“Then what?”
“There was a… uh… mix-up,” Ben said.
“What kind of mix-up? Did you have words with somebody?”
“Yes, sir,” said Ben.
“Harsh words?”
Ben nodded.
“So harsh they gave Thomas a bruise over his eye? Words that fly through the air and make an eye black- and-blue?” Eli was the only one who called Brodie by his given first name.
“It was a fight, sir,” Brodie said. “With a guy named Guilfoyle.”
“He called me a kike,” Ben said.
Maddy looked down at her plate, embarrassed by the bigoted remark.
Eli took another bite of food.
“And you stood up for Benjamin?” Eli said to Brodie.
Brodie looked down at his lap. “He said it to me, not Ben. Besides, Ben, he does the thinkin’ and I… uh… I do the.. ”
“Fightin’?” Eli said, mimicking Brodie’s tough talk. “Brains and brawn, that it?”
“That’s about it, sir.”
“Look at me, Thomas. Don’t look away, that’s a sign of weakness. Always look a person straight in the eye.”
“Yes sir,” Brodie answered and fixed his gaze on Mr. Eli’s dark brown eyes.
“You’re a very bright young man, Thomas. A bit impetuous, but that’s the Irish in you. Don’t undersell yourself. Just because you’re handy with your fists doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”
“Yes, sir.”
Eli looked at Brodie. “This Guilfoyle, is he the young hoodlum who works for Riker?”
Brodie nodded.
“And he was looking for a fight, was he?”
Brodie nodded again.
Eli nodded toward the black-and-blue streak over Brodie’s eye.
“He’s quite a bit larger than you.”
“He whipped him good, Papa,” Ben chimed in. “The miserable skunk..”
“Benny, please!” Maddy said.
“Sorry, Mother. Anyway, he only got one punch in and Brodie-”
“Yes,” the father interrupted. “He whipped him good.” He thought for a moment and added, “Well, I’m glad you won, Thomas. Winning is always preferable to losing. But I have forbidden you both from going into Eureka for just this reason. Are we understood on that?”
They both nodded.
“Mother, have you anything to add?”
Madeline Gorman, who had been listening quietly to the conversation, looked up from her dinner.
“I don’t approve of brawling,” she said softly. “But sometimes it is a matter of honor, Eli.”
“Yes, my dear, I understand that. The point is, they weren’t supposed to be there in the first place.” He cleared his throat and added, “Well, enough said of that. Let’s enjoy our dinner.”
The full moon was brighter than the lanterns flittering at the corners of the wide paddock. Brodie had showered off both horses and stabled the brown. Now he stood brushing the white horse in slow, easy strokes, smoothing out his coat and sweeping the tangles from his mane, and talking to him in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Frisky tonight, huh, Cyclone?”
The horse snorted and casually stomped a hoof.
Brodie stroked his forelock, patted his neck, rubbed his soft muzzle.
“Liked that run on the beach, din’tcha? You like runnin’ on the sand.”
The horse growled and bobbed his head.
Behind Brodie, the end of a cigar glowed in the darkness.
“You really love that animal, don’t you, Thomas?”
It startled Brodie, although it was not uncommon for Mr. Eli to stroll down to the pasture for his evening cigar. He never smoked in the house; Mrs. Gorman hated the smell of cigars.
“He’s the first thing I ever owned, sir. Three dollars, imagine that. He’s one handsome fellow, he is.”
“Thanks to you.”
“And you, sir,” Brodie answered.
The white stallion, a horse bred to be ridden, had been hitched side by side with a muscular dray horse, hauling railroad ties in a wagon. The white strained but did not have the powerful legs of the dray. The driver, a big-chested, angry man, was lashing out at the white.
“You lazy son of a bitch,” he roared. “You worthless, good-for- nothing nag. I’ll show you who’s boss.”
He jumped down from the wagon and pulled a pistol from his back pocket. Brodie, who was working on the railroad that summer, jumped down from a railroad car and ran to the man.
“Don’t shoot him,” he begged.
The big man glared down at him. “Who the hell are you?” he growled. “Get outta my way.”
He cocked the pistol, held it toward the horse’s head.
“I’ll buy him,” Brodie cried out.
“With what?”
Brodie had five silver eagles in his pocket, his pay for the week.
“Two eagles,” he said. “I’ll give you two dollars.” He took out two coins and held them in the palm of his hand toward the man.
“I’d rather shoot the lazy bastard,” he sneered.
“I’ll make it three. Is it worth three dollars to shoot him?”
The driver stared at the three silver dollars.
“Christ, yer crazy,” he said. But he took the three bucks and unhitched the horse. “How you gonna get him home?”
“I’ll ride him,” Brodie said.
“You ain’t even got a saddle.”
“I’ll ride him bareback.”
“Shit,” the driver said, and spat a stream of tobacco onto the horse’s neck. “You get on him, he’ll throw you all the way to Albuquerque.”
Brodie rode the horse six miles bareback, using a rope for a bridle. He was thrown four times and he was skinned up, his one shirtsleeve almost torn off and a bruise on his cheek. When he got to end-o’-track he bummed a ride into Eureka on a wagon, with the horse he named Cyclone tied to the back. Then he led the horse the last four miles up the cliff walk and across the top of the hill to the Gorman estate.
Eli remembered the day Brodie came home with the animal. Skinny, its ribs standing out like a museum skeleton, its flanks festered with whip scars, its eyes crazy and fear filled.
“I’ll pay for his food and take care of him,” Brodie pleaded. “You can take it out of my salary.”
Old Gorman had smiled.
“I think we can handle the food bill,” he said. And as he turned away, he looked back and said, “I admire you, Thomas. You have a big heart, which is a gift. But it isn’t much of a horse for three dollars.”
Brodie had nursed Cyclone back to health and, in so doing, they had formed a bond. No one else could ride him, no one else could even climb into the saddle without being thrown head over heels. Horse and boy were devoted to each other.
“You have a natural love for animals,” Gorman said, tapping the ash from his cigar. “I’ve watched you with the other horses and the dogs. I admire that.”
He pointed to the end of the pasture, which was separated from the edge of the cliff by a high, white fence that surrounded the twenty-acre grazing land.
“Let’s take a walk,” Eli said, nodding down the pasture. They strode side by side, with Cyclone clopping
