The Black Stallion

For the colt's own good, he couldn't afford to be patient.
    The colt moved to the front of the mare, then to the other side of her, and Tom followed. He went around the Queen again before he was able to get the colt in a corner of the stall. He had his hands at last on the small, writhing body. The colt's eyes were white with fury and fright, and his forelegs struck out as Tom pinned him against the side of the stall.
    Tom reached for the halter and the colt fought with such frenzy that only the boy's desperation gave him the strength to hold the heaving body. He had hold of the buckle; he pulled; the strap loosened. Tom tore the halter off the colt's head and flung it down on the straw; then, sickened by the sight before him, he stepped back and away from the colt.
    He watched him go to the mare and, trembling, snuggle close to her. He saw the blood come to the open welt, slowly at first, then even faster, until rivulets of blood ran down the small nose.
    Weakly, Tom leaned against the wall. Why had he let this happen? And then his face flamed in anger. He didn't deserve Jimmy's confidence! He knew nothing about caring for horses! He was stupid! A fool! Anyone should have seen that the nose band was too tight. Anyone!
    "Burn the halter. Burn it."
    It was his uncle's voice, and Tom turned to find him standing by the door. How long he'd been there he didn't know… or care.
    Tom didn't meet his uncle's eyes. He just stood there unseeing. But a few minutes later, the door opened and his uncle entered the stall. It was only when he was going past Tom that the boy angrily turned him. "Keep away from him!" he shouted. "You've done—" He stopped when he saw the whiteness of his uncle's face. Tom's gaze fell. What good would it do to take it out on his uncle? Sure, he could say it was his uncle's poor eyesight that was responsible for his putting the halter on so tight. But
he
was more to blame. It was
his
colt. He should have made sure the halter fit correctly. He couldn't say it was the darkness of the stall that was responsible for his not noticing the tight nose band. He had no excuse. He should have made certain last night. It was too late now.
    "I was just goin' to get the halter," his uncle was saying "I'm goin' to burn it, if you won't." He had the halter and was leaving the stall, when he stopped in front of Tom. His sad eyes sought those of the boy. "I'd let it bleed good, Tom. Bleedin' will help," he said in a low voice.
    Tom nodded, but didn't raise his eyes.
    It was only when Tom heard his aunt calling him that he left the stall. He didn't feel like eating, but it would be better if he went to breakfast. Aunt Emma would ask a lot of questions if he didn't, and he didn't want to talk about it. He would let the welt bleed a while; it would help to cleanse the cut and reduce the swelling. After breakfast he would do what he could for the colt. He would do it his own way. He wouldn't ask any help from Uncle Wilmer. Tom had a lot to make up for, and it would take time—much longer than if this hadn't happened.
    All through breakfast Aunt Emma knew there was something wrong, but she didn't ask what it was. Nor did Tom or Uncle Wilmer volunteer any information. They ate in silence, Tom toying with his pancakes. And for the first time since he had arrived at the farm, Aunt Emma didn't urge him to eat more.
    He left before his uncle and aunt had finished their breakfast. And if his aunt wondered why he had poured hot water into the porcelain washbowl and carried it with him, she did not ask.
    When he reached the barn, Tom went into the end stall, which had been used for the tack room. He went to the chest and, removing a small bottle of disinfectant, poured a few drops into the hot water. Next, he tore a piece of gauze from a roll and folded it carefully; then he left the room.
    The Queen moved toward him when he entered the box stall. But his eyes were for the colt, standing close beside her. The bleeding had stopped and the swelling was beginning to go down a bit. The Queen pushed her nose toward the bowl Tom carried. He put it high on the window sill, where she could not get at it; then he went to the rear of the stall and pitched some hay into the Queen's rack. It would be best if she ate while he took care of the colt.
    He went inside the stall again and soaked the gauze in the disinfectant solution. Then, holding the gauze behind him, he extended his other hand toward the colt, still half-hidden behind the mare.