“My name is Joe Wheeler.”
“Custis Long.”
“Might take a little more time for this horse to get over his lameness.”
“I hope not,” Longarm replied, “because I can’t wait. And despite a few personality problems, this is the toughest animal I’ve ever ridden. He never tires.”
“This horse has a rock bruise,” the blacksmith said after examining the hoof carefully. “Look here. You can see the dark spot where the blood has collected just under the surface of the foot. It’s as nasty a bruise as I’ve seen in a good long while.”
“Damn! I guess that means that I may have to leave him.”
“You’re in a big hurry, huh?”
“I am,” Longarm answered. “What do you suggest?”
Joe moved around the horse, inspecting each hoof. Finally, he straightened and said, “This horse needs a day or two to heal and he needs new shoes all the way around. You can see that for yourself.”
“Yeah,” Longarm said, “I can. I was just hoping …”
“Hoping don’t cut it in this rocky country. I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t. He needs new shoes.”
“What about the rock bruise?”
“If you weren’t in a hurry, I’d suggest you stay off this animal for at least a week. Then, I’d shoe him on all fours and I think you’d be just fine.”
“Like I said, I can’t do that.”
“All right,” Joe replied, wiping perspiration from his face with the back of his sleeve, “then I’ll shoe him all around but do some special work on the bad one.”
“What kind of ‘special work?’”
“I’ll make the shoe a little thicker and put a leather patch and padding over that rock bruise, then run a narrow crossbar from side to side for even more protection.”
“That ought to do the trick.”
“I’ll make no promises. But tomorrow morning, we’ll know if he’s sound again or not.”
“And there’s nothing else that can be done?”
“Nope. The only other thing I can suggest is to sell this horse and buy another. But given your hurried circumstances, you’d really get skinned.”
“I can well imagine,” Longarm said, toeing the dirt as he weighed this unexpected dilemma.
“It’s your choice to make,” Joe said. “I’m a good shoer, third generation, and you won’t find any better. But like I said, I can’t make any promises, and the work that I’ll have to do will take a fair amount of time.”
Longarm appreciated the blacksmith’s frank and honest assessment of the situation. “Tell you what, Joe,” he said, “go ahead and make that special shoe for Target and we’ll just hope for the best tomorrow morning.”
“Target? That’s his name?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t give it to him, someone else did.”
“Bad name. Maybe bad luck.”
“How much for your work and board for both animals tonight?”
“I’ll shoe the palomino all around for seven dollars and I’ll have to charge you another dollar each for boarding, which includes a heavy dose of oats.”
“Fair enough,” Longarm said, digging money out of his pockets. “Can you also recommend a good cafe where a hungry man can get his money’s worth?”
“Boomer’s Cafe is the local favorite. It’s just up the street.”
“What about a clean hotel where a man can sleep without a bunch of hollering and fighting going on in the next room?”
“Frontier Hotel is the one you want. Nice and clean. They got a little saloon downstairs and a few gambling tables. But nothin’ noisy.”
“Thanks,” Longarm said, paying the young blacksmith and then retrieving his rifle and saddlebags. “And by the way, the mule’s name is Geezer.”
“Now, that is a name that I do like,” Joe said with a grin. “And I’ll do the best that I can with that rock bruise. Before I build that special shoe, I’ll soak his hoof in warm salt water to draw out the poison. That usually helps, if he’ll stand for it.”
“He will if he doesn’t spy a cat, pig, or chicken.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” Longarm said, heading off and calling back over his shoulder. “I’ll come around the first thing tomorrow morning.”
“How much would you want to sell him for if he’s still lame?” the blacksmith shouted.
“He won’t be!”
