The Black Stallion

tells him to do. And why shouldn't he? It's Jimmy Creech's colt, ain't it? What do I care what he does? But I wouldn't do it that way
.
    Reaching the gate, Uncle Wilmer opened it and went across the lawn.
    "But some of these racing fellers make good money at it." he muttered. "You got to admit they ought to know what they're doin', all right."
    Entering the house, Uncle Wilmer decided to dismiss the subject from his mind altogether. It made no difference to him how Tom handled the colt. None at all.
    But it was less than an hour later when Uncle Wilmer returned to the pasture fence. He had tried to stay away and had made every effort to convince himself that he wasn't at all interested in what Tom was doing with the colt, but he hadn't succeeded. Although he had buried his head in the poultry section of the latest issue of the
Farm Journal
, he couldn't help hearing the occasional shouts by Tom and the high-pitched neighs of the colt. So finally he had put down his paper and left the house to return to the pasture.
    He found Tom standing close to the fence, holding in his hand the new web halter he had bought a couple of days ago while in town.
    "You goin' to put it on him now?" Uncle Wilmer asked.
    Nodding, Tom lifted one foot to a rail of the fence and tightened the laces of the light sneakers he wore.
    "You ought to wear heavier shoes," Uncle Wilmer said with concern. "He might step on your foot. He ain't so small any more." He glanced at the colt, who was grazing a short distance away from them.
    "I can get around faster in these," Tom said.
    "Heh?" Uncle Wilmer asked, cupping an ear.
    "Faster!" Tom shouted, pointing to his sneakers.
    Uncle Wilmer shook his head in wonder, and it was only when the boy turned to the colt that he asked, "You want any help?"
    Tom turned to him, surprised not by the offer of assistance from his uncle, but by the note of eagerness in his voice. He tried to meet Uncle Wilmer's gaze, but the man would have none of it, for he had moved toward the chicken house.
    "I can use your help a little later," Tom called to him.
    Without turning, Uncle Wilmer said, "You call me, then. I got work to do."
    Reaching the chicken house, Uncle Wilmer looked carefully over his shoulder until he could see Tom without being observed. He waited many minutes before turning completely around; then he sat down on the steps, well knowing that Tom would be too busy with the colt to notice him sitting there.
    His eyes were grave with concern as he saw Tom go to the colt and kneel before him. After a while, he saw Tom raise the halter.
    "He's goin' to have trouble," Uncle Wilmer mumbled. "He shoulda let me hold him. I could still do it, all right."
    But Tom didn't raise the halter directly to the colt's head. Instead, Uncle Wilmer saw him run the halter over the colt's body as he handled him. After a long while, Tom moved the halter to the front of the colt, and Uncle Wilmer saw the colt reach for it, attempting to pull it from the boy's hand.
    For all of a half-hour, Tom made no attempt to put the halter over the colt's head. Uncle Wilmer's interest in the proceedings had given way to restlessness and several times he thought of leaving and would rise to his feet. But always he would sit down again.
    "What's he puttin' it off fer?" he asked himself aloud. "It ain't goin' to be
no
different no matter how long he waits.
    He's goin' to need me to hold the colt in the end, all right."
    His attention was diverted by the chickens that were clucking in their mad scramble to get inside to roost. The sky was darkening. It was getting late. He should be collecting the eggs instead of sitting here. He looked back at the pasture, and saw that Tom had placed the halter on the colt's ear. It dangled beside the small head until the colt shook it off. Uncle Wilmer shook his head sadly. What was Tom trying to do anyway? Why was he wasting all this time?
    Finally Uncle Wilmer rose to his feet and started to enter the chicken house. Then he stopped and turned around. He'd better wait, for Tom would be needing him.
    For many minutes he stood there. Suddenly his eyes narrowed and he looked with new interest at what was going on in the pasture. Tom held the halter in both hands now; he had moved even closer to the colt. He was going to put on the halter!
    Uncle Wilmer waited for what he knew must happen. The colt would pull back, rear and twist away from Tom before the boy could buckle the strap about his head. Uncle Wilmer moved from