Emma and the Cutting Horse

by Martha Deeringer

  The excitement over Miss Dellfene and the Futurity escalated when the lawyer from Washington D.C. who had raised the mare, called one evening.

  “He asked if it was true that we had entered a mare we bought at his sale in the NCHA Futurity,” Emma’s dad related. “When I said that it was, he wanted all the particulars. He wrote down the name of her trainer and the dates of the Futurity, and asked if he could call the trainer occasionally to check on her progress.”

  “Wow,” Emma’s mom said. “I wonder how he heard about it.”

  “I have no idea, but he said he was going to be there to watch, and that he was glad somebody bought her who would make the most of her abilities. I didn’t tell him that her Futurity appearance was almost an accident or that her owners were in danger of running out of money.”

  Emma and her parents made regular trips to watch Miss Dellfene’s training throughout the summer. Kyle came along whenever his summer work schedule permitted, and Emma could tell that he was soaking up lots of information about cutting horses. More people were present to watch the training sessions than there had been earlier in the summer. John had lights around his arena and many of the training sessions took place after dark, when the heat of the day had dissipated. Other riders began to station themselves in the arena when Miss Dellfene worked.

  “They’re herd holders and turn-back men,” John explained when Emma asked about them. “I want her to get used to ‘em, so she won’t get distracted by ‘em during the Futurity. The herds of cattle will be bigger during the real competition, and the herd holders keep the calves from scatterin’ all over the arena while a horse is working. Turn-back men stop the ones who try to run off to the back of the arena to get away from the cutting horse.”

  Emma was beginning to be able to tell when the workouts were going particularly well. The mare seemed to ooze confidence and her tap dance routine was becoming a regular part of her performance. John rode her with the reins “thrown away,” let out to a length where they swung loosely in the air. He told Emma that this was to show the judges that he was not giving her signals with the bridle.

  One evening, Emma and her parents arrived to find a small herd of cattle in the arena. They wandered around bawling and investigating their new surroundings, while several saddled horses waited outside the arena tied to the fence. Miss Dellfene was one of them. John was saddling the paint.

  “I’m going to work these calves with this horse first,” he told Emma’s parents. “They’ll learn to stay together better after they’ve been worked for a little while.”

  John moved the paint through the small herd slowly, letting the calves get used to the horse’s closeness. The herd holders rode their horses halfway down the arena fence on each side and stopped them facing the herd. When a calf tried to run out of the herd, they turned it back. After a half hour of slow work, he brought the paint out and put a bridle on Miss Dellfene.

  As John led her through the gate, her ears pricked excitedly at the cattle. He mounted and made her stand perfectly still for long minutes. When he finally walked her forward, she vibrated with excitement. He made her walk very slowly into the herd and stand still until a red and white Hereford calf began to cross in front of her. Then he turned her toward the calf, and it moved out to the center of the arena. The calf trotted toward the side fence, and John shook out the reins and let the mare have her head.

  Miss Dellfene danced sideways and did a graceful pirouette each time the calf changed directions. When it stood in one place for too long, she tapped her front feet to get it moving, and then expertly blocked the calf’s attempts to get back with the others. She had never worked cattle before, but their bigger size and faster movements seemed to inspire her, and with John sitting perfectly still with one hand on the saddle horn, she gracefully executed turns that threw the loose dirt of the arena floor high in the air. She crouched and spun, and Emma could hear hoots of approval from the men standing around the outside of the arena. She heard herself gasp, and impulsively reached for Kyle’s hand beside hers on the fence. Up this close, she could feel the power behind the mare’s lunges, and the creak of the saddle and the smell of the boiling dust and sweat testified to the immensity of the effort it took. In minutes, it was over. Outmaneuvered, the calf turned away then John reached out and laid his hand on Miss Dellfene’s neck.

  When the Hereford had rejoined the herd, John turned the mare back toward the cattle and rode her slowly all the way through them to the back fence. There was no clock ticking now, as there would be during the Futurity, so he took his time, making a deep cut. Deep cuts, he had explained to Emma, were required for at least one of the calves cutters chose from the herd during the Futurity, to show that the horse could work calmly in a herd. Until the calf had been driven out of the herd, cutting horse trainers were allowed to cue the horse with their legs or the reins, but once the animal was out in the open, a cutting horse must work all by itself. The rider was a silent partner who did his best not to interfere with the horse’s movements.

  A black steer moved toward the outside of the herd, and Emma could tell that John was signaling the mare to follow it. At the edge of the herd, the steer tried to turn back toward the others, but John reined the mare to block it and it trotted into the open. Emma noticed for the first time how strong the mare looked now. Muscles bulged in her chest and hindquarters that hadn’t been so obvious before she began her training. John lowered his rein hand to a spot just in front of the saddle horn, and the steer leapt into action, darting back and forth. It moved fast and each time the mare blocked its path it ran a little further out into the arena.

  “What’s that hissing sound?” Kyle asked. “Is John making it?”

  Now that he had brought it to her attention, Emma could hear John hissing at the mare.

  “What’s he doing that for?” Emma asked, but before they had time to consider any longer, the steer turned his tail toward the mare and trotted toward the back of the arena.

  “That’s enough for now,” John said and turned the mare toward the arena gate.

  Emma let go of Kyle’s hand, but her heart was still pounding as John dismounted and led the mare over to the fence.

  “What’s the hissing for?” she asked when John got close to them.

  “That’s a sign that she’s charging. Charging is moving forward too far from the herd. She does that sometimes with a calf that doesn’t want to work close to her. When the calf moves farther away she wants to follow it, but when she hears me hissing, she knows to back off. Charging is a fault. I can’t correct her with the reins while she’s working, but most judges don’t notice the hissing.”

  Emma nodded. She was beginning to realize that there was much more to cutting a calf than most onlookers noticed.

  Emma was just beginning to relax when John looked across the fence at her and asked, “Want to take a shot at ridin’ a cutting horse?”

  Now her heart was in her throat again.

  “That bay gelding tied to the fence in the back of the arena is an older fella. He knows his stuff and ain’t too hard to ride. I’d like for Miss Dellfene to be in the arena when another horse is cutting cattle. She needs to learn that she can relax when other horses are working the herd. I’ll talk you through what to do. Want to try it?” John asked.

  Emma looked mutely at her father.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “You’re a good rider, and it’s always fun to try new things. I’m sure John wouldn’t ask you if he didn’t think you could do it.”

  “Okay,” Emma said. “Tell me what to do.”

  “There’s a bridle hanging on the saddle horn,” John told her. “Put it on him and ride him around a little to get the feel of him and warm him up.”

  The bay gelding was smaller than Ditto, and had a Roman nose. Emma slipped his halter off, and he opened his mouth to accept the bit and stood quietly while she pulled the bridle over his ears. She led him a few steps away from the fence and tightened up the cinch. When she stepped o
n, the stirrups were much too long.

  “Take him over to your dad and get him to shorten the stirrups. You have to keep your weight on your feet when you’re ridin’ a cutting horse.” John said.

  Emma’s dad came into the arena and put the stirrups up until she felt comfortable in them. The saddle had a very different feel than her own saddle. It was a cutting horse saddle with a wide pommel. Oxbow stirrups swung from the stirrup leathers and helped hold Emma’s feet in position. The seat of the saddle was completely flat with no built-up area in the front and it had a smaller horn for easy gripping. She moved the gelding over to the rail and walked him several rounds in the back half of the arena so the cattle wouldn’t be disturbed. When she squeezed him with her legs he broke into a rough trot, and Emma had to put most of her weight in the stirrups to keep from bouncing.

  “Kinda rough, ain’t he?” John asked, chuckling as she passed by. “Lope him a round or two and then I’ll tell ya how to get him into the herd and cut a calf.”

  Emma pulled him back to a walk and then tapped him with her outside heel, asking him to lope. He had a nice slow lope, but his circles got smaller and smaller, as though he was in a hurry to get to the center of the arena and stop. Emma reined him over to the fence and made him stay close to it, and when he realized that she was not going to let him choose the course, he did as she asked.

  John got back on Miss Dellfene and walked her to the center of the arena.

  “Bring him over here, Emma, and I’ll fill you in on what to do,” John said.

  Emma walked the gelding over to John, and Miss Dellfene backed her ears and stepped away, as though the gelding’s presence offended her.

  “You have a good seat in the saddle,” John told her. “Your dad told me that you have been riding colts for him for years and know what you’re doing.”

  “Thanks,” Emma said nervously.

  “Don’t worry about what to do when you get a cow cut out. Lucky knows his business; all you have to do is keep one leg on each side of him. Once you get a cow out, drop the reins. Well, don’t really drop them; just give him a lot of loose rein and hold on to the saddle horn with one hand. Maybe even both hands. When he starts to work the calf, keep your weight in the stirrups and push on the saddle horn.”

  “Push?” Emma asked.

  “When you push, it forces you back against the cantle of the saddle so you don’t flop around so much. You can stop him anytime by putting your hand on his neck, just in front of the saddle horn. Don’t try to turn him with the reins; a cutting horse has to work the calf all by itself. I’ll tell ya when to quit.”

  “I hope I’m not about to make a fool of myself,” Emma said. Her knees felt a little quivery, and she wasn’t sure how she could put her weight in the stirrups if her knees wouldn’t hold her.

  “This ain’t a test,” John said. “You’ll do fine. Walk him into the herd real slow and try to get that black heifer out. She’s kinda lazy. So is Lucky, for that matter. Go on now; you’re gonna love it!”

  With some trepidation, Emma urged Lucky into a slow walk and guided him through the cattle to the back fence, as she had seen John do so many times. She turned him around and stopped. One of the herd holders, giving her a “you can do it” grin, rode forward and the calves began moving around her. When the black heifer started to pass in front of her, Emma squeezed Lucky forward and the heifer turned out toward the center of the arena, trotting forward several steps. Emma’s stomach fluttered. Lucky followed for a few steps and then stopped.

  “Drop him!” John hollered.

  Emma let the reins out and wrapped both hands around the saddle horn. When the heifer turned back toward him, Lucky’s front legs seemed to drop out from under him as he crouched, and Emma felt like she was going to fall over his shoulders into the dust of the arena.

  “Push on the horn!” John shouted.

  Emma pushed and righted herself, just as the heifer ducked to the left. Lucky lunged in front of the calf, his powerful muscles bunching and his head at eye level with the calf. Emma pushed hard on her right stirrup and barely stayed on. In her mind, a picture flashed of John sitting perfectly balanced and still on a cutting horse without any apparent effort at all. The calf stopped as soon as Lucky got in front of it, and turned to try an escape in the other direction. This time Emma was ready and pushed her heels down hard, hanging on to the saddle horn like a drowning sailor to a life preserver.

  The heifer slowed after her third dash for the herd, and Emma dared to glance up at John, sitting on Miss Dellfene in the middle of the arena.

  “You’re doing great! Relax a little!” John grinned at her.

  The heifer made one last feeble attempt to get past Lucky, and suddenly Emma realized that she was sitting up straight in the saddle, no longer flopping back and forth, but anticipating the horse’s moves. In a matter of seconds the whole experience had gone from terrifying to exhilarating. Just as she felt she was getting the hang of it, the heifer turned away and trotted off toward the far end of the arena.

  “Tell him to quit now,” John called. Emma dared to take one hand off the saddle horn, touched Lucky’s neck, and felt him immediately relax. Her heart was hammering.

  She squeezed the gelding forward and rode up beside John, who reached over and patted her on the arm.

  I’ve seen a few grown men eat arena dust during their first ride on a cutting horse, kiddo,” John said. “You were really getting the hang of it. Want to go again?”

  “Not right this minute. My knees are shaking. But you were right, I did love it. I’ve never ridden a horse on automatic pilot before.”

  “Okay, then. Take him over to your dad and let’s see if he’s as good a rider as you are.”

  Chapter Ten

  At home, Emma concentrated on getting Camaro started under saddle. She drove her on the lunge line wearing the saddle nearly every morning, and then she began putting a bridle with a snaffle bit over her halter so the mare could get used to carrying the bit in her mouth. For several days, Camaro chewed on the bit, dripping slobber on the ground as she tried to spit it out. After a week of wearing the bridle Emma felt everything was ready for her first real ride. Her dad agreed to make time the following Saturday morning to watch her in case things went south like they had with Miss Dellfene.

  The day was already hot by 8 a.m. and Camaro’s sluggish performance on the lunge line suggested that she was hoping for a nap in the shade. Emma’s dad came into the arena and stood by the mare’s head as Emma stepped on. Unused to the weight pulling on her left side when a rider mounted, Camaro took a step to the left. The saddle slipped a little on her back. She had what Emma’s father called “mutton withers.” Her back was wide and flat and her withers didn’t hold the saddle in the center as well as horses with more pronounced withers did.

  “Whoa,” Emma said, lifting the reins. She put her foot in the opposite stirrup and straightened the saddle, sitting still for several minutes to give the mare a chance to relax. Then she leaned slightly to each side so that catching a glimpse of her up there would not take the mare by surprise. Finally, she patted her on the neck, picked up the reins again and squeezed gently with both legs and said, “Walk up.” Nothing happened.

  “Why don’t I lead her a little ways to show her what you want,” her dad asked, taking a gentle hold on one rein and stepping forward. Emma squeezed again and Camaro stepped out obediently. Her dad removed his hand from the rein but kept walking forward. Camaro followed.

  “Now let’s see if you have any brakes,” her father said when they got near the end of the arena. Emma pulled gently on the reins and said “whoa,” and Camaro stopped. She knew that word all too well. Emma immediately released the pressure on the bit. The movement of the bit in her mouth started her chewing again, but she soon gave it up.

  “I think you got this,” her dad said patting the mare and walking behind her toward the gate. Emma squeezed again and said, “Walk up.” Camaro took two or three steps and stopped.
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  “I think that’s going to be your major battle,” Emma’s dad said from outside the fence. “You’re going to have to convince her to keep moving until you decide it’s time for her to stop.”

  “That sure wasn’t my problem with Miss Dellfene,” Emma joked, squeezing again until Camaro stepped forward.

  In spite of her gentle nature and slow gaits, Camaro learned surprisingly fast. She was a pleaser and did her best to cooperate with Emma. On the first few rides, Emma’s legs ached from squeezing her forward, but she soon learned to keep moving until Emma signaled for a change. Her trot was pretty rough, but it gradually smoothed out as Emma bumped the reins to slow her to a jog. Western horses were supposed to perform at a slow jog unless asked for more speed, and Camaro was content to saunter along. She carried her head low as a quarter horse should, and before long Emma had enough confidence in her to ride with a loose rein.

  Several times Emma saw Kyle leaning on the fence watching her. He watched briefly since he was in the middle of chores, but he usually gave her the thumbs up sign. The early evenings were blistering hot and Emma’s tank tops left her arms as brown as a Texas pecan. Her father didn’t hold with riding in shorts and sneakers, so her lightest jeans and boots kept her legs paler than her arms and face and a lot hotter. Last winter she had decided to grow out her short, brown hair, and it could finally be tamed into a short ponytail, although curly wisps soon broke free and fluttered around her face. A pink baseball cap kept her nose from blistering and peeling.