The start of Smoky’s third year was all to his favor—the spring rains was warmer than on average, the green grass shot up half an inch to the day, and more than met up with the hard to satisfy appetite which was his. Consequences is, when he shed off his long winter coat he was slicker and rounder than ever and looked like he was wrapped up in fine mouse colored silk. His blazed face loomed up snow white and to match his trim ankles. He was a picture to make any cowboy miss a few heart beats as he sometimes raced acrost the prairie sod and with head and tail up showed off the qualities that stuck out at his every move.
But to the bunch, all them qualities and good points of Smoky’s was lost and not at all noticed. His mammy or any of the others would of thought just as much of him if he was just an ordinary horse or even an ill built scrub. They’d all liked him better if he wasn’t so ornery and didn’t need so much convincing, for Smoky was getting to be of a size and temper along with it where it was mighty hard for some to try to eddicate him and show that they could.
His eddication kept on though for there was still a few that packed a convincing hoof, but them few was dwindling down fast and Smoky was steady getting where he could hold his own with most any of ’em, till finally, and after many showdowns, there came a time when there was only two left in the bunch that he wouldn’t stop and argue with, them two was his mammy and the big buckskin.
Smoky felt some superior and mighty proud then for a while; and it’s a good thing he was a little wiser and quieter and not so full of mischief no more or he’d sure dealt them ponies misery; as it was he was now willing to leave them alone if they’d do the same by him.
Things went on that way for some time and as the days went by, the bunch was getting to be more willing to accept Smoky as a full size range horse with brains according. None tried to eddicate him no more, and if once in a while he showed young blood and some foolishness, they was all careful to overlook it. Of course Smoky was wise enough to keep away from his mammy and the buckskin at them times.
Peace was with the little bunch; all had some understanding and every horse knowed his ground. It was all so peaceful that Smoky felt it and it all begin to wear on him to the point where he felt like tackling the big buckskin, just to start something—then relief came one day and scattered that peaceful monotony from hell to breakfast.
It all happened as the little bunch, strung out, was heading for water. Smoky’s mammy was in the lead as usual, and she was the first to turn the point of a ridge and find herself to within a few yards of a big black stud. Smoky was close second on the sight, and somehow as he snorted at the long-maned thick-jawed black a hunch came to him that peace had come to a sudden end.
He stood in his tracks kinda doubtful as to what to do and watched the black cloud of horseflesh, he’d let the stallion make the first false move—Proud as a peacock came the black, mane and tail a waving and stepping high. His little bunch of mares and colts had stayed back at the first sight of the strange ones, and was now watching the proceedings of the meeting.
That meeting impressed the young horses a whole lot, the white of their eyes showed with interest as the stud came up to within a few paces of the new bunch, stopped, and with a powerful neck bowed to a half circle, ears pointed ahead, and eyes a shining, stood and sized up the strangers.
He’d had plenty of experience in meeting strange bunches that way before which all left him kinda cautious, for many a time he’d left quicker than he’d come, and lost some hide to an older stud what was more up to the game of fighting; and he soon learned that it wasn’t a wise idea to ram into a strange bunch and go to appropriating mares without first investigating what kind of a leader that bunch had.
He’d got wised up in many ways thru them meetings, and he learned to be some careful. He’d also learned to handle his hoofs and teeth till there hadn’t been any stud on that range that’d been able to whip him the last three years—he’d evened up scores.
Smoky hadn’t moved, and as the stud still kept a standing in one spot with no indication of wanting to start anything, he got restless. Pretty soon it came to his mind that the stallion was leery of starting anything. It was a big mistake, but Smoky’d had no way of knowing better. The big buckskin did know better and if Smoky had noticed, he’d seen him out there on the far side of the bunch, and willing to keep neutral.
A move from the black stud decided Smoky. He’d stepped close to his mammy and nostril to nostril was exchanging sniffs with her when she let out a squeal and struck at him, all of
