He was in the round corral with the Soot Devil. The Devil didn’t have a white hair on his body, just that dusty flat black look his mustang mother had given him. The horse stood trembling on the end of the long-line, uncertainty oozing from him, reflecting the turmoil in the boy’s mind. “Whoa,” he said. “Stand easy, Devil horse.” He took a deep breath, staring at the horse, then at the ground. His throat welled up and he swallowed hard, choking the feeling back.