“You need the blanket first,” she said.
“What blanket?”
“The saddle cloth,” she said.
The horse moved again, crowding hard against him. He shoved it back. Its head came around and it looked at him. He looked back at it. It had huge dark eyes. Long eyelashes. He glared at it. I’m not afraid of you, pal. Stand still or I’ll shove you again.
“Ellie, does anybody know you’re in here?” he called. She shook her head, solemnly. “I’m hiding,” she said. “I’m good at hiding.” “But does anybody know you hide in here?”
“I think my mommy knows I do sometimes, but the Greers don’t.” “You know how to do this horse stuff?” “Of course I do. I can do my pony all by myself.” “So help me out here, will you? Come and do this one for me.” “It’s easy,” she said. “Just show me, O.K.?”
She stayed still for a second, making her usual lengthy decision, and then she scrambled down the pile of bales and jumped to the ground and joined him in the stall.
“Take the saddle off again,” she said.
She took a cloth off of the equipment post and shook it out and threw it up over the mare’s back. She was too short and Reacher had to straighten it one-handed.
“Now put the saddle on it,” she said.
He dropped the saddle on top of it. Ellie ducked underneath the horse’s belly and caught the straps. She barely needed to stoop. She threaded the ends together and pulled.
“You do it,” she said. “They’re stiff.” He lined the buckles up and pulled hard. “Not too tight,” Ellie said. “Not yet. Wait for her to swell up.” “She’s going to swell up?”
Ellie nodded, gravely. “They don’t like it. They swell their stomachs up to try to stop you. But they can’t hold it, so they come down again.”
He watched the horse’s stomach. It was already the size of an oil drum. Then it blew out, bigger and bigger, fighting the straps. Then it subsided again. There was a long sigh of air through its nose. It shuffled around and gave up. “Now do them tight,” Ellie said.
He pulled them as tight as he could. The mare shuffled in place. Ellie had the reins in her hands, shaking them into some kind of coherent shape. ‘Take the rope off of her,” she said. “Just pull it down.” He pulled the rope down. The mare’s ears folded forward and it slid down over them, over her nose, and off.
Now hold this up.” She handed him a tangle of straps. “It’s called the bridle.”
He turned it in his hands, until the shape made sense. He held it against the horse’s head until it was in the right position. He tapped the metal part against the mare’s lips. The bit. She kept her mouth firmly closed. He tried again. No result.
“How, Ellie?” he asked.
“Put your thumb in.”
“My thumb? Where?”
“Where her teeth stop. At the side. There’s a hole.”
He traced the ball of his thumb sideways along the length of the mare’s lips. He could feel the teeth passing underneath, one by one, like he was counting them. Then they stopped, and there was just gum.
“Poke it in,” Ellie said.
“My thumb?”
She nodded. He pushed, and the lips parted, and his thumb slipped into a warm, gluey, greasy socket. And sure enough, the mare opened her mouth.
“Quick, put the bit in,” Ellie said.
He pushed the metal into the mouth. The mare used her massive tongue to get it comfortable, like she was helping him, too.
“Now pull the bridle up and buckle it.”
He eased the leather straps up over the ears and found the buckles. There were three of them. One fastened flat against the slab of cheekbone. One went over her nose. The third was hanging down under her neck.
“Not too tight,” Ellie said. “She’s got to breathe.”
He saw a worn mark on the strap, which he guessed indicated the usual length.
“Now loop the reins up over the horn.”
There was a long strap coming off of the ends of the bit in a loop. He guessed that was the rein. And he guessed the horn was the upright thing at the front end of the saddle. Like a handle, for holding on with. Ellie was busy pulling the stirrups down into place, walking right under the mare’s belly from one side to the other.