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The stallion chased my father's yellow Arabian into the corral. Sandy quit running and backed into the fence posts. My father twirled a lasso—he released and the rope grazed the stallion's neck. The stallion reared up and the lasso fell in the dirt. My father ran. So did Valdez. My father's cowboy hat flew off and rolled on its brim. 
"You keeds shouldn't be watchin'," Gramma said. 
Ben chuckled. "We've got front row seats."
Gramma tossed her cigarette and it smoldered in the grass.
The stallion forced Sandy against the wire. Her legs got caught in the bottom strands and he mounted her. Sandy tried bucking but his weight kept her pinned down. 
"Help Sandy!" I told Gramma.
She tucked the pack of Chesterfields into the shirt pocket of her blouse. "Not a damn thing we can do." 

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