by Marsha Hubler

“Easy, Snow.”

Skye Nicholson led the prancing white mustang into a corral and closed the gate. She unsnapped the lead rope from Snow's halter and coiled the rope in her hands. Skye reached out to touch Snow's muzzle and he reared, eyes wild with fear.

Skye stepped back, allowing the horse to relax. Snow stomped the ground and snorted. Pivoting his powerful body, he faced away from Skye and stood like a statue—defiant.

Skye examined the horse. His ears pricked forward, and his neck arched. His sleek white coat sparkled in the warm spring sun like new-fallen snow.

Skye took a few steps back and ran her fingers through her long, dark hair. “I should have named you Fireball,” she said. “Only one problem. You're the wrong color.”

Mean Girls

Skye spun around at the sound of laughter. There on horseback, in all their snooty glory, sat Hannah Gilbert and Betty Feaster. The girls wore the best riding clothes money could buy. Hannah reined in her Palomino, while Betty circled her jet-black Morgan.

The two purebred horses shared the reputation in Snyder County of receiving prizes in every horse show they entered. And Hannah and Betty made sure no one forgot it.

“Well, if it isn't our famous cowpoke from Snyder County,” Hannah drawled.

“Git along little doggie.” Betty giggled. “Yahoo! Look at Annie Oakley with her wild mule!”

Skye's mind raced in time with her heart. What are they doing here? Slipping out of the corral, Skye looked up at the girls.

“Oh, hi,” she said weakly. “You're kinda far from home.”

“This Saturday is perfect for a trail ride,” Hannah said, stroking her horse's wavy mane. “We decided to give our mounts the day off and see how things are going in the broken-down barn.”

“Our horses don't need practice,” Betty bragged. “That silly little show is a whole week away.”

“So, Skye,” Hannah said in a fake-sweet voice, “are you entering that crazy thing in the show?”

Hannah's voice reeked of sarcasm. “I've got the perfect name for your team: Wild Foster Kid and Her Wild Hay Bag.”

Betty snickered.

“He's a registered mustang,” Skye snapped. “And his name is Snow.”

“I think Flake would be a better name,” Hannah said. “No way that horse will be ready by Saturday.”

“Hannah, I think you're wrong on that one,” Betty said. “Looks like he'd be good for the miles-and-miles-away relay.” The girls dissolved into laughter.

“I'm entering him in a halter class,” Skye said. “And he'll be ready.” Skye wasn't as sure as she sounded.

“Sure, he'll be ready,” Hannah sneered. She and Betty reined their horses around and rode away.

“See you tomorrow!” Betty yelled over her shoulder. “We'll ride by again to check your progress. Seven days and counting!”

Skye felt her face flush, and her insides churned with anger. All the bad feelings rushed back from past encounters with Hannah at Madison Middle School.

Ever since Skye had come to live at Keystone Stables and become a Christian, she had tried to treat Hannah better. Skye had even apologized to Hannah for punching her in the nose in the cafeteria last year. But Hannah had only stuck her nose higher in the air.

Keep your cool, Skye told herself. You've been through this before. Beat them fair and square—in the ring.

Skye stared at Snow—the biggest challenge she'd faced in a long time. “We've got one week,” she said. “Lord, I really need You for this one.”

Whisper of Truth

For three hours Skye horse-whispered, using techniques she had learned at Monty Roberts' horse- training camp. She pitched one end of the lead rope at Snow's hindquarters, forcing him to “retreat” and circle the perimeter of the corral. When he tired of running and stopped, Skye would “advance,” come eyeball-to- eyeball with Snow and touch his face.

Then Skye stepped away from Snow and waited for him to come to her. Everything was going well until someone slammed a door. The echoing noise sent Snow into a frenzy.

“Easy, Boy.” Skye backed away from the horse as he stomped, snorted and repeated his tail-in-your-face routine. “Easy.”

“Skye,” a woman's voice sounded from outside the corral, “is everything all right?”

Skye slipped outside the corral and joined her foster mother.

“Yeah, everything's cool with Snow and me,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “But not with— ”

“Hannah and Betty?” Mrs. Chambers looked concerned. “I saw them cross the road and head into the woods.”

“Mom,” Skye said, “I try to be nice to them, but Hannah just won't forgive me. I don't know what else to do.”

Mrs. Chambers rested her arms on the corral and looked in Snow's direction. “Skye, you've come a long way since you became a Christian. It's not always easy, is it?” She looked at Skye. “Especially when others don't let you forget your past.”

“Sometimes I feel like two different kids,” Skye said. “Hannah makes me so mad I want to punch her lights out, but I know God would never want me to do that.”

Mrs. Chambers slipped her arm around Skye's shoulders. “What do you think He wants you to do then?”

“Be kind to Hannah,” Skye said. “But that's not easy. I'd rather try to hug a porcupine.”

Mrs. Chambers let out a hearty laugh. “Just remember. Hannah might not know a thing about God. You have something she needs.”

“Right now I need to get back in the corral with Mr. Stubborn.” Skye nodded toward Snow.

“I'm sure you'll have him ready for the show.” Mrs. Chambers gave Skye one last squeeze. “Give it your best shot, Honey. We don't expect blue ribbons all the time.”

Showdown

The next day after church, Skye led Snow to the corral to continue his training. As Skye warmed up her horse, she thought about Pastor Newman's sermon that morning: “Loving Your Enemies.” It had seemed like a rerun of Mom's words the day before.

“How did he know that was my problem?” Skye asked Snow as he cantered at the end of the lunge line. “I'm sure Mom didn't tell him.”

She coiled the line, drew Snow to her side and patted his neck. “Oh, I get it,” she said smiling. “It's a God thing.”

Skye turned at the sound of weak applause.

“Betty,” Hannah said, “I do believe the foster kid is getting a grip on that crazy horse. Look, he's even standing still for her.”

“What did you do to quiet him down?” Betty asked. “Give him a bottle of warm milk? Git along little doggie!”

Betty sure knew how to wear out a joke.

Skye looked Betty in the eye. “Git along little doggie, indeed,” she said, smiling. “And this little doggie is getting along fine. Thanks for your concern.”

The girls exchanged confused glances from atop their mounts.

“So, Hannah,” Skye said, “what classes are you entering?”

“Uh-uh,” Hannah stammered, “Western Pleasure.”

“How about you, Betty?” Skye led Snow toward the edge of the corral.

“Western Pleasure and Advanced Trail,” Betty said.

“Looks like you won't have any competition from Champ and me,” Skye said, referring to her other horse. “He has the week off. I want to spend all my time getting Snow ready for his debut.”

Hannah squared her Stetson hat. Her eyes met Skye's.

Pow! Skye's invisible fist landed right between Hannah's snooty eyes. But this punch was different; it was a blow of kindness.

“I guess we better be going,” Hannah said. “Looks like you need to focus on Snow.”

“Yeah, see you at the show,” Betty added as the girls turned their horses.

“I'll look for you,” Skye yelled. She slipped her arms around Snow's neck. “And now you need to get to work,” she said.

That afternoon, Skye gave Snow the workout of his life. The mustang was a quick learner and responded to Skye's gentle instruction. By suppertime, he had learned to respond to his halter and the rope-stopping, starting and turning at Skye's command.

Just as Skye prodded the horse into the all-important stance called “squaring up,” a truck sped by the stable and honked its horn. Snow's ears pricked and every muscle tensed, but he stood still.

A victorious smile spread across Skye's face as she kissed her horse on the nose. “Snow, it looks like you, me and God are a team no one can beat. I know you'll be ready for that show.”

To read more about Skye Nicholson and Snow, check out the “Keystone Stables” series, available at Christian bookstores.

	Q: What kind of phone does a turtle use? A: A shell-ular phone. Andy B., 10, Wisconsin Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe