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    The Winged Colt of Casa Mia
    The Winged Colt of Casa Mia
    The Winged Colt of Casa Mia
    Ebook119 pages1 hour

    The Winged Colt of Casa Mia

    By Betsy Byars

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    There’s no such thing as a colt with wings—is there?
    When Charles arrives at his Uncle Coot’s Texas ranch from back East, he’s sure that books have taught him everything he needs to know about horses. He wants to prove he’s a cowboy just like his uncle, a retired movie stunt rider, who knows Charles is out of his element. But when a neighbor’s mare gives birth to a miraculous colt with wings, Charles and Coot realize that they both have much more to learn. They grow to love the colt, named Alado, or “Winged One.” Still, it’s no easy feat caring for a mythical creature, especially when it can fly. Can Charles and Coot protect Alado—and each other? This ebook features an illustrated biography of Betsy Byars including rare images from the author’s personal collection.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateMar 26, 2013
    ISBN9781480410657
    The Winged Colt of Casa Mia
    Author

    Betsy Byars

    Betsy Byars is the author of many award-winning books for children, including The Summer of the Swans, a Newbery Medal winner. The Pinballs was an ALA Notable Book. She is also the author of Goodbye, Chicken Little; The Two-Thousand-Pound Goldfish; and the popular Golly Sisters trilogy.

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      Book preview

      The Winged Colt of Casa Mia - Betsy Byars

      The Winged Colt of Casa Mia

      Betsy Byars

      Contents

      Best in the Business

      The Guy Who Never Got Hurt

      Something Wrong at the Minneys’

      A Surprise

      Texas Pegasus

      The Storm That Went On and On

      The Search That Didn’t Go On Long Enough

      Something Wrong at the Minneys’ Again

      To Get a Colt

      A White Form in the Mesquite

      $349 Worth of Snakes

      Flight

      More in the Sky Than Hawks

      Those Who Can—Fly

      Those Who Can’t—Walk

      A Biography of Betsy Byars

      Best in the Business

      WE STOOD AT THE railroad station and looked across the tracks at each other. He was a boy in a dark suit with his hair combed down flat. He was holding a Mad magazine. I was a man in dusty boots and dusty pants with a scar down the side of my face that no amount of dust could hide.

      I said, Charles?

      He said, Uncle Coot? Is that you?

      Yes.

      He tried to grin. Well, it’s me too.

      We kept standing there, and then I stepped over to his side of the tracks. Charles was looking up at me, and for a second I could see the Texas sky mirrored in his eyeglasses, the big white clouds. He cleared his throat and said, I guess you heard I was coming. He started rolling and unrolling his magazine. Or you wouldn’t be here.

      I got your mom’s telegram this morning.

      Well, she’ll probably send for me in a few weeks or something, he said. I won’t be here forever. He made a tight roll of the Mad magazine and held it in his fist.

      Well, sure, I said. She’ll send for you. We stood there a minute more, and then I said, We might as well stop standing around and get in the truck. We both tried to pick up his suitcase at the same time. Then I got it and carried it over to the truck and we got in.

      We drove out of Marfa and neither of us said anything for a mile or two. My truck’s old and makes a lot of noise, but it seemed quiet this morning. Once I cleared my throat, and he snapped his head around and asked, Did you say something?

      I was just clearing my throat.

      Oh, I thought you said something.

      No. I probably would have said something if I could have thought of anything to say, but I couldn’t. We rode on for a few more miles. I was looking straight ahead at the road. He was looking out the window at the mountains. We passed a peak called Devil’s Back.

      I said, I reckon this is different from back East where you were in school.

      Yes. We drove another mile or two, and then he said suddenly, I’ve seen you in the movies.

      I said, What? because he had spoken real quiet.

      He turned his head toward me. "I’ve seen you in the movies."

      Oh.

      There was another silence, and then he said, "I especially remember you in a movie called Desert Flame."

      Well, that’s over now, I said. Up until this spring I had been in California doing stunts for western movies. I had been doing stunts—or gags, as we call them—the biggest part of my life, and I can tell you that the stunts you see in the movies are real and they are dangerous. There are tricks, of course—fences and barn doors made of soft balsa wood to break easily, ground that’s been dug up and softened, rubber hose stirrups—but most of the horse stunts you see are not faked, and stunt horses have to be special animals.

      Charles said, You were riding a white horse.

      I said, Yeah. Then I added again, But that’s over now. I wanted the conversation to end.

      Did the white horse belong to you?

      Yeah.

      What was his name?

      Cotton. I tried to make a period of the word. There’s a phrase stunt men have about horses—the best in the business—and that suited Cotton. In a stunt horse temperament is the important thing, not looks, and I had found Cotton on his way to the slaughterhouse because of a badly wounded leg. There was something about the horse that I liked, and I had taken him and started training him. First I let him fall in a sawdust pit so he would get used to it; then I got him to fall when he was walking, then trotting, and finally to fall in a full gallop, a beautiful fall you’ve probably seen in a dozen movies.

      Maybe you remember the movie Desert Flame that Charles was talking about and the scene where the white stallion falls in the desert. That was me and Cotton. I rode Cotton right to the top of a dune, reared him, pretended to take a shot in the shoulder, fell backwards, and me and him rolled head over hoof all the way down that dune without bruising either one of us. Stunt men still talk about that fall sometimes.

      Do you still have that horse? Charles asked. I’d like to see him.

      No, I don’t have him any more.

      What happened?

      I didn’t answer.

      "What happened?" he asked again.

      I said, Nothing, and began to drive a little faster.

      What happened was something I couldn’t talk about. That spring Cotton and I had been taking a fall for a movie called Bright Glory. The fall wasn’t anything special, just a battle scene, and we were to come toward the camera in a full gallop and drop just before we got there. It wasn’t anything unusual. Cotton and I had taken that same fall dozens of times with neither of us the worse for it. But this one fall my timing was off. It wasn’t off more than a second, but we went down—not in the soft drop area, but beyond it—and crashed into the camera. I got up but Cotton didn’t. His front legs were broken.

      It took something out of me. Cotton and I had been together for twelve years, and when I knew he was going to have to be shot—I knew it right when I scrambled to my feet in the dust and he didn’t—well, I decided then that I wanted to go back home to Texas. The land called me. I wanted to look at the mountains again, to ride through the valleys, to have that bright blinding sky over me. I wanted to be by myself.

      The whole thing came back to me as Charles was talking—the accident, the blood from my cheek falling on Cotton’s white neck, the pistol shot. I reached up and rubbed the scar on my cheek.

      Charles was still talking a mile a minute. "And I remember you jumping across a cliff in Thunder in Oklahoma. Remember? You almost didn’t make it, and you and the horse just hung there practically on the side of the cliff for a moment."

      Yeah.

      I stayed to see that part of the movie five times and it got better and better. Everybody in the audience held their breath, and some little kids down in front screamed. Was the horse Cotton?

      I nodded.

      I told everybody that was my uncle up there on the screen—the lady selling popcorn, the man on the aisle, everybody. I don’t think half of them believed me. It was the greatest thing I ever saw.

      "It wasn’t that great, Charles. The cliff wasn’t as high as it looked—they had the camera set at an angle so that it looked higher

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