In the Heart of a Mustang

A large dark brown horse with a black mane and tail was running around the pen. In the center stood Smokey, the cowboy he had met before breakfast. Smokey appeared to be ignoring the horse. He kept pivoting on the heels of his dusty boots so that his back was always to the horse. In his hand he held a rope that seemed to occupy his full attention. The horse, on the other hand, never took his eyes off Smokey as he cantered around the pen, hugging the fence.

Finally, tired of the game, the horse stopped, turned directly toward Smokey and let out a loud snort, his head and tail held high, his nostrils flared. Smokey appeared to ignore the horse as he walked calmly over to the gate and picked up a long white stick with a small, brightly colored flag on the end. He turned and faced the horse who was eyeing him suspiciously. The old cowboy stepped toward the horse and extended his arm, made much longer with the stick. The horse whirled away and ran the other direction. He made several laps around the pen before coming to a halt and turning to face Smokey again.

Calmly, Smokey switched the stick to his other hand and extended his arm again.