I looked down at Mitchell and stopped, knowing that despite our understanding, he was itching for a fight with me. Now, I don’t know what possessed me in that moment to say the next thing I did. Maybe I was feeling guilty that because I was my daddy’s son, I could ride Ghost Wind. Maybe it was that, but it wasn’t out of fear I said what I said. I no longer was afraid of Mitchell. “You want to ride him?” I asked.
Mitchell took a step backward. It was obvious he hadn’t expected me to say that. “You know I can’t ride him,” he said. “Your white daddy’d kill me.”
“You want to ride him?” I asked again.
Mitchell looked at the stallion, then at me. “So, what if I do?”
“You figure you can ride Ghost Wind, then get on. Just bring him back to the stable when you’re finished so I can rub him down.” I dismounted, leaving the stallion with Mitchell, and headed toward the barn. Now, I truly expected that Mitchell would come after me with Ghost Wind. After all, despite my invitation, I knew Mitchell couldn’t ride Ghost Wind. As far as I knew, Mitchell had never ridden more than a mule and had no idea how to ride a thoroughbred tornado like Ghost Wind. But instead of Mitchell following me, the next thing I knew, I heard a triumphant cry, turned, and saw Mitchell atop the stallion dashing across the meadow. For a moment all I could do was stand and stare. But then, as the stallion bucked, left the meadow, and headed for the woods, I suddenly found my legs and my voice, and I began running and screaming after Mitchell and the stallion. “Pull back the reins!” I hollered as I ran. “Mitchell, the reins! Pull back hard!”
As fast as my legs would take me, I crossed the meadow, but there was no catching them. Ghost Wind and Mitchell were gone, hidden by the deep green of the forest. I chased them along a forest trail, then heard the cracking of branches, and a high shrieking curse, along with a loud snort, and my heart pumped faster. When I finally reached the two of them, I found Mitchell on his rear end, his hands against his head, and the stallion limping several feet away. My first thoughts were for the stallion; I wasn’t thinking about Mitchell. It was good to see him on his backside for a change.
“Whoa there, Wind,” I said softly as I tried to get near the stallion. “It’s me, boy. It’s Paul.” I extended my hand slowly. “Let me take a look at you now. It’s all right. It’s all right.” The stallion pulled back at first. I kept talking, and he finally allowed me to touch him. He whinnied just a bit, and I patted him gingerly, trying to make him know me; then, when he was still, I took a closer look at his leg. There was a bad tear along his right foreleg, and there were scratches from the branches that had ripped along his sleek white coat. The scratches I knew would heal, but I wasn’t sure about the leg. The way Ghost Wind had pulled back, I feared a ligament might be torn or even his leg fractured.
“He all right?” asked Mitchell, on his feet now.
Without looking at him, I shook my head. “Don’t know. We got to get him back to the barn.”
“Your daddy’s gonna kill me,” he said solemnly, yet with no fear in his voice, just a voice of matter of fact. “Course now, my daddy get t’ me first, he’ll do it. Don’t blame him this time if he do, though, ’cause he’s gonna lose his job sure once your daddy see that horse.”
I just looked at Mitchell and took the reins. “Come on. Let’s get him back.”
Mitchell nodded and, for the first time, followed my lead.
Willie Thomas was waiting for us when we got back to the barn. “Ah, Lord, what done happened?” he asked, rushing over to the limping stallion. Willie stooped and examined the stallion’s foreleg, then straightened and glared accusingly at Mitchell. “Boy, you got somethin’ t’ do wit’ this?”
Mitchell looked at him sulkily. “You’d think I did even if I ain’t.”
“You tell me, boy! You been on this stallion?”
“And so what if I was?”
Willie Thomas hauled off and slapped Mitchell across the face with the back of his hand. “Don’t ya get smart wit’ me!” Mitchell turned his head at the impact, but he didn’t fall back. It was as if he had already braced himself for the attack. “You done had somethin’ t’ do wit’ this here stallion bein’ cut up, I knows it!” Willie raved on. “You had somethin’ t’ do wit’ it, I gets the blame, and I lose my good job! Tell me what ya done!”
Mitchell stared coldly at his daddy. He said nothing. I stared at them both, fearful of what was to come. Next thing, Willie Thomas pulled a whip from the barn wall. It was then that my daddy came riding up on one of his mares. He took one look at Willie Thomas holding the whip, another at Mitchell and me, then his eyes settled on Ghost Wind. He dismounted and walked over to the stallion. Unlike Willie, he didn’t inspect the stallion’s leg. He just glanced at it, then turned to face the three of us. “So, what’s happened to my horse?”