The crowd thought the boy in the wheelchair was helpless-until the wild mustang lowered his head to his boots

have. He looked away.

Walt reached into his shirt pocket for a toothpick, rolled it between his fingers, then didn’t put it in his mouth. “What you did in there wasn’t nothing.”

“I sat still.”

“No,” Walt said. “A scarecrow sits still. You changed the pressure in the pen. You made yourself small without acting scared. You looked away at the right second.continue reading …