high and his nose searching the air, he seemed to be seeking a sign that the mare was among the newcomers. When it became obvious that she was nowhere in the vicinity, he became nervous and went off his feed.
Joey himself was uneasy during this period. “I had a hard time with Fury on the way home from school,” he told Jim one afternoon. “He didn’t want to be held down to a canter. All he wanted was to get back to the ranch in a big hurry.”
Jim nodded. “I think you’d better keep him in the barn at night, until he settles down. He might get ideas about breaking away again, as he did last February.”
“Yeah,” said Pete, coming in from the kitchen. “An’ put a padlock on the barn door. He’s a smart critter, but not smart enough to open a padlock with his nose.”
Joey looked out the window toward Fury’s corral. “I’m worried about him. Look at him. He’s just standing there at the fence, staring at the new horses.”
Jim looked out over Joey’s shoulder. “We might as well face the fact that he’ll never be happy until he has that white mare as a companion.”
Joey flushed. “I wish that darn white mare had never been born.”
“Well,” said Jim, “Fury senses that she’s up in the hills somewhere, so it’s a problem we can’t duck. If he doesn’t settle down pretty soon, we’ll have to ride up and look for her.”
“Jim! You mean you’d bring the mare down here to the ranch?”
“Yep, if we have to. If Fury had the mare to run with in the corral, it wouldn’t mean that he’d like you any the less.”
“But he’s my horse!” Joey cried. “I’m the one that broke him, and I’m the only one that can ride him!”
“That’s true. And those are the very reasons why you should want him calmed down and happy.”
Joey remained silent, but his face was clouded and angry.
Pete spoke up gaily. “Say, Joey, I tell you what. I’ll bake one of yer fav’rite pies fer supper—coc’nut custard. That oughta make you git over bein’ jealous, huh?”
Joey whirled around. “I’m not jealous!”
Pete raised his hand, hastily. “Okay, okay, so yer not. My mistake.” He made a low bow. “Pardon me, yer majesty.”
“Well, son,” said Jim. “Whatever your trouble is, it’s not doing you any good. So if we want peace around this ranch we’d better put our heads together and come up with something. What do you suggest?”
“I don’t know,” Joey said gloomily. “I just know that white mare would spoil everything.”
“All right, so you have nothing concrete to offer.” Jim turned to Pete. “What about you?”
The old foreman rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Wal, I offered a coc’nut custard pie an’ got jumped on. I dunno what else to say, ’cept what all three of us know already. Joey’s upset ’cause Fury’s upset. An’ Fury’s upset ’cause he’s got a hankerin’ fer the white mare. Jim, you want the mare here on the ranch, but Joey don’t. An’ that leaves us settin’ in a great big kettle of fish with our boots on.
Jim smothered a grin. “Does that mean you haven’t any other suggestions?”
“No, it don’t. Matter of fact, I been beatin’ my brains out fer the last three days, tryin’ to think of somethin’. An’ jest now in the kitchen I did think of somethin’.”
“You did?” said Joey eagerly. “What is it?”
Pete folded his arms. “Wal, first of all I want you to know I already made that coc’nut custard pie. Are you gonna eat it or ain’t you?”
“Sure I am,” Joey grinned. “Now tell us what you thought of.”
“I make the best danged coc’nut custard pie in the West,” Pete muttered, “an’ I ain’t gonna throw it out if I gotta swallow it whole, all by meself.”
Jim gave him a poke in the ribs. “Come on, Pete. Don’t keep us in suspense. What’s your plan?”
“Wal,” the old man began, “I been around horses fer a good many years. All kinds of horses—little runty ones an’ high-spirited ones like Fury. An’ I happen to know that high-spirited horses’re always happier with some kinda animal pal to run around with.”
Joey’s face fell. “There you go again with the white mare.”
“Rest yer tonsils!” Pete said sharply. “The white mare’s got nothin’ to do with it.” He glared at Joey and continued. “Jest the other day I seen in the paper about a champeen race horse that’s got a billy goat fer a mascot. Seems like this horse won’t even eat or sleep unless the goat’s right there in the stall with him.”
“That’s right,” said Jim. “I read that story in the paper.”
“Once, down in the Panhandle of Texas,” Pete went on, “I knew a stallion