Allie and Cole and I rode up into the hills in back of Bragg’s old place, to look for the Appaloosa.
“I want Allie to see him,” Cole said.
“I don’t know why, Everett,” Allie said. “It’s not like I’ve never seen a stallion.”
“That’s for certain,” I said.
Cole grinned. Allie lowered her eyes.
“Everett, don’t you talk to me like I’m one of your nighttime ladies.”
“Hell, Allie, I was just speakin’ well of Virgil.”
Bragg’s ranch was empty. No stock. No hands. No cook smoke. Stock probably got sold off to pay the Sheltons. Hands had drifted. Things that had started here had gotten people killed. It was sort of hard to remember what they were and how it had spun out. Time had passed. Grass had grown in the empty corral. Some weeds pushed up between the boards on the front porch of the house. The Sheltons were in the ground. Bragg hadn’t been heard from. Cole still had a slight limp, but everything else had healed over.
“Been a while,” I said to Cole.
He nodded.
“Do you think we’ll see the horse soon?” Allie said.
“Soon,” Cole said.
We rode up the next hillside above the ranch, slow, so Allie wouldn’t have trouble staying with us. At the top, we sat our horses and looked west. He was there, not very far from where we’d seen him last. He was moving his mares along the crest of the hill, his ears pricked forward, head tossing, sniffing the air. He was keeping his mares in a tight herd, moving around them, nipping at their flanks to keep them close. Occasionally, he would stop and turn and look around him, his head up, trying to find a scent.
“Something’s goin’ on,” Cole said.
“Why does he keep biting the mares?” Allie said.
“He wants them close together,” Cole said.
“Why?”
“Cougar maybe,” I said.
“Another stallion,” Cole said.
“You’re sure?” Allie said.
“Yes.”
“How can you be so sure?” Allie said.
Cole shrugged.
“It’s another stallion,” he said.
And it was. Big. Chestnut-colored. On the side of the hill, moving toward the herd.
“You knew,” Allie said to Cole.
“I did,” Cole said.
“How?”
Cole shrugged again.
“Virgil knows things,” I said.
The chestnut got closer to the running herd. He was running free. The Appaloosa had to herd his mares, and it slowed him. Then the Appaloosa stopped and turned and made a snarling bugle sound at the chestnut. The mares stopped running and gathered. The chestnut reared and bugled back at the Appaloosa. Then they both stood motionless for a moment, looking at each other. The mares stayed close together. The chestnut swished his tail and pulled his lips back from his teeth, and squealed. The Appaloosa exploded. He came at the chestnut with his neck straight out, biting at him. The chestnut bit him back. The Appaloosa reared and slashed at him with his front hooves. The chestnut went up, and they grappled like that, screaming. Then they separated and stood again. There was blood on both of them. The chestnut moved sideways. The Appaloosa moved with him, staying always between him and the mares. The chestnut tried to move around him, and the Appaloosa drove into him again.
“Oh, my God,” Allie said. “Oh, my God.”
Our horses, all three of them geldings, stirred uneasily as the two stallions screamed and bit and kicked.
“Oh, my God,” Allie said again.
She covered her ears with her hands.
The chestnut made one final attempt to circle around the Appaloosa and get past him to the mares. Then he shied away. The Appaloosa pressed him, and the chestnut shied, kicked with his hind hooves at the Appaloosa, and ran. The Appaloosa went after him, biting at his haunches as he ran. The chestnut went up the next hill and over it. The Appaloosa followed him to the top and stopped. He wouldn’t lose sight of the mares. He stood on the hilltop, watching as the chestnut ran off, glancing back every few seconds at the mares.
Allie took her hands from her ears.
“Is it over?” she said.
“Yes,” Cole said.
“That was all about the mares?”
“Yes.”
“Do they always do that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Stallion wants mares, he’s got to fight another stallion.”
“Why does this stallion care if another stallion mounts one of those mares?”
“Ask him,” Cole said.
“But, I mean, it’s not love.”
“Probably not,” Cole said.
The Appaloosa pranced back to his mares with his neck arched and his tail high. He was still churning with nervous energy. The mares began to graze as he moved restlessly around the perimeter of their grazing.
“Or jealousy,” Allie said. “I mean, he’s just a damned horse.”
“Them mares,” Cole said, “belong to that Appaloosa stud, long as he’s enough horse to keep them. That matters to him, I guess.”
“And what about the mares,” Allie said. “Do they have any choice?”
“Horses do what they need to do,” Cole said. “Everett, you been to the United States Military Academy. You know why the mares stay with the stallions?”
“Nope,” I said. “Mares and stallions probably don’t know, either.”
“Horses ain’t too smart,” Cole said.
Bragg showed up in the spring. He walked into the city marshal’s office in the midafternoon of a rainy April day, wearing a rain slicker and, under it, a suit like a banker.
“I’m going to take a piece of paper out of my coat pocket,” he said.
I took my gun out and rested the barrel against the edge of the desk. Bragg took a presidential pardon from an inside pocket and put it on the desk in front of me.
“Absolved of all charges,” Bragg said.
I picked up the document and looked at it for a while. There was a lot of lawyer language, but there was the phrase absolved of all charges outstanding, right in the first paragraph. I handed the document back to Bragg.
“You must have come into money,” I said.
“Where’s Cole?” Bragg said.
“Out walkin’ the town,” I said. “He’ll be back in a while.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Not in here,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I don’t like you.”
“I don’t want Cole to see me and start shooting,” Bragg said, “ ’fore he reads my pardon.”
“Ain’t Virgil’s style,” I said, and went to the door and held it open.
Bragg hesitated. Then he shook his head and walked outside and sat on one of the chairs in front of the office, under the overhang. I left the door open and went back to my desk, and watched the rain puddle in the street outside.
It was maybe an hour and a half later when Cole came back. I knew he’d have seen Bragg from a long way up the street. And I knew he wouldn’t have shown any response. I saw him pass in front of the window. His slicker was unbuttoned so he could get at his gun if he needed to. His collar was turned up against the rain, and his hat was tilted down over his eyes. I stood and went to the door. Cole had stopped in front of Bragg and was looking at him without expression. Bragg had his coat open. “I’m not heeled,” he said.
Cole nodded. Bragg held up the paper he’d already shown me. I knew it wouldn’t mean anything to Cole. He’d have to read it slowly when he had time to make out all the words.
“I been pardoned,” Bragg said. “I already shown it to Hitch.”
I stepped out and sat down in the chair beside Bragg. Cole glanced at me. I nodded. He looked back at Bragg.
“You was the only one to run off,” Cole said, “up in Beauville.”
“The ones that stayed are dead,” Bragg said.
Cole didn’t speak.
“I’m a law-abiding citizen,” Bragg said. “You got no call to bother me further.”
