It was that outgoing personality that attracted Henry to her in the first place, when the two of them were kids in the fourth grade—that, and her green eyes. At the time, Henry fancied himself a pretty good roper, which he was, and had been out on the playground at recess showing off to some of his friends. Before long, Henry had attracted quite an audience, while throwing one fancy loop after another. First he caught one, then two and even three of his friends with one loop. Then he caught their feet as they ran past him, simulating the act of “heeling,” or catching an animal by the hind legs.

He then moved on to a couple of more technically challenging loops, one of which is known as a houlihan. The loops he had been throwing up to this point were pretty standard, all of which had been tossed sort of like one would a baseball and slightly off to the side of his body. The houlihan is thrown in a backhand fashion, with the release of the rope being nearly directly overhead. It is a tough loop for some experienced ropers to throw, but even as a child, Henry made it look easy.

This loop is generally known as a horse loop, as it is often used to catch loose horses out of a remuda. Unlike a standard loop, which would come directly at the horse due to the way it is thrown, often causing him to shy from the loop and avoid being caught, the houlihan, because of the way it is thrown, floats gently over the head and allows the person doing the throwing to catch the horse around the neck.

Henry had thrown several of these loops, effortlessly catching several of his friends, before one of the loops missed. Almost immediately, out of the small crowd of onlookers came a voice.

“I have a better houlihan than that,” the voice said unapologetically. Henry looked at the group while coiling his rope.

“Who said that?” he asked with a self-assured chuckle. There was no answer. “That’s what I thought,” he finished coiling his rope, and then started to build another loop. “Ain’t nobody here better than me.”

“I am,” the voice said. Then, from the back of the crowd stepped a small girl with long blond hair hanging down the middle of her back in a ponytail. She wore a yellow, flowered cotton dress and scuffed saddle shoes and white socks. Her eyes were the greenest Henry had ever seen, and he had to stop for a minute just to take them in. “I can do better than that.”

“You?” Henry snapped out of his stare and was indignant, or at least as indignant as a ten-year-old boy can be. “A girl! No way!”

The group, made up mostly of ranch boys and girls, all laughed. All except another little girl standing next to the blond.

“She is better,” the little girl said matter-of-factly. “She could out-rope you any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”