The English Horses

senor. And they cannot be ridden the way you speak of this one.”

Quitano drew in a deep breath, and Burn watched the impressive rise and fall of his girth. As the fat hostler shifted his weight, Burn felt the colt slide under him. It was a woman, tall and severe, walking toward them. Behind her stood a fat and shiny sorrel harnessed to a light wagon.

“Buenos dias, Senor Quitano.” Her accent was perfect. She stopped, looked at Burn. “That is a fine horse. Are you Burn English?”

Sweat trickled down inside Burn’s shirt. There was no malice in the woman or her question. She was generous as she smiled at Burn, and he was shamed by his poor manners. He sat on the colt, his battered hat yanked over dusty hair. He’d been better trained but it had been a long time since any of the niceties mattered. He swung down from the colt, held tightly to the reins, and raised his hat.

“Yes ma’am…how’d you know?”

Her voice was quick, clear. “Mister Hildahl described you quite well, and he mentioned you were badly injured, and that he’d left the lame mare as your mount. You must be a genius with senor horses.” She extended her hand. “Katherine Donald, Senor English.”

The feel of her cool palm eased him as he did his best. “Good day, ma’am.” The dark colt nudged him at the small of his back and Burn had to step too close to the woman.

The woman studied the colt. “I trust you didnot trade the mare for this colt, Mister English. Therefore I am curious as to how you are riding an animal as fine as this one?”

He told her about the mare, choosing his words carefully. She listened with a glint to her eye that let Burn know she was no innocent.

When he finished, she laughed with delight. “I am certain the mare is pleased with your generosity, Mister English.”

“Ma’am, I’m catching the wild horses now.”

The woman hesitated. “There has been talk of the stallion. Several of the hands have seen him and said how wild he is. You be careful, Mister English. This is not a simple matter.”

She was pretty when she talked, with light in her eyes and expression easing her face.

“Ma’am, you seem to know the folks around here. Maybe you got a rancher who’d pay to get bronc’s ridden.”

She smiled gently. “I saw Eager Briggs with my father not long ago. Eager was leading a big gray brute, just your kind of horse, Mister English.”

He scratched at the sore on his arm and rubbed his face, then ran a hand through his hair.

She didn’t let the gestures go without comment. “You are rougher than your horses, Mister English. And despite the wound in your colt’s side, I suspect he is healed more than you.”

The colt reared, drawing Burn up with him. Burn clung to the reins, letting his weight bring the colt back down. The terror was caused by a gray horse tied to a burro being led by a fat man on an ancient white mule. The gray kicked and squealed, infecting the colt.

The hostler spun his tale while eyeing Burn but Senor addressing Katherine. “Your blessed father sold this gray to Senor Meiklejon as a fine ranch horse. Senor Meiklejon, he was thrown over the fence on the first jump. He had worn a pair of vaquero spurs and did not think about the horse’s tender hide. Your father swore the gray was well trained until the spurs tickled him. He has not been ridden since…not by any man.” Quitano turned to Burn. “Senor, if you wish to advertise your skills, here is your chance. You can offer your colt against a ride on the gray. And you will win a new horse, or run up a bill with a curandero. Either way, senor, you will rescue the town of Quemado from a dull day.”

The gray stood close to sixteen hands, and the story was on his hide—scars along the great rib cage, healed tears at the mouth, several brands on shoulder and hip. The gray would do nothing but fight.

The fat man was introduced as Eager Briggs. It was his burro who hauled the gray; it was in his pockets that the betting money was put for safekeeping. When Briggs held out a plump hand, Burn shook it and noted the old man’s eyes hard on him. Briggs was old, sloppy, belly hanging over his pants. He led the gray into one of the empty pens while Burn led the colt into another, taking time to put out wispy hay.

A second man joined Briggs, introducing himself as Katherine’s father, Edward Donald. He held out his hand and said he’d heard about Burn from a mutual friend, was right glad to meet up with him. Would Burn be interested in wagering a bet on the gray? he asked. Donald was short and tidy, and his delicate hands moved about quickly, touching and patting a man on the shoulder or seizing his arm to make a particular point. He said he’d take the dark colt as payment on the bet.

Burn agreed to the wager with stipulations. “It’s the gray against my colt and hard coin…’cause that bronc’ won’t be nothing as a working horse.” He faltered for a moment before he said he’d ride the bronco. He hoped no one had heard that break. He wanted no outsider’s pity.

As the news went out, the town began showing up in force, with the crowd staying back from the gray’s restless movements. No one wanted to get too close to the bronco, yet they were anxious to watch the show.

The hostler opened a round pen where they’d once bucked out a lot of broncos. Now grass grew under the rails and weeds clogged the center where the snubbing post tilted, rotted almost clear through.

Burn stood in the pen, alone but for the gray bronco. He watched the eye show its white edge. He snubbed the gray to the post, threw a saddle blanket over the long head. The gray quivered but stood still. Burn slapped on the saddle, drew up the latigo tightly, testing the gray’s tolerance. One front hoof stamped on the weed-packed ground. Burn slipped the rawhide hackamore over the hard ridge across the gray’s nose, settled its thick knot under the sensitive chin. When he removed the blanket and touched the gray’s neck, the horse barely rolled its eye. He climbed aboard quickly. The gray trembled as Burn caught the stirrups with both feet, drew in the rein to snug the gray’s head. He remembered the story about the spurs and touched his own pair to the quivering hide.

Miss Katherine’s father had the final word. Even as the gray bronco exploded, Burn could hear the man’s voice above the labor of his own breathing.

“That little fellow looks like he might be able to ride.”

Chapter Ten

Burn cleaned a lump of muck from his mouth and asked for his $10. His lips bled when he spoke, but he didn’t care—by God, he’d earned the money. Fear had ridden with him; no one else knew that.

Edward Donald looked right through him. “I don’t have the money with me, Mister English. Perhaps I can pay you another time.” Burn shook his head, and Donald sighed as if he’d known. “Come to the house, we’ll settle there.”

The woman’s voice was sharp. “Mister English, you have proven your boast. No one in Quemado, or any town around here, will doubt your skills again. But is that horse going to be worth anything?”

Burn wanted to ask what good the horse had been before he bucked it out, but his mouth was too thick. He settled on a grim smile and walked away, taking the gray gelding with him.

He rode the stumbling gray in the wake of Edward Donald’s wagon, sorry that the daughter hadn’t come with her father. It occurred to him that she’d arrived in Quemado by herself, and had shown little interest in her father’s doings. He grunted to himself—business between a man and his family was personal.

The spread was a soddy with a dogtrot to the back, set in a shallow bowl rested against a ridge—a shirttail outfit with a sagging barn and fallen fence. Burn saw no cattle, but a sign was carved into a slanted fence post, the Bench D. Could be Donald’s brand but, from the look of the post, it could have been lifted from another man’s fence line.

“Set, boy, grab a chair, have a drink. You look like you need oiling. That gray took some hide off you.” Donald at least knew his range manners. A drink would set right with Burn.

The whiskey scoured its way down and tasted better once it landed. The fat man, Eager Briggs, came up quiet-like, and sat down, took his turn at the bottle, and kept his stare on Burn, until Burn stared back.