The Black Stallion

In the palm of his hand were some crushed oats. He knelt down beside the mare, his hand thrust beneath her belly toward where he could see the slim legs of the colt.
    He was content to wait, and wait he did. Many minutes passed while the mare continued eating and the cloth dried in Tom's hand, yet the colt made no move nor did he attempt to eat the feed offered him.
    Tom looked up to find his uncle standing in the doorway.
    "I could hold him for you," Uncle Wilmer said slowly. "That way you could do it easier an' faster—" He stopped abruptly, looking toward the floor. "You'd better do it your way," he added finally.
    A short time later, Uncle Wilmer left while Tom still sat on the straw beside the mare, waiting for the colt to show an interest in the oats he was offering him.
    He didn't know how long he had been there when he felt the colt's breath on his fingers; then, seconds later, the soft muzzle touched his hand. He held it still and steady as the colt ate the feed, and when it was gone Tom reached for more in his pocket. He wet the gauze again, hopeful that he would be able to get close to the colt this time.
    Now he moved to the front of the mare and the colt stood before him. He began talking to him softly as he once more offered him the oats. There was a moment's hesitation on the part of the colt. Big-eyed and not quite certain, he watched Tom. Finally his muzzle reached for the feed.
    Tom continued talking to him as he ate, but his eyes were upon the welt, now blood-caked. After a while his hand went to the small head. The colt drew back, but not before Tom's hand had come to rest upon his nose. Gently the boy held the gauze there as the colt backed away until his rump met the wall. The colt was a little frightened, but he wasn't fighting him. Tom took the gauze away and offered him the feed again. The colt came closer to it. Cautiously Tom dabbed at the cut, cleansing it well, while the colt licked the oats from his hand.
    Much later, he left the stall again to go to the chest in the tack room. He found the bottle of methylene blue, and soaked a clean piece of gauze with it. When he returned to the stall, the colt was moving restlessly about. But as Tom entered, the colt hurried behind the mare once more.
    Tom went forward, his hand finding more feed in his pocket. It would take time to paint the methylene blue on the cut, but it would take longer still, days and perhaps weeks, before he won the colt's full confidence again. And what would happen the next time he attempted to put a halter on the colt? It would take a long time for the cut to heal properly, and only then would he know. Meanwhile, during the weeks ahead the colt would grow in body and strength. If it was difficult holding him now, what would it be like a month from now?
    Tom knelt down a few feet from the colt, offering him the crushed oats. And as he waited for the colt to come to it, he thought of the letter he must write today to Jimmy Creech. He would have to say, "A terrible thing happened today, Jimmy, and I'm so ashamed because I know how much you trusted me to look after our colt…"

Light Bands
7
    It took a full month for the colt's nose to heal. And during that time Tom's days were the busiest he had ever known. With anxious eyes he watched the hard scab form over the cut. He looked at it frequently for any signs of infection beneath. But none appeared and finally the scab fell off, giving way to new skin. For a long while Tom wondered if the colt would carry a large scar to remind him of his neglect; but then the soft brown fuzz appeared, and Tom knew his sole reminder would be that which he carried within himself. His only hope was that the colt wouldn't remember, and Tom's hours with him were spent in helping him to forget.
    During the day, he was away from the colt only to attend to the chores his uncle and aunt had assigned to him. There were a thousand and more chickens about the farm, and Tom helped his uncle feed them and collect their eggs to be crated and sent to town. But when his work was done, he would follow the colt about the pasture, watching him roam inquisitively to the far corners of this new great and endless world that stretched before him. Only when the colt showed an interest in his presence and came to him would Tom run his hands over the furry brown coat and down the long legs. And in time the colt's visits became more frequent, for he knew he would find crushed oats in the boy's hand and there was