Don't Tamper with Horses

-Continued from Oct. 26

The township of Kirby nestled into a pocket between rolling hills, a farming settlement of a few hundred people. Sam Morgant drove his wagon up the main street that ran through the town and stopped at the doors of the general store.

Ron Casady, with two men, who looked to be his brothers, strode from the store. He met Sam’s eyes with an arrogant smile and tipped his head in greeting. One brother was taller than Ron and so lean he looked like he would blow over. The other was shorter and stocky. Both had his same dark features, and all three of them carried a burlap sack slung over their shoulder. “Mr. Morgant,” Ron grinned. “How d’you do today?”

Sam nodded in return. “Fine. You boys outfitting?”

Ron shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure, who knows how long we’ll be out there? None of us likes to go hungry.”

His brothers filed past him on the boardwalk, the tallest taking the burlap sack from him. “Thanks Al,” he said, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. He looked ready to fight any argument Sam had.

Slamming doors and shouting men caught all four men’s attention as the doors to the saloon further down the street banged open. A bartender with a white apron and indignant face propelled a stumbling man out into the dirt. “Stay away, you trouble-making punk!” He dusted his hands, satisfied with a job well done, and turned back to his work.

The fellow in the street pushed himself up and sat with his arms braced behind him. “Yeah, and Merry Christmas!” he called after the retreating bartender. “You’ll need one. I hope Santa Clause brings you lots of reindeer to make up for your flying horses!”

Sam cast a glance at the Casady brothers, but they were busying themselves strapping their burlap sacks onto their saddle skirts. He stepped out into the street and approached the man. “What about flying horses?”

The fellow who stared up at him was younger than thirty, in Sam’s estimation, and drunk. His face was flushed and his eyes didn’t quite focus. He wore the rough trappings and high-heeled boots of a cowboy. He wavered as he lifted one hand and pointed at Sam. “I seen ‘em. Wherever I see ‘em, horses grow wings.”

To be continued…