Cally and Broken Horses

Clint Roberts took off his Union Cavalry hat, wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve, and then put the hat back on. He pulled the hat brim down to shield his eyes from the setting sun, and then gently touched his heels to Rowdy, the bay gelding he was riding.

As the horse walked through an unending ocean of green grass punctuated here and there by a few trees, Clint thought back over the past four years.

He'd been looking for something other than the Missouri farm with its unchanging routine of rise before daylight, milk the cow, feed and harness the team, eat breakfast and then at daylight, head the team to the field for the rest of the day. From April through late July, life on a Missouri farm was bearable. Between plowing, leveling the fields, planting the crops and then weeding those crops by hand, the fields had enough variation and the occasional moments of excitement to at least keep his mind occupied.

Between July and October there wasn't much farm work to do. Weeding the crops would have lost more grain than the weeds would have taken. Those months were the time the crops fruited and then dried enough to harvest. It wasn't a time for relaxing though. I was the time to cut, saw, and spit the wood that would feed the fireplace in the house during the winter. That time was a boring time for Clint. He still got out of bed at the same time, milked the cow at the same time, fed and harnessed the horses at the same time, and then ate the breakfast his father fixed at the same time.

After breakfast, he'd hitch the horses to the wagon, put a two-man crosscut saw and two axes in the wagon, and then he and his father would take the wagon to the small field in the bend of the river that marked their property line. After a half a day of cutting down an oak tree and sawing it into logs about a foot long, they'd load those logs in the wagon and take them to the woodpile beside the barn.

The next day, Clint and his father would spit those logs into quarters and stack the quarters beside the front door of the house. By the end of July, that stack would be eight feet high, four feet wide, and sixteen feet long. That would be about four cords of firewood but wouldn't last them all winter. Clint's father always figured they'd burn a cord of wood every four weeks until winter set in. Then they'd burn a cord every two weeks. That meant that from October until May of the next year, they'd need a total of about ten cords. They'd always cut enough logs for twelve though, in case the winter was unusually cold or long.

August and September doubled the size of the woodpile, plus another six wagonloads of logs that would be spit over the winter.

Clint had a little respite in October and November. October was when the corn was ready to pick and the oats were ready to cut and thrash. Those months were a lot of hard work, but at least they occupied Clint's days.

It was the winters that were so bad. Winters meant cold weather, even colder rain and once in a while a little snow, and the boredom of spending the day feeding livestock, cleaning out the barn, mending harness, or just sitting by the fire and wondering if this was going to be how he lived out his days. He thought that was likely because it was just him and his father, and his father was getting old enough he was turning more and more of the work over to Clint.

The only thing that made farm life more than just bearable for Clint was the horses. Clint couldn't remember the first time he'd seen a horse, but he remembered the first time he'd been on one. He was just five when his father sat him on Jake's broad back and let him ride there while his father drove Jake and Bill as they pulled the harrow over what would be that year's corn field.

He remembered holding on tight to the hames as the horses plodded along over the plowed dirt of the field. He remembered the feeling of the heavy muscles moving under him. Most of all he remembered feeling happier than he'd ever felt before.

As he grew older his father taught him about horses -- what they liked and didn't like, how to use a firm but gentle hand on the lines, and how to keep the horses in pulling shape. When Clint turned thirteen, his father traded three steers for two year-old geldings. They were to be Clint's horses, his father said, and it was up to Clint to take care of them and to train them to pull.

Clint had accomplished that with a lot of help from his father and more than a few tears when Jack stepped on his foot once. He'd been ready to start beating Jack, but his father stopped him.

"Clint, Jack just put his foot down after you finished cleaning his hoof. He doesn't know he did anything wrong and if you start beating him, you'll just make him afraid of you. Never ever beat a horse. A few words will remind him of what he's supposed to do if he needs reminding. Beating a horse will just turn him into a horse you can never trust, and since Jack will end up weighing a little over fifteen hundred pounds, he could kill you and not even know he'd done it. You need to be able to trust him with your life. The only way to get him that way is to teach him to trust you with his life."

Clint had taken that advice to heart and a year later, he was driving Jack and Jess with the harrow and following his father's team pulling the plow.

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The horses kept Clint on the farm, but he still wasn't all that happy with the rest of his life. Like all boys of eighteen, he wanted more. He wanted to be able to make decisions about his life, not just follow what his father said was right. He wanted a place of his own, a place where he could raise what he wanted to raise instead of what his father thought would bring in the most cash money.

It didn't look like any of that was going to happen anytime soon. He'd probably just stay on the farm, marry one of the local farmer's daughters, and eventually take his final rest in the family cemetery under the big maple tree beside the house. His mother was already there. She'd caught the grippe three years before and had died a week later.

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It was one of those harvest days in October of 1861 when Clint's life changed. There was about half an acre of corn yet to be picked and Clint told his father there was no need for both of them to make the half-mile trip through the trees to the small field. Clint harnessed Jack and Jess, hitched them to the wagon, and drove to the field.

Picking that field was slow going like doing anything in that field always was. The field wasn't very big, so Clint spent as much time turning the wagon into the next pair of corn rows as he did pulling the ears from the stalks and tossing them into the wagon. He planned to clear another acre around that field over the winter. That would give him something to do and would also make that field big enough to warrant planting in corn again. Every other year that field had been planted in grass for hay and because it was so small, haying took twice as long as on any other field.

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The shadows on the ground told Clint it was almost noon when he made the last turn. He looked up to see if the sun was overhead. He saw the sun, but also saw smoke coming from where the house and barn sat. At first, Clint thought his father had just tossed another couple logs into the fireplace. The morning was chilly and his father didn't take the cold like he used to. He said cold weather always set his knees to hurting.

As Clint watched, the cloud of smoke got bigger and then was joined by another. That couldn't be just smoke coming from the chimney in the house. Clint unhooked the heel chains from Jack and Jess' harness, hooked them on the rings on the breeching, unsnapped the reins and jockey stick, and then climbed on Jack's back and took the bit rings in his index fingers. He dug his heels into Jack's sides and started riding back to the house with Jess following.

Clint saw the fire in the barn and house just as he left the trees. He didn't see his father lying on the ground in front of the house until he rode around the barn.

When Clint ran up to his father, he didn't need to see if he was still alive or not. There were three holes in the center of his father's chest, his shirt was soaked with blood, and there was still blood seeping from the wounds to mingle with the puddle on the ground.

Clint sat down in grief, and stayed there until the tears stopped flowing. He looked around then and almost started to cry again.

The house was just a pile of smoldering ashes and the barn was nearly gone as well. The chicken coop gate was wide open and here and there a few hens scratched in the dirt. They were the remainders of what had been his mother's flock of fifty hens and six roosters, and they were oblivious to what had just happened.

Clint's heart pounded with rage when he went to the barn. There, lying in their stalls were Jake and Bill, each with a bullet hole in his forehead. He started toward them, but was stopped when the floor of the haymow above them collapsed in a flaming heap of bone-dry hay and burning timbers.

Clint understood all too well what had happened. The nearest town, Booneville, was about in the center of Missouri. North of Booneville, most people were anti-slave. South of Booneville, there were many large farms that used slaves to work the crops. Over the past five years, the area around Booneville had been subjected to raids, sometimes by the Bushwackers who, in theory, were trying to turn Missouri into a slave state. Sometimes the raids were by the Jayhawkers out of Kansas who, in theory, were trying to keep Missouri a free state.

From what Clint had heard at the Baptist church in Booneville, there was little difference between the two groups. They may have claimed slavery as the reason for their raids, but it seemed like both groups raided any farm they came to.

Clint had heard about the raids, but his father's farm was tucked up into a heavily wooded stretch inside a bend of a river. The lane to the house and barn his father had cut through the trees was seldom used, so there was little indication that it was more than just a natural path. Up until that day, neither the Jayhawkers nor the Bushwhackers had found the farm.

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Clint found a shovel in the garden he'd forgotten to put back in the barn after digging the last of their potatoes. It took him three hours to dig a grave beside his mother's grave, pull his father to it, and then fill it in. During those three hours, Clint's grief became rage.

Clint didn't know for certain which group was responsible for taking away everything he had in life, but he figured it was more than likely the Bushwhackers. The people in the church in Booneville said when the Jayhawkers rode up, they'd ask if you had any slaves. If you didn't they'd usually just take a few chickens and maybe a young calf and then ride on.

When the Bushwhackers rode up, they just looked to see if there were any slaves on the farm. If there weren't, they'd figure the farm was an anti-slave farm. They'd rape any women on the farm, then kill everybody, kill all the livestock, and burn all the buildings.

As Clint tamped the last of the dirt onto the mound of his father's grave, rage became the need for revenge. He wouldn't join the Jayhawkers though, because they were rumored to do the same thing in southern Missouri. He wouldn't be a part of a group that killed people for what those people believed. Clint thought there was a better way to avenge his father.

The Union was in the first stages of trying to put down the revolt by the Confederate states. Clint decided that would be his revenge. He'd enlist in the Union Army and fight the organization that had spawned the Bushwhackers. A week later he'd traded Jack and Jess to a local farmer in exchange for a second set of homespun clothing, a smoked ham, and a block of cheese, then started walking to Illinois to enlist in the Union Army.

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Clint's thoughts were interrupted when Rowdy shied away from something. Clint looked up and saw the prairie hen coasting down to land in the tall grass. He reached down and patted Rowdy on the neck.

"Weren't nothing but an old prairie hen, Rowdy. You're all right."

The horse nickered. Clint patted him again, and then went back to his thoughts.

Yes, he'd been looking for something when he was farming. He wasn't sure what would make him happy, but there had to be something. He was still looking for that something.

After the raid that killed his father and burned the farm, Clint had still been looking, but this time he was looking for revenge. He'd found his revenge in the Union Cavalry, but the cost he'd paid for that revenge had been higher than Clint could ever have imagined. Over the course of four years he'd lost more friends than he could count, had killed more men that he thought God would ever forgive, and had almost lost his life. He still bore the scar of the minié ball that had plowed a furrow in the top of his head. The wound had healed, but there was now a narrow pink line in his scalp that had no hair.

When the war ended, Clint was at odds for what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He thought of going back to the farm, but that would just be more of what he'd wanted to leave before. It would also be years before he could get a house and a barn built, and by then he'd be too old to start a family.

He'd heard a Confederate prisoner from Texas talking about the vast open spaces filled with buffalo and deer, and with cattle and horses free for the taking. Clint considered ranching to still be farming, but it would be working with livestock instead of plowing and planting and harvesting in an endless cycle dictated by the weather.

He'd used his mustering out pay to buy Rowdy at an auction of the Union Cavalry stock, and had bought a confiscated Texas style saddle and bridle at the same auction. From an armorer's sale, he bought a surplus Remington Army Model revolver in.44 caliber and a Sharps carbine in.50 caliber. Clint had used both during the war, and becoming an expert in their use was part of what had kept him alive. The general store in the town where he mustered out sold him gunpowder, caps, lead, and bullet molds for the Remington and the Sharps. A few cooking utensils, ten pounds of dried beans, five pounds of coffee, and a side of bacon set Clint up for the ride across Arkansas to Texas.

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Clint crossed the Mississippi in Memphis and didn't stop riding until he crossed into what his map said was Texas. There were rumors that the Bushwhackers had disbanded into smaller gangs that were now robbing banks and in general terrorizing the people of Arkansas and East Texas. Since Clint still wore his blue Cavalry trousers, he figured the former Bushwhackers wouldn't be very friendly. He'd ride where there wasn't much risk of seeing any people, find a stream for water and spend the night, then ride on the next morning

Because he wasn't in a hurry and also because he was skirting any towns, it took him a month to get to the Texas border. Once there, he started watching for the herds of cattle and horses he'd heard about. After two days of riding, Clint decided there weren't any or at least there weren't any where he was. He had nothing else to do, so he turned south a little and kept riding.

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On his fourth afternoon in Texas, Clint was following a faint wagon track when he saw a house and a barn in the distance. Thinking whoever lived there might be able to tell him where those cattle and horses were, he rode until he got to a gate made of two wood posts with a crossbar between them. On that crossbar was a letter "M" with a circle around it, and under that was a painted sign that said, "Morrison Ranch".

Clint rode through the arch and then up to the house. A man Clint figured was about as old as his father was sitting on a chair on the porch and stood up.

"Mornin' stranger. What brings you to my ranch?"

Clint smiled.

"I heard there are cattle and horses in Texas free for the taking. I was wondering if you knew where they are because I've been riding through Texas for almost four days and the only things I've seen are some rabbits, a few deer, and a bunch of vultures on a buffalo carcass."

The man shook his head.

"Ain't none around here. Might find some farther south and west though."

The man paused then and stared at Clint.

"Them's Union trousers, ain't they?"

Clint nodded and the man stood up.

"Then you'd best go north. Folks down south was mostly Confederate. You go north, you probably won't get shot. Maybe I can do you better though. What's your name son?"

"Clint Roberts, Sir."

"Well Clint, I'm Esau Morrison, and I own 'bout a thousand acres around here. You ever worked cattle? I need a good ranch hand. Had one get himself drunk in town and he's sittin' in jail. I ain't lettin' him come back."

Clint shook his head.

"No, never worked cattle other than a milk cow and a steer or two. I can work horses though."

The ranched scratched his chin.

"Horses, huh? You just work 'em or can you train 'em?"

"I can do both, Sir"

"Ridin' or workin'?"

Clint smiled.

"Doesn't matter much does it? It's just if you put a saddle on 'em or put 'em in a collar and harness. You train 'em about the same way."

The rancher smiled.

"I got one that we ain't been able to break yet an' he's a five-year-old stallion. Wouldn't have kept him 'cept he's been throwin' me some really nice foals. I make good money on 'em in Dallas because we lost so many horses in the war. Let me show him to you."

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When Clint and Mr. Morrison walked up to the wood pole corral beside the barn, another man was standing there with one boot on the bottom rail. He looked older than Clint, almost as old as he remembered his father being, and with his long beard and dirty clothes he looked pretty rough.

The rancher said, "Asher, this is Clint Roberts. Clint, Asher Hollis, my wrangler. Asher, Clint here says he can train horses. If he wants, I'm gonna let him give Black Star a try. Whadda you think?"

Asher spat a glob of tobacco juice on the ground and then frowned.

"Mr. Morrison, I been able to break every horse I ever tried to break 'cept for this bastard. If I can't break him, ain't nobody else gonna be able to either. That's 'cause he's dumber'n a wagon load o' cow shit. If I was you, I'd take him out to the south pasture, shoot him, and leave him for the buzzards and coyotes. Then I'd go get me another stud, one what'll do what I tell him to do."

Clint had been watching the horse in the corral, and he saw two things.

It was obvious why the stallion sired good foals. Clint's father had taught him that a horse gets its conformation from the stud and its temperment from the mare. The horse was a shining coal black with a single white star on his forehead. He was well muscled and when he moved slightly, those muscles told Clint this would be a horse to be reckoned with in a race or working cattle.

The other thing Clint saw was that the stallion was anything but dumb. He was watching the three men intently with his wide-set, intelligent-looking eyes, and his ears were pricked forward to hear what they were saying. Clint was thinking that if Asher couldn't see that, it was Asher who was dumb.

Mr. Morrison turned to Clint then.

"Well, Clint. Think you can break him to ride? If you can, I got a place on my ranch for you."

Clint nodded.

"He's too good a horse to shoot. I'll sure try to get him under a saddle for you."

Mr. Morrison smiled.

"Good. You put that bay gelding in with my brood mares over there, and move your stuff into the bunkhouse. The bunkhouse cook'll have supper ready 'bout sundown."

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When Clint put Rowdy in the corral behind the barn, he noticed something odd about the six mares there. He figured they would come up to Rowdy and do a little sniffing, and then there would be a little jousting until Rowdy found his place in the pecking order of the group.

What happened is none of the six moved even a step when he walked Rowdy through the gate. The just stood there with their ears laid back and watched him. To Clint, that meant one thing. None of the horses trusted him and that was not normal. He knew horses are curious about anything new, and they should have come to at least see what was going on.

To test his suspicions, Clint let Rowdy go and started walking toward the other horses. He'd taken just three steps when all six trotted away until the corral fence stopped them.

Clint didn't push them. He just turned around, closed the gate, and walked to the corral with the black stallion.

Asher Hollis was still standing there with one boot on the fence rail. He nodded when Clint walked up.

"So, you think you can break this stud? You don't look old enough to be much more'n broke yourself. Well, I better warn you. He damn near killed me twice. You got a bullwhip? That's the only way to git 'im to go anywhere he don't want to go."

Clint hadn't really formed an opinion about Asher before, but he was forming one now, and that opinion was based on what he'd seen in the Union Cavalry.

The Union Cavalry had needed a lot of horses and needed them fast, so they bought a lot of two-year old geldings and mares. Most were trained to follow a lead rope and to let a man pick up their feet, but a lot of them had never been saddled or ridden. There were several men hired to break the horses to ride, and for the most part they were successful in convincing the horse to wear a saddle and carry a rider. There was a marked difference in how the horse acted under saddle though. That difference was caused by how they were trained and Clint had watched that process.

He'd seen several wranglers pin a horse in a corner of a corral, put on the saddle, and then hold the horse against the rails while another wrangler climbed up the rails and lowered himself into the saddle. He'd take the lead rope in one hand, grab the saddle with the other, and nod his head. The other wranglers would let the horse go.

The point of that method was the rider would let the horse buck until the horse wore itself out. If he rider fell off, the horse would be caught and the process started over until the horse just stood there snorting and trying to get its breath.

Horses trained that way eventually became tame enough to function as Cavalry horses, but it wasn't unusual for one to be difficult to mount or to start to buck again if it was assigned to a different rider.

A second method Clint had seen was used by only one wrangler that he knew of and it was a cruel way to treat a horse. That wrangler had explained how the method worked.

"I have a man twist both the horse's ears while I get a saddle on him and then get in the saddle. If he starts to buck, I hit him between the ears with a whip handle until he stops. That always settles 'em down. Sometimes takes more than once, but they all come around."

From what Clint had seen, horses trained to ride like that were almost as dangerous as a horse who was green. They couldn't be trusted not to start bucking right in the middle of a Cavalry charge, and he'd seen a couple who threw their rider and ran away.

Then there were wranglers who believed that a horse should be trained by going slow and letting the horse learn that the saddle and bridle and rider wouldn't hurt him. Those horses were always nice to ride. They'd stand quietly while they were handled, and wouldn't shy away when a rider tried to mount. They responded well to the pressure of the rider's heels and gentle use of the reins. He'd never seen a horse trained like that do anything except what his rider asked him to do, even if that meant galloping into the smoke and noise of a battle.

Clint had also seen Union wagon drivers use a bullwhip and he didn't like them. The thin poppers on the tip of the whip could easily slash a horse's skin. He'd also met wagon drivers who seemed to like hurting horses. He was starting to think Asher was like those men.

He turned to Asher.

"Never used a bullwhip. Never needed one. Why do you?"

Asher smiled. Maybe this youngster didn't know as much as he claimed to know.

"Well, see, a horse only knows two things. Either he don't hurt or he does. If'n he stands still fer me, he don't hurt. If'n he don't, well, I give 'im somethin' to think about. Just a couple cracks on his rump does it. Then I put on a saddle. Most do some buckin' then so I let 'em go for a while. If'n they don't stop though, I give 'em another couple cracks.

"Don't use no bull whip when I git on 'em though. It's too long. I got me a hickory club I made out of a broke wagon spoke. When the horse starts to buck, I hit 'im between the ears and then spit me some tobacco juice where I hit 'im. He feels it runnin' down 'is head and figgers 'es bleedin' so he stops buckin'. Worked on every horse I ever broke but this black bastard here. He ain't let me git close enough to put a halter on 'im, let alone a saddle an' bridle. Last time I tried he damn near kicked me in the head.

"He ain't even safe to be around when he breeds a mare either. When there's a mare to breed, I jest put 'er in with 'im, wait 'til he sticks 'er, and then use my whip to keep 'im back while I lead out the mare. Don't know why Mr. Morrison is so sold on a horse that ain't good for nothin' but stickin' his mares."

Clint thought about just getting Rowdy and riding on to something else, but if Asher broke all the horses on the ranch like he said, they weren't horses that were broke to ride. They were just broken. They were horses who might be accept a rider, but who lived a life in fear of being beaten anytime they didn't do what the rider wanted. Clint didn't feel it was right to just leave them to that fate.

He looked at the black stallion again.

"What do you suppose makes this stallion different?"

Asher spit another glob on the ground.

"Well, his stud was one hell of a horse, part cow pony and part race horse. Mr. Morrison bought him in Dallas and brung him back here. Brung a mare along with 'im too, real nice lookin' mare but she was a real bitch. When she dropped this black foal, ain't nobody could git close to 'im. If'n you tried, she'd come at you with her mouth chompin', and if'n you didn't run, she'd try to rear up and stomp you to death.

"He's the only foal she ever had. Stepped in a hole and broke a leg afore Mr. Morrison could breed her again. I had to shoot her in the head, not that I cared all that much. She weren't worth keepin' if all her foals was gonna turn out like this'n.

"That same stud bred several other mares before he up and got the colic. Them horses was all good horses. I had to shoot 'im too. Didn't like that much. He was a good horse.

"I figger this bastard learned how to be mean from that bitch mare. He learned good too. Well, I gotta go tell Mr. Morrison we got a mare gitten' 'bout ready to breed. You remember what I said."

By then, Clint had decided Asher's idea of breaking a horse was only about dominating a horse through pain and fear instead of teaching the horse. He'd also decided he didn't like Asher. Clint didn't say anything because Asher was apparently a favorite of Mr. Morrison and Clint was new.

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The next morning, Clint walked out to the corral where the black stallion was kept. He climbed up on the top rail and sat there watching the horse. The horse looked the same as the day before. He didn't try to come closer, but his eyes were watching Clint and his ears were pricked forward. After a few minutes, Clint whistled.

The black jumped and backed up a few steps, then walked back to where he'd been before. Clint smiled.

"You're not afraid of anything, are you? Well, I'm not gonna do anything to you. I'm just gonna sit here and let you get used to me being here."

Clint had been sitting on the rail for about fifteen minutes when Asher came to the corral leading a bay mare. He stopped and said, "Young feller, you open the gate fer me but don't close it 'til I turn loose o' this mare an' git back out. That stud is gonna go mad as a coon with the rabies an' I wanna be out of there when he does."

Clint got down and unlatched the gate, then held it open while Asher led the mare through. The black stallion screamed and started toward the mare. Asher unsnapped the lead from the mare's halter, slapped her on the rump, and then ran back to the gate.

Clint smiled to himself as he closed and latched the gate. Asher talked big, but he was afraid of the black stallion and Clint was sure the black stallion was smart enough to know that.

Clint stood and watched the stallion and the mare. The stallion didn't look crazy at all. True, he was dancing around the mare, but in Clint's experience, all stallions did that. What the black was trying to determine was if the mare was ready to breed. If she wasn't, it was likely he'd get kicked.

When the mare turned her tail to the stallion, he nuzzled her flanks. Clint smiled when she squatted down and moved her tail to the side. She was ready.

The black stallion didn't waste any time. He snorted, reared up, and landed with his chest on the mare's rump and his forelegs straddling her. He clamped her neck between his teeth and started pushing himself forward with his back legs. When his rigid organ bumped the mare under the tail he started trusting rapidly, trying to find her entrance. A couple minutes after he did, the stallion shuddered and then slipped off the mare's back.

Asher walked up to the gate then with a bullwhip in his hand.

"You open that gate and keep it open 'til I git the mare out."

Ciint opened the gate wide enough for a horse and then watched as Asher walked toward the mare. She laid her ears back and started to back away from him. Asher cracked his whip and the mare stopped and began to tremble. Asher clipped the lead to her halter and then started for the gate. Clint wasn't surprised when the stallion started to follow her. Asher wasn't either.

"Get back, you black bastard or I'll give you a taste of this whip."

When the stallion didn't stop, Asher lashed the whip at the stallion but didn't connect. Clint grinned. The stallion knew how far that whip would reach and was staying far enough away Asher couldn't hit him with it. Asher was dead wrong about the horse being dumb.

When Asher led the mare through the gate, Clint shut it, and after Asher led the mare back to the barn, he spoke to the stallion.

"You aren't dumb are you, fellow? You know how close you can get before that whip can reach you. Asher doesn't see that and thinks he's controlling you. I'll bet we're going to do just fine together."

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Clint spent two days sitting on the rail of the corral before the black stallion walked up to within twenty feet of him. Clint smiled.

"Hey there, Black Star. How you doin'? I think maybe you want to get to know me. I'd sure like to get to know you, but I won't push you. I think you already been pushed far enough. I'll let you make up your own mind."

Clint then held out his hand. In that hand was a little sugar.

"Got something for you, Black Star. All you gotta do is walk up and take it."

The horse didn't move, but Clint hadn't expected he would. He had a lot of years to undo before the stallion would be safe to ride. The first step would be to get the stallion to trust him, and that step would be the hardest.

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Clint usually saw Asher only at meals. He wasn't sure what Asher did all day, but it wasn't taking care of the horses except for the six brood mares in the corral behind the barn. Every ranch hand had a horse to ride and they took care of their horses as far as brushing them down after a day in the saddle, feeding them, and cleaning their hooves. Good cowhands did this because if they didn't the horse wouldn't be in any condition to ride. If a ranch hand couldn't ride a horse, he couldn't work. If he couldn't work, he wouldn't get paid.

The only other thing Clint saw Asher doing was starting the training of the few foals at the barn. That training was important, because starting a horse early in learning to lead and to have his feet lifted in order to clean his hooves made it a lot easier to do those things once the horse was grown.

Asher seemed to take the same approach to the foals that he took when breaking a horse. He didn't use a whip on them, but he was big enough to force them to do what he wanted. He'd pin them against a wall of the stall and put a halter on them and drag them around the stall. He'd pin the foals against the stall and then yank their feet up.

On the yearlings, Asher would twist an ear if one acted up and keep twisting until the yearling stopped. All of that was the opposite of what Clint's father had taught him. His father had put it this way.

"To understand how a horse thinks, you have to understand where horses came from. Horses didn't start out here. They started out as wild horses over in the old countries, and those countries had bears and wolves. To survive, they had to learn to run any time they thought something was out to eat them.

"It's like you jump when something scares you, except a horse's first thought is to run or if he's cornered, to fight. That got passed down to every horse today. Horses can't see right in front of them or behind them. That's why you always touch them and talk soft to let them know you're there and why you don't ever hurt one."

It was no wonder all the horses on the ranch seemed to be afraid of Asher, and Clint found it disgusting that Asher seemed to like it that way. It was one thing to be able to control a horse as far as directing it when to go, when to stop, when to turn, and how fast to go. It was another to force a horse to do anything with threats of pain.

}|{

Clint had been on the ranch for a week before he saw Mr. Morrison drive a carriage up to the house. While he sat in the seat, a young woman came out and climbed into the carriage. Then Mr. Morrison drove the carriage out through the gate.

Asher was watching Clint sit on the rail of the corral, and saw the woman at the same time. He spit and then grinned.

"That's there's Cally, Mr. Morrison's daughter. She don't never come out here on account of her husband got hisself killed in the war and ever since that she don't want nothin' to do with a man. Me, I'm always nice to her when I have to go to the house. I'm figgerin' on her getting' so she needs a man again one o' these days, and I aim to be that man because I'm the only one who knows how to run a ranch. When her old man dies, she'll git the ranch and if'n I git married to her, the ranch'll be mine."

Clint almost laughed. Cally was a pretty woman and he couldn't imagine what she'd ever see in Asher. Asher was at least twenty years older than Cally and he usually smelled of sweat and horse manure. He didn't laugh though. It did seem like Mr. Morrison liked Asher and Clint didn't want to get on Mr. Morrison's bad side.

All he said was, "Well, when you lose somebody, it'll make you think about what comes next. I lost a lot of friends during the war, and I don't much like getting close to anybody either."

Asher chuckled.

"You mean you wouldn't like to take that little filly to the barn and toss some hay with her?"

Clint frowned.

"No. I just want to figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I don't need a woman until I get that all figured out."

}|{

A day later, Asher said he was taking the wagon into town to buy some corn and oats for horse feed and that Clint should take care of the feeding and stall cleaning while he was gone.

"I'll most likely be gone three days, one day goin', one day loadin' and a little relaxin' for me, and one day comin' back. Mr. Morisson and the crew will be out in the south pasture castratin' the bull calves so they's only the six brood mares and this bastard to see to. You see to the feedin' and cleaning stalls whilst I'm gone. You ain't gettin' nowhere with that stallion, so you got time."

Clint was happy that Asher would be gone for three days. Clint was making progress with the stallion, but it seemed like every time the stallion started to move closer, Asher would show up. When that happened, the stallion would retreat to the far side of the corral. If Asher was gone, maybe Black Star would finally walk up to the fence.

}|{

I was the afternoon after Asher left that Clint realized there was hope for the horse. He was sitting on the fence rail and holding out his hand, and talking to the horse.

"Hey there, Black Star. I got my sugar again. All you gotta do is come up here and get it."

Black Star had nickered and then had taken a few steps toward Clint. Clint noticed the stallion looking from side to side then and knew what he was looking for.

"Easy there, Black Star. He's gone and won't be back for three days. I wouldn't let him hurt you anyway."

Black Star seemed to relax a little and took a few more steps toward Clint. When he was about three feet away, the stallion stretched out his neck toward Clint's outstretched palm.

"That's right, Black Star. See, I'm not gonna do anything to you. All I'm gonna do is sit here and let you eat the sugar out of my hand."

Black Star stretched his neck a little more and then suddenly turned and galloped to the other end of the corral. Clint couldn't figure out what had happened until he heard a woman's voice.

"That's the closest I've seen that horse come to anybody since he was born."

Clint turned his head and saw Cally standing there and looking through the corral rails.

She looked up at Clint and smiled.

"I'm Cally, well, really it's Calista after my grandmother, but my father has always called me Cally and I like Cally better. He said he'd hired a new wrangler and that must be you. What's your name?"

"I'm Clint, Ma'am, Clint Roberts, and he hasn't hired me yet. He said he would if I could break this stallion to ride."

"Mr. Roberts, you don't talk like you're from Texas. Where was home?"

"Missouri, Ma'am. A little farm outside of Booneville."

Cally smiled.

"How'd you get to Texas?"

Clint's first thought was that for a woman who didn't want anything to do with a man, Cally sure did seem to want to talk to him. His second thought was that he couldn't tell her the truth, at least not all the truth. If she'd lost her husband to the war, telling her about what the Bushwhackers had done would probably bring back memories that she'd tried to store away just like he had.

"Well, Ma'am, I spent four years in the war and when I got out, I decided farming wasn't for me. I bought a horse and some supplies and started heading for Texas because I'd heard there are cows and horses here free for the taking. I figured on starting a ranch."

"Isn't ranching still farming?"

Clint nodded.

"Sort of, but it's different. Farming means you do the same thing at the same time of year, every year. I figured ranching would be different."

Cally smiled again.

"Do you really think you can break Black Star to ride?"

"Yes, I think so. I'll have to undo a lot of what he learned but he's starting to come around. It'll take me a while though. He's smart."

Cally frowned.

"You mean to undo what Asher did to him, don't you:"

Clint didn't want to blame Asher because if Mr. Morrison liked Asher, Cally probably liked him too.

"Well, I don't know who did it, but Black Star has figured out that getting close to people means he gets hurt. It'll take me a while to convince him that I'm not going to do the same thing. He almost took the sugar out of my hand while ago. I think he would have if you hadn't walked up."

Cally smiled again.

"Well I hope you can. Black Star is such a beautiful horse. I've liked him since he was born. Do you think you can make him tame enough that I could ride him?"

"Well Ma'am, he's a stallion and sometime stallions act out no matter how well they're trained. I can teach him to carry a rider who knows his way around a horse. I don't know if I can make him gentle enough for a woman to ride."

Cally stuck out her lower lip.

"Mr. Roberts, I've been riding horses since I was five years old. I know how to ride a horse as well as any man."

Clint had to admire her attitude. Most women would never ride a horse because it wasn't considered to be something a lady would do, much less admit to doing it. Ladies rode in carriages. Cally seemed to be proud that she'd ridden a horse. Black Star was far from being a normal horse though, and probably always would be.

Clint smiled at Cally.

"Well, Ma'am, we'll see what we see. Just don't go expecting it to happen real quick. Even after I get a saddle on him and can ride him around, I'm gonna have to be real sure of him before I'd ever let you get on him."

Cally frowned a little, but then smiled again.

"I understand and I appreciate that you're worried about me, but you needn't be. I can take care of myself. Do you think it would help if I came out here with you? Maybe Black Star would get to know me too if I did."

Clint was again surprised. He hadn't seen Cally out of the house except for the time she got into Mr. Morrison's carriage and now. For a woman who didn't want anything to do with a man, she sure seemed eager to be with him. He started to say no, but then reconsidered because she was Mr. Morrison's daughter.

"Well, Ma'am, I don't know if it'll help, but it won't hurt. You come out here anytime you want."

Cally grinned.

"Then I'll just say here until I have to fix supper."

}|{

The sun had dropped almost to the horizon when Cally said she had to go fix supper. She said she'd had fun, and would be back the next day as soon as she finished cleaning up after breakfast.

Clint didn't understand what she meant by having fun. All they'd done was stay by the corral, Clint sitting on the top rail and Cally leaning on the middle rail of the corral. Cally had been full of questions and Clint had done his best to answer them.

"Why does Black Star keep looking at us?"

"Well, Ma'am, I think Black Star is a pretty smart horse. He's looking at us to see if we're gonna try to do anything to him. I think he knows I won't, but he's not sure about you. Give him a few days."

"If he comes up to us, does that mean that he likes us?"

Clint shook his head.

"No, it just means he's not quite as afraid and wants a closer look. Horses are like that. They need to know what's going on around them. He knows he can run away before we could do something to him. When I can touch him, I'll know he's not afraid of me anymore."

"You talk to him sometimes. Does he know what you're saying?"

Clint shook his head.

"I doubt it, but he does hear how I say the words. Horses aren't much different from people that way. You don't like it when somebody yells at you because it makes you feel like something bad is going to happen to you. Horses are the same way. If they were out on the range, a loud sound might be something that will hurt them so they run. Here in the corral or if they're pulling a wagon or if you're riding them, they'll act the same way. I always talk softly to him so he knows there's no danger. Once I get him tamed down some, I can teach him a few words though."

Cally smiled.

"That's why my father never yells at our carriage horse, isn't it?"

Clint nodded.

"I expect so."

}|{

When Cally went back to the house, Clint held out his palm and spoke to the stallion again.

"Black Star", she's gone now so you can rest easy. Come on up here and get your sugar."

The horse took a few tentative steps, looked around, and then slowly walked up to where Clint sat. He stretched out his neck far enough to sniff Clint's palm, and then nibbled at the sugar. Clint held his hand still until Black Star had licked it clean and then slowly reached for the stallion's nose. The stallion quickly backed up.

Clint smiled.

"It's all right, Black Star, you did enough for today. Tomorrow, maybe you'll let me touch you. If not tomorrow, maybe the day after. I'm not in a big hurry."

}|{

The next morning, Clint was back on the corral rail, this time with a small sack of sugar on the ground beside the post close to where he was sitting. Black Star was almost within reach when Cally walked up. Black Star wheeled and trotted back to the center of the corral instead of the far end. Then he snorted and shook his head.

Cally said, "Why is he doing that?"

Clint chuckled.

"Well, last night he finally took the sugar from my hand. He was on his way to get some more until you walked up. Don't feel bad though. What he's saying is that he wants some more sugar but he's not coming any closer because he doesn't trust you yet."

"So, what do I have to do to get him to trust me?"

"I don't think he's afraid of you. He just doesn't know who you are. Try talking to him like I do."

"I don't know what to say to a horse."

Clint chuckled again.

"Well, like I said yesterday, he won't know what you're talking about, but he'll hear your voice and your voice will tell him if he should trust you or not."

Black Star's ears pricked up when Cally said, "Black Star, you're such a beautiful horse. Won't you come see me too?"

Clint smiled. Her voice was soft and smooth, and he could tell that Black Star was trying to decide what to do. He tried to help.

"She's all right, Black Star. She just wants to get to know you, just like I do."

The horse snorted and shook his head again, but then took a few steps toward them.

Clint said, "See, he's thinking about it. Talk to him some more."

Clint couldn't believe what Cally told the horse because it changed everything he'd thought about her.

"Black Star, I won't ever hurt you like Asher does. I don't like Asher any more than you do. I wish he'd just go somewhere else and stop bothering me."

Clint looked down at Cally then.

"I thought you probably liked Asher. Your father seems to like him."

Cally raised her voice a little, and Clint could see the anger in her face.

"My father hired Asher because Asher said he could break any horse and my father had a lot of horses to break. I watched him until what he did made me sick to my stomach. It did work though, so my father kept him on. The only horse that wouldn't give in was Black Star here.

"Last night, I told my father about being with you and he said I should be really careful around Black Star. I told him that if Asher hadn't done to Black Star what he did, I wouldn't need to be careful.

"That's when my father told me he didn't like what Asher was doing and thought you might be better. That's why he let you stay to see if you could break Black Star. If you can, he's going to fire Asher and hire you to take Asher's place.

"I hope you can because Asher has been trying to play up to me. I think what he wants is to marry me so he'll get the ranch when my father passes on. That's what one of the cowhands told my father anyway. Asher thinks I'll need a man one of these days and I'll pick him. I'm not going to let that happen, no matter what, but if you can break Black Star to ride, Asher will be gone and I won't have to worry anymore."

Cally and Clint had both been looking at each other. When Black Star snorted again, they both looked into the corral and saw the horse standing only a couple feet away.

Clint held out his hand, and when Black Star started nibbling the sugar in Clint's palm, he chuckled.

"Well, Ma'am, it looks like Black Star thinks you're all right. There in that sack on the ground is some sugar. Put some in your hand and hold it out for him. Just keep your hand open or he might accidentally nip your finger. A horse can't really see what's right in front of him, so he'll be working by smell and feel."

Cally extended her right hand through the corral poles a little. Black Star finished the sugar in Clint's palm and then looked at Cally's outstretched arm. He didn't move in front of her, but he did stretch out his neck until he could nibble the sugar from her palm.

Cally felt her heart skip a beat when she felt Black Star's lips on her palm. She couldn't believe that the same horse that had always run as far away from her as he could get was now calmly eating sugar from her hand. She looked up at Clint.

"What did you do to make him like me?

Clint smiled.

"I didn't do anything. You convinced him that you weren't a threat, well, that and he seems to like sugar a lot."

"Would he let me touch him?"

Clint shrugged.

"I don't know. Talk to him while you're trying and see what happens."

Cally stretched out her hand toward Black Star's nose. He backed away a little and snorted again. Cally looked up at Clint again.

"I guess he doesn't like me as much as I hoped."

Clint shook his head.

"He's just trying to make up his mind, that's all. He wouldn't have come this close if he was afraid of you. He liked the sugar you gave him, but he's still not sure. Give him a couple more days."

Clint stepped down off the corral rail then.

"Well, Asher left the job of feeding the brood mares and cleaning out the barn to me, so I need to get started. You come out to see Black Star anytime you want. Just don't go into the corral with him yet. To him, the corral is keeping you out more than it's keeping him in. The corral is like your bedroom is to you. If you go in with him, he might decided he doesn't want you there."

}|{

It took Clint the rest of the day to clean out the barn, and because it didn't look like Asher had cleaned hooves for a while, he caught each mare and picked the manure from their hooves.

That had been a bigger job that he figured, but not because the horses wouldn't stand while he lifted each hoof and cleaned it out with a hoof pick. It was because they were shaking so bad he had a hard time holding the hoof between his knees. Clint cursed Asher for making some really nice mares afraid of anybody who touched them.

When Clint walked back to the bunkhouse he saw Cally standing at Black Star's corral again, and she was stroking his neck.

When Clint walked up, she grinned.

"I gave him some more sugar and he let me rub his neck. I think he's just a big baby."

Clint smiled.

"Well, just remember, that big baby is big enough to stomp you into the dust. He trusts you some, but don't push him faster than he wants to go. If you do, you might get hurt."

Cally patted Black Star on the neck and then said she had to go start supper. As Clint watched her walk back to the house, he was impressed with the woman. Unlike Asher, Cally wasn't afraid of the black stallion, and that told him Cally was quite a woman, a woman who deserved a lot better than Asher. Then he walked back to the bunkhouse. When the crew went to the south pasture, the bunkhouse cook went with them. Clint had to fix his own supper.

}|{

Clint and Cally spent most of the next day with Black Star, and Clint was a little surprised that the stallion had changed so quickly. Three days before that, he'd been close to taking the sugar from Clint's hand, but had run away as soon as Cally walked up. That day, as soon as Black Star saw Clint and Cally, he trotted up to the fence to meet them.

They both stayed with the horse until the sun was overhead. Cally said she had fix something to eat, but she'd be back after that. Clint went to the bunkhouse for some ham and cheese.

When Clint came back from the bunkhouse he saw Cally standing by the corral and combing Black Star's neck with a currycomb. She grinned when Clint walked up.

"I went to the barn and got a currycomb. Black Star wasn't sure, but I kept talking to him until he let me touch his neck again. I kept rubbing his neck and he moved closer to the fence. I tried the currycomb then and he didn't run away. I think he likes it."

Clint chuckled.

"I imagine he does. You're doing better with him than I am. You should be proud of yourself."

Cally smiled.

"All I did was what you said I should do."

"Well, he's gotten used to you a lot faster than I thought he would. There must be something about you that he likes. That had to be just you and not me.

"You two have fun. I have to go clean stalls again because I don't know when Asher will be back. Just don't try to go inside with Black Star."

}|{

Clint had finished cleaning the stalls in the barn when he heard Cally screaming. Thinking she'd decided to go into the corral with Black Star and was now in trouble, he dropped the mare's foot and started running.

When he rounded the corner of the barn he saw what was wrong, and it made him run faster.

Asher was inside the corral with his bullwhip and somehow had managed to back Black Star into a corner of the corral. He was lashing at Black Star while Cally stood outside the corral and screamed at Asher to stop.

"Asher, stop! Black Star wasn't doing anything to me! Stop hitting him!"

Clint didn't stop to think about what he was doing. He ducked between the rails of the corral fence and a few seconds later grabbed Asher's arm and wrenched the bullwhip from Asher's hand. When Asher turned around, Clint pushed Asher to the ground and then swung the whip at him. Clint heard the snap of the popper when it hit Asher's arm. Clint's second swing with the bull whip opened a cut on Asher's left cheek. The third swing landed the popper on Asher's forehead with a crack. Blood seeped from the slash.

"You like using your whip, don't you Asher? Well, how does it feel when I use it on you?"

Asher scowled and wiped the blood from his forehead.

"All I done was keep this black bastard from killin' Cally."

Cally had climbed between the poles of the fence and ran up to Clint.

"You weren't doing anything but whipping Black Star because you don't like him. He wasn't doing anything to me. You get your things and get off my father's ranch and don't come back."

Asher laughed.

"You can't tell me to git off this ranch. Only Mr. Morrison can do that."

Cally took two steps toward Asher and pointed her finger at his face.

"I'm going to get my father's shotgun. If you're still here when I get back, I'm going to show you how I can get you off this ranch for good."

As she left, Clint frowned and flipped the bullwhip back to his side so he could use it again.

"Well, Asher, you going to leave on your own, or do I need to help you on your way? I never said I couldn't use a bullwhip. I only said I'd never needed to use one. Well, I needed to use one this time and I can use it again. Maybe you'd like losing an ear the next time."

Asher raised his fist toward Clint.

"You and that bitch girl can't make me leave. I was here before you and when I tell Mr. Morrison that black bastard was trying to kill Cally because you talked her into bein' with him, he'll kick you off the ranch."

Clint smiled.

"I think Mr. Morrison will believe Cally before he believes you. Tell you what, Asher, I won't let Cally shoot you. She doesn't deserve to live with that for the rest of her life. I've already killed more men in the war than I can count so it won't bother me to kill one more. If you aren't walking away from this ranch in half an hour, I'll shoot you myself. We understand each other?"

Asher glared at Clint.

"You'll be sorry for this, you just wait. You and Mr. Morrison and his bitch daughter will all be sorry. You give me back my whip."

Clint shook his head.

"I think I'll keep it. It'll save some other horse from getting cut to ribbons."

}|{

When Cally came back with the shotgun, she asked Clint if Asher was gone. Clint frowned.

"Not yet, but he's in the bunkhouse getting his gear. He'll be gone soon."

"Well, he better be. I was just standing there using a currycomb on Black Star when Asher drove the wagon up to the barn. He got down, grabbed his whip, and went into the corral. Black Star tried to run away, but Asher chased him into a corner and started whipping him. I know he hit Black Star more than once. I hope he's not hurt too bad. Look at him. He's shaking all over."

Clint nodded.

"I see him. We won't be able to do anything until Asher leaves, but after he's gone, we'll see if Black Star will come to us like before. Don't be surprised if he doesn't, but maybe he'll come close enough we can see how bad Asher cut him with the whip."

Clint heard the bunkhouse door shut and turned to see Asher with a burlap sack in his left hand and an old 1853 Enfield rifle in his left.

Cally pointed the shotgun at Asher.

"You keep on walking until you run out of Morrison Ranch to walk on and then keep going for a week. If you come back, it'll be the last thing you ever do."

Asher frowned.

"I'm goin', but it ain't 'cause I'm afeared of you or this young kid who thinks he knows how to break a horse. It's 'cause I don't want to git blamed when that black bastard kills one of you. I hope to hell he does. Then Mr. Morrison will see what I was tellin' him was true."

With that, Asher walked through the gate and down the road.

Cally turned to Clint then.

"Do you think he'll really go somewhere else?"

Clint coiled the bullwhip in his hand.

"I don't know. He seemed pretty mad at both of us and people do dumb things when they're mad. I think I'll start carrying my revolver for a while just to be safe."

}|{

Clint was surprised when the next morning Black Star nickered when he walked out to the corral. Clint leaned against the corral fence to see what the stallion would do.

Black Star looked around for a few minutes and then walked over to where Clint stood.

Clint frowned when he saw the cut marks on the stallion's sides and hips.

"Black Star, I'm sorry this happened to you, but I promise it won't ever happen again. If I could come in there with you, I could do some doctoring on those cuts."

Clint hadn't heard Cally walk up behind him until she said, "Do you think he'd let us do that?"

Clint shook his head.

"Probably not, not after what he's been through. It might take days until he's ready for that."

Cally frowned.

"Well, I'm not going to wait that long. Black Star is hurt and he needs to be taken care of. I'm going to do that."

Before he could stop her, Cally went between the rails of the corral and started walking toward Black Star and talking to him.

"Black Star, that awful man hurt you and that hurt me too. Please let me look at where he hurt you. I don't want you to get sick and die."

The stallion didn't move, but he was watching Carry's every move. When she walked up beside him, he nuzzled the hand she'd extended, and then stood still while Cally stroked his neck.

Black Star moved a little when Cally touched the open cut on his shoulder, but he didn't run away. Cally turned to Clint.

"I see a cut on his shoulder and at least two more on his side. Come look and see if we need to do anything."

Clint stepped between the poles and then slowly walked up to the stallion. The stallion looked at Clint, but he didn't try to run. Clint breathed a sigh of relief. He could understand why Black Star had let Cally walk up to him. Cally wasn't a man. That Black Star didn't shy away when Clint walked up to him told Clint that Black Star was smart enough he knew the difference between Asher and him.

Clint looked at the cuts, shook his head, and then said, "Cally, they look worse than they are. It'll take a few days, but they'll heal on their own. Just don't go messing around with them because they'll be sore for a while.

Cally stroked Black Star's neck.

"Well, he deserves something special. Our carriage horse likes carrots. I'll go get a carrot from the garden."

}|{

Cally walked away and left Clint standing there beside Black Star. Clint stroked the horse's neck.

"Well, Black Star, Asher's gone now so you can forget about him and whips. All you need to think about now is how good you're gonna have it. I think Cally wants you for her horse. I don't know if you'll let that happen or not, but she'll be real good to you if you do."

With that said, Clint patted Black Star's neck and walked back to the barn. He wasn't too worried about Cally now, and he still had hooves to clean.

}|{

Mr. Morrison and the crew of ranch hands rode back to the ranch the next morning. Mr. Morrison went to the house, but a few minutes later walked to the corral where Clint was watching Black Star.

"Cally told me what happened. The only question I have for you is why didn't you just shoot the son of a bitch?"

Clint shrugged.

"I didn't have my rifle or my revolver. Beside, I killed enough men during the war."

Mr. Morrison frowned.

"That was war so you had to kill to stay alive. This was one man being cruel to a horse that couldn't defend himself, and in my book that's worse than killing a man in a war. Cally tells me that Black Star was coming around enough she could comb him out. He's not a horse that can't be broke like Asher claimed. Asher doesn't deserve to live after what he did to that horse."

Clint smiled.

"Well, he's gone now. I think Black Star is going to make a good saddle horse as well as a good stud. I just have to be smarter than he is. I think that's going to take some doing. He seems to be a really smart horse."

Mr. Morrison frowned.

"Asher may have left, but you keep your revolver right where it is now. I don't trust Asher not to come back and try to do something."

}|{

As Asher trudged down the road he was talking to himself.

"Think they can run me off, do they? Well, they damned well got another think acomin'. It were that black bastard what started all this. If he'd just did what I wanted 'im to do, I'd be sitting pretty, but no, he had to fight me all the way.

"I shoulda run the son of a bitch out to the south pasture an' shot 'im in the head like I did his mother. I'da told Mr. Morrison that he got out an' when I found 'im, he'd broke a leg an' I had to shoot him. Mr. Morrison believed me when I told him that about that bitch mare. He'da believed me this time too.

"Well, that little bitch might have kicked me off the ranch, but I can still fix what caused it. I'll just walk 'til they can't see me and then cut over to them trees behind the barn. If I can git close enough, I can shoot that black bastard right there in the corral. Then what'll they do? Their stud will be dead an' they ain't likely to find another half as good.

"I better wait a couple days though or they'll know it was me what done it. I'll just camp in them trees 'til then.

"Yep, that's what I'll do. I'll shoot that horse what caused all this. Might shoot that Clint fella too if'n he's out there. 'Twas him that got Cally goin' to the corral and makin' up to that horse. Probably thinks he's gonna git Cally too. I was gonna git her, but if'n he's dead, he ain't gittin' that little gal to stick.

"Maybe I oughta shoot her old man whilest I'm shootin'. With him gone too, she won't have nobody to run the ranch fer her. I'll go back and tell her I'm to only one who can keep it goin'. Then she'll have to marry me. If'n she don't, well, they's things that happen to girls who don't do what they're told. She might end up in the ground next to her daddy and that there Clint fella. Then I'll just take the ranch."

}|{

As Cally ran the currycomb over Black Star's neck, she was thinking about Clint. Before Asher had started beating Black Star with his bullwhip, Cally had thought Clint was a really nice man, but little too kind. When he'd come through the corral fence that day, grabbed the bullwhip from Asher and then used it on him, she'd seen his face.

That face wasn't the face of a kind man. It was the face of a man enraged by what Asher was doing and the face of a man determined to set things right.

Cally knew horses must have a special place in Clint's heart, but she'd never dreamed he could be like that. What he'd shown her that day was that the man who was kind on the outside also had a side that was to be reckoned with if he was pushed.

Clint was a lot like her father that way. Her father had always been kind toward her and he went out of his way to treat his cowhands fairly, but she'd seen him when he was angry. She'd once seen him beat a cowhand until that cowhand couldn't get up and fight back and the reason was that the cowhand had roped a calf around the neck and then dragged the calf almost half a mile to the branding fire. He'd choked the calf to death in the process.

Cally knew his father wasn't angry just because of the money that calf would have brought in when he was grown and sold. He was furious that any cowhand who knew what he was doing would drag a calf by the neck until he killed it. Once the cowhand could stand up again, her father had told him to get off the ranch and that if he ever saw him again, he'd shoot him and leave him for the buzzards.

Cally realized there was another thing about Clint that was the same as her father. Cally had always felt safe when she was with her father. Clint had made her feel the same way when he'd cautioned her not to push Black Star to let her touch him. Cally had said she didn't need anyone to take care of her, but on the inside, she felt safer knowing Clint seemed to be concerned about her.

She'd never told anyone what Asher had said to her when he ran inside the pen with his bullwhip. He'd yelled at her and told her to go back to the house where a woman belonged, and that if she didn't, he make her as soon as he finished with Black Star. Asher wasn't concerned that Black Star would hurt her. He just didn't want anybody to see what he was going to do. It was for that reason that Cally had stayed at the corral and yelled at Asher to stop. When Clint had stopped Asher from beating Black Star, Cally knew Clint was a man she could always trust to look out for her.

When Clint had come running, Cally had thought Clint had come because he thought she was in trouble. He'd ended up stopping Asher, and while he was doing that, she'd seen his face. It was the face of a man so outraged by what he'd seen Asher doing that she thought he'd probably kill Asher right there in the corral. She'd also seen how he looked at her once Asher was walking away from the ranch. That same face of a kind man was back, and he was reassuring her that Black Star would heal and again telling her not to push the horse or she might get hurt.

Cally then thought back to her husband, but didn't remember him making her feel the same way. Of course, they'd only been married for a month before he went off to enlist in the Union Army, and she hadn't known him all that well before that. Her husband had been a lot like the kind Clint, but she couldn't remember him ever being angry at anything. They'd been in town one day and as they walked past the saloon, a drunken man had said she looked like she could keep a man happy in bed. Her husband hadn't said anything to the man. He'd just told Cally to keep walking.

Cally didn't think Clint would be the same way. He probably wouldn't kill the man, but once the man could stand up again, he'd know he'd better not talk to her that way again.

}|{

After a day of rest, the cowhands left for the north pasture to take care of the bull calves there. Mr. Morrison drove the carriage into town to get some more supplies and spent the day he came back figuring out his expenses and what he'd probably make when he sold last year's steers. That left Clint and Cally mostly alone with Black Star again.

Over that three days, Clint had made good progress with the black stallion. Black Star had learned that when Clint or Cally came to the fence, they had something for him. Cally brought him a carrot and Clint always had a little sugar.

The horse was still a little nervous when Clint or Cally reached out to touch him, but after that three days, he stood still when Clint looked at the cuts on his shoulder and sides. Clint chuckled when Black Star shivered when Cally used a currycomb on his back.

"You're spoiling him Cally. He's gonna expect a back scratch every time anybody gets close to him."

Cally just smiled and patted Black Star on the neck. When the horse nickered, she went back to combing his back.

"All right, Black Star. I'm combing your back again. Mr. Roberts would like the same thing, I'm sure, and he wouldn't say he was being spoiled. I don't care if I'm spoiling you. If you want your back scratched, that's what I'm going to do."

Clint had been looking at Black Star's hooves and he frowned.

"He hasn't had his hooves looked at for a long time and he's not wearing them down here in this corral. They don't look bad, but I need to clean them out and maybe trim them at least a little. You keep him busy with your currycomb while I see if he'll let me pick up his feet."

Slowly, Clint slipped between the rails of the corral fence and then worked his way to Black Star's left front foot. He ran his hand down the leg and felt the horse stiffen. Clint stopped.

"It's all right, Black Star. I just want to look at your hoof. I'm not going to do anything except look."

The stallion didn't relax, but he didn't try to run away, so Clint kept moving his hand down until he came to the horse's fetlock. Then, he lifted the foot a little. Black Star lifted his foot up a few inches, but then put it back down. Clint patted the horse on the shoulder.

"That was good, Black Star. Let's try the other three now."

Clint was lifting Black Star's right rear foot when something whistled through the air. Half a second later, there was the blast of a gunshot. Clint's reaction was as instantaneous as it had been on the battlefield.

"Cally, get down on the ground. Somebody just shot at us."

Clint looked all around for the cloud of smoke that would reveal the shooter's position. He found it in the line of trees to the south of the barn and almost a hundred yards away but it had spread out a lot. The shooter had missed and probably wouldn't if he knew what he was doing and shot again. He had to get Cally, him, and Black Star inside the barn so the shooter couldn't see them.

"Cally, run in the barn and open the door that opens into this corral. We have maybe a minute before whoever it is can shoot again. I'm going to try to lead Black Star into the barn."

Clint walked to Black Star's head and grabbed a handful of the horse's mane.

"Black Star, I don't know if you were ever trained to lead or not, but now's not the time to balk on me. Come on, horse."

Clint started for the barn and pulled gently on Black Star's mane. The horse didn't move at first, but Clint kept urging him on.

"Come on, boy. If the person who fired that shot is who I think it is, you're not safe out here."

He again tried to get the horse to move, but Black Star didn't until Clint heard Cally say, "Here, Black Star. Come and get your carrot."

Clint looked up and saw Cally standing in the barn door and waving a carrot.

Black Star saw her as well and almost pulled Clint off his feet when he started trotting to the barn. Clint turned loose of Black Star's mane just as another bullet whistled past and went on to hit the side of the barn. This time, Clint saw where the smoke was coming out of the trees.

Cally let Black Star get close and then backed back into the barn. When Black Star was in the barn, Clint followed the horse, pulled the door shut behind him, and then latched it.

"Cally, you stay here with Black Star. I'm going to go find out who shot at us."

Clint called Rowdy, slipped the bridle on the horse and then led the horse to the front door of the barn. He opened that door, led Rowdy through, and then mounted the horse bareback and started for the trees where he'd seen the smoke.

}|{

Asher had cursed himself when his first shot was too high. He dumped another powder charge down the barrel of the Enfield, tamped the butt on the ground to settle it, and then rammed a bare ball down on top of it. When he put a fresh cap on the nipple and then sighted down over the barrel, he saw the horse trotting to the barn with Clint running after him. Asher aimed slightly ahead of the horse and pulled the trigger.

As soon as he'd pulled the trigger, Asher knew that he'd missed again, so he reloaded. When he again sighted down the barrel, the horse and Clint were evidently in the barn because they weren't there and the barn door was closed.

Asher didn't see Clint riding Rowdy around the barn, but he did see Mr. Morrison running out of the house.

"Well, Mr. Morrison, I'll just shoot you now and get the horse and Clint later."

Asher sighted down the barrel, centered the sights on Mr. Morrison's head, and pulled the trigger. He laughed when Mr. Morrison fell down and reloaded the Enfield while watching Mr. Morrison. When Mr. Morrison didn't move, he laughed again.

"That'll teach you to let your bitch daughter run me off your ranch. Now I'll go shoot that black bastard and that kid who thinks he can break a horse."

Asher was walking out of the trees when he heard a horse galloping toward him. He looked up and saw Clint. Asher raised the Enfield and tried to align the sights on the man, but Clint kept changing direction. Finally, Asher thought he had Clint in his sights and pulled the trigger on the Enfield. It was the last thing he'd ever do. Two shots from Clint's revolver hit him in the chest. After Asher fell down, he looked up through dimming eyes and saw Clint looking down on him from the horse. Asher didn't see or hear Clint's third shot. He just gurgled out his final breath as Clint turned Rowdy and galloped back to the barn.

}|{

Clint slid off Rowdy and met Cally running from the barn. She was crying and ran past Clint. When Clint looked at where she was going, he saw Mr. Morrison lying on the ground on his back. Cally knelt down beside him.

"Daddy, Daddy, are you all right?"

Clint ran to the man's side and then smiled when Mr. Morrison sat up. Mr. Morrison grinned at Cally.

"I'm fine, Cally. All that happened is the bullet grazed my leg. I've been hurt worse and lived. I just fell down like I was dead so he wouldn't shoot at me again."

He looked up at Clint then.

"Was it Asher?"

Clint nodded.

"You take care of him?"

Clint nodded again.

"He won't be bothering anybody any more."

"Good. You leave him be right there where he fell. He doesn't deserve anything better."

Mr. Morrison grinned then.

"Knew you were a good man, Clint. Now, this leg hurts like fire. How 'bout if you and Cally help me in the house."

}|{

Mr. Morrison had yelped a lot while Cally washed the thin cut where the ball had hit him, and he yelped some more when Cally put a cotton bandage over it.

Cally just laughed.

"You said you weren't hurt and yet you're yelling like I'm killing you. You're just a big baby, that's what you are."

Mr. Morrison yelped again when Cally tied the bandage in place.

"Ow, that hurts worse then when I got shot. Doc Arnold woulda give me something to take the pain away. Good thing I bought a jug of whiskey in town. I think I'll have me some pain killer right now."

Cally frowned.

"All right, but just a little. I'm not going to try to pick you up and put you in bed tonight."

Mr. Harrison looked up a Clint.

"Son, you deserve a little pain killer too for what you did for me and Cally today."

Clint shook his head.

"Thank you, sir, but all I did was what you'd have done if I hadn't been here. Besides, I still have stalls to clean and I need to make sure Black Star is all right."

Before Clint could walk away, Cally stopped him.

"Mr. Roberts, one thing I can do to thank you is ask you to eat supper with us tonight. I'm making ham steaks with sweet potatoes and green beans. Won't you come eat with us?"

Clint shook his head.

"Ma'am, I'm just the hired help. I'll eat in the bunkhouse like always."

Mr. Harrison stood up, winced, and then limped over to Clint and put his hand on Clint's shoulder.

"Clint, after what you did today, you'll never be just hired help to me. You saved Cally and you saved Black Star, and if you hadn't taken care of Asher, he'd likely have come and finished me off. Cally makes a ham steak as good as any you'd order in Dallas. If you don't eat with us, you'll be missing out on a really good meal."

Clint looked at the floor.

"Well, I don't want your daughter to do any extra work."

Cally chuckled.

"I'll have to cut another ham steak off the bone. It'll take me all of two minutes. Now I'm not taking no for an answer. I'll have supper ready at dusk. Be sure you wash up."

}|{

When they'd finished eating, Cally said she was going to clean up and they should leave so they wouldn't get in her way. Mr. Morrison smiled.

"Girl gets more like her mother every day. Clint, let's go in the parlor."

Once they were there, Mr. Morrison pointed to one of two chairs beside the fireplace.

"Have a seat, Clint. This is my favorite place in this room. No need for a fire now, but in winter I like to warm my bones up here before bed. Sure you don't want a little glass of whiskey?"

Clint said, "Thank you, but no."

Mr. Morrison sat down in the chair opposite Clint.

"Clint, I don't think you realize that Cally has taken a liking to you, but she has. Poor girl was a mess after her husband was killed, but since you got here, she's happier than I've seen her in years. The only thing that's changed is you got here and started working with Black Star."

Clint shrugged.

"She told me she's always liked Black Star. I've just been helping her get to know him."

Mr. Morrison nodded.

"She has always liked that horse, but she'd never go out there because of Asher. It's more than that though. She told me the other night that she thought you were a man she could live with. I know my daughter, Clint, and she's takes after me in some ways. She never beats around the bush about anything. If she said that, she means it.

"I've not seen you be anything except a gentleman with my daughter, but I'll tell you something. You're missing out on something that's pretty rare at least in my experience. Cally's a lot like her mother and her mother stood by me when I was starting this ranch. We didn't have much besides what she could grow in her garden and what little we could buy once I sold a few steers. She didn't complain about not having new clothes and she didn't complain that she was working too hard.

"What I'm getting at, Clint, is that you could do a lot worse than my daughter. Yes, she's been married once, but that don't count for much in my book. It's the years together that do count, and I think she'd like to spend her years with you..

"The other thing is that I'm forty-six and it gets harder to sit on a horse all day as every year goes by. I'm ready to turn all the cattle work over to someone else. I'll stay here and take care of the expenses and arrange for the sale of my cattle and horses. I think we'd make good partners. You're a fair man, and you proved today that you won't back away when something needs doing. That's what I'd want in a partner. You interested?"

Clint had to think for a while. Was this what he'd been looking for? He liked Cally and after today, he liked her even more. She hadn't panicked when he'd told her to go to the barn. She'd run to the barn as fast as she could run. Clint was pretty sure he'd never have gotten Black Star in the barn in time, but Cally had called to Black Star with the carrot she knew the horse would do anything for. When he thought about it, he could see them being happy together.

"Are you saying I should ask Cally to marry me? We haven't known each other very long."

Mr. Harrison nodded.

"No, you haven't. If I was a banker and we were in Dallas, I'd say you'd need to know each other for a long time. That's because city people can hide how they really are pretty easy and it takes a while for them to show their true colors.

"Out here, well, every day brings some problem that need solving, like a horse your wrangler says can't be broke or some fool tries to... well, like what happened today. There's nobody to turn to like a marshal or somebody who knows how to do something you never did before. You have to do it yourself. I think you've learned enough about Cally and she's learned enough about you that you've figured out how each of you think and what you're going to do when something needs doing."

Clint shook his head.

"What can I offer her that she doesn't already have?"

Mr. Harrison smiled.

"The first time Cally got married, she told me that she wanted to have at least two boys and two girls. She can't do that by herself."

}|{

When Clint went back to the bunkhouse he couldn't go to sleep. He kept thinking about his life and about what Mr. Harrison had said.

The preacher back in Booneville was always saying that all things happen because of God's will. Clint's father didn't go that far. He just said things always happen for a good reason. Clint had thought both to be true until he saw his father lying dead and the house and barn burned. At the time, he'd wondered what good reason could there possibly be for that to have happened to him.

Clint had joined the Union Army in an attempt to avenge his father by doing the right thing. What he'd found is it really didn't make any difference who was right to the men on either side who lay dead on the ground. By the end of the war, who was right was the furthest thing from his mind. His only goal was to stay alive long enough to get out of that hell of bullets and cannon balls and dead and wounded men and horses.

The Union had won and the politicians said it had been a righteous war, but what good was going to come out of it? It would take a generation or more to replace the men who had died and to rebuild the farms and communities devastated by the war. Surely God couldn't consider that to be for the good.

That's why he'd started for Texas. He was trying to get away from things other people said were right and things they said were wrong. It would be just him and Rowdy to make those decisions. Then, he'd met Cally.

With her smile, grit, and with the sensitivity and caring nature of a woman, she'd turned Clint's world upside-down again. He'd wanted to like her, but was afraid if he did, it would just end up being another time in his life that he'd end up questioning why bad things kept happening to him.

Lying there in his bed, Clint smiled. There was no way he couldn't like Cally. She was the first ray of sunlight to shine into the darkness of his life, the first hint that maybe there was a reason for everything that had happened to him. Maybe Cally was why he'd been away when the Bushwhackers killed his father and burned their farm. Maybe Cally was the reason he'd come through the war with only a scar on his head. Maybe Cally was the reason for all that. Clint didn't know. All Clint knew was that he was always happy when she was around.

}|{

Clint didn't make the decision that night, but he did the next morning. When he walked out to the corral, Cally was there feeding a carrot to Black Star. She smiled when he walked up.

"So, what did you and Daddy talk about last night?"

Clint looked at Cally.

"We talked about you and some other things."

"You talked about me? What did he say?"

"Well, Mr. Morrison said he thought you'd taken a liking to me. Then he told me that you'd make a good wife and that he was looking forward to turning over his ranch to your husband. He asked me if I was interested."

Cally stepped away from the fence and walked closer to Clint.

"What did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him anything. I thought about it for a long time when I went to bed though. There's a lot about me that you don't know, Cally. I don't know if you could live with a man who's been through and done the things I've done.

"Then I thought about what it would be like and I decided maybe you're the reason all those things happened to me. I don't know if you really feel like your father says you do. If you don't you need to tell me now so I can leave."

A few tears slid down Cally's cheeks as she put her arms around Clint's neck.

"Clint, I don't want you to leave, not ever. I want you to stay right here... right here with me... forever."

}|{

They were married a month later. They waited a month because Mr. Harrison said it wouldn't look right if he limped when he walked Cally down the aisle of the church. After the ceremony, he told Clint he was staying at the hotel for a week so he and Cally could get to know each other better.

After Clint unharnessed the horse and put the carriage away, he went to the house. Cally said she'd have supper ready in a few minutes.

Clint found it hard to talk to Cally during supper. He kept thinking that he'd never had a wife but Cally had had a husband. What if what he did was wrong or if she didn't like it? Clint had seen cows and horses breeding but that was just the bull or the stallion doing what instinct told him to do. Surely there was more than that between a man and a woman.

Cally wasn't nervous. She was excited. Her first husband hadn't known what to do so she'd had to help him. She figured she'd have to help Clint too, but now, she knew how.

When they finished eating, Cally said she'd wash up and then they could go to bed. Clint sat at the table and watched her, and when she was done, he followed her into her bedroom.

Cally sat the lamp from the kitchen on the table beside the bed, and then put her arms around Clint's neck. The kiss was a little fumbling because Clint didn't really know how, but Cally opened her mouth a little and he followed her lead. The shock that raced down his spine to his crotch was more than he'd anticipated. So were Cally's hands stroking his head.

When Cally eased away, she smiled.

"Are you worried about tonight?"

"Yes, a little."

Cally smiled.

"Don't be. I'll help you."

}|{

When Clint woke up the next morning, the sun was already up and the rays lit up the bed. He remembered where he was because he felt Cally's breasts against his side and her arm on his chest. He looked over and saw her smiling.

"Good morning, husband. Was it like you thought it would be?"

Clint smiled.

"No, it was much more than I ever dreamed it could be."

Cally grinned.

"I thought so too. We don't need to get up unless we want to. I think I'd like to stay right here for a while. I think we can probably find something to do, don't you?"

Clint closed his eyes as pieces of the night before flashed through his mind, just bits and pieces of what had led up to him coupling with Cally and hearing her moan while he gasped and filled her with his seed.

In his mind, Clint had imagined what Cally looked like under her clothing, but his imagination was all wrong. She was so delicate without clothes that he feared he might hurt her and yet, so exciting he only held back because Cally was showing him what she liked.

He'd marveled at the way her breasts were firm but still slipped through his fingers when he gently fondled them. He'd been amazed that just a few touches to her small nipples caused them to grow longer, thicker, and stiff. He thought he'd hurt her when she moaned, but knew he hadn't when she whispered, "Again."

When Cally gently pulled his hand down over her belly, Clint had first felt soft hair. When Cally pushed his hand lower, he felt soft, puffy lips with a little separation between them. When Cally opened her legs, his fingertip slipped between those lips. Cally had moaned again, and then whispered, "Inside me, Clint. Inside me."

A few minutes later, Cally had stroked his manhood until it was stiff, and then gently pulled him between her thighs. She wrapped her arms around his back and whispered, "I'm ready, Clint."

That first stroke was a little tentative. Clint had stopped when the passage seemed to tighten, but Cally put her hand on his hips and pulled until his manhood slipped past that spot. In that one stroke, Clint had felt his manhood slip past that tight spot and into wet warmth. Cally had caught her breath and lifted her hips up to bury his manhood deeper inside her.

Clint knew he was supposed to pull back out, so he did, but when Cally pulled on his hips again, he thrust his manhood inside her and then gasped as seed raced through his shaft and inside Cally.

Clint couldn't stop himself from withdrawing and then thrusting his manhood inside Cally two more times. The third time, he held himself up on his hands and knees while Cally stroked his back, then pulled him down to kiss him.

All Clint remembered after that was Cally's hand stroking his back, her breasts against his chest, and the warmth around his softening manhood. When his manhood slipped out of Cally, she stroked his back again and whispered, "Now I feel like a wife."

His remembering was interrupted by the feeling of Cally's soft, slender fingers stroking his manhood. When he opened his eyes again, she smiled.

"What were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking about last night."

Cally snuggled closer and put her thigh over his legs.

"Instead of just remembering, why don't we do it again?"

}|{

For the next six months, Clint split his time between learning how to be a husband to Cally, training Black Star, and learning how to run a cattle ranch. The time was right for those things. Most of the cattle work entailed sending the cowhands out to the pastures to make sure the cattle were still where they were supposed to be and that none of them had been hurt in some way. The real work would begin in spring when the cows dropped new calves and the yearling steers were rounded up and brought back to the ranch. From there, they'd be driven to the railhead at Abilene, Kansas and shipped to Chicago.

Clint continued to work with Black Star, and a month after he and Cally were married Clint taught Black Star that a saddle blanket wouldn't hurt him. Two weeks after that, Black Star was wearing a saddle and bridle, but Clint didn't try to mount him. He waited another week before putting his left foot into the stirrup and letting Black Star get used to feeling some weight. A week after gradually increasing the weight Clint put in the stirrup, he took a deep breath and swung himself into the saddle.

Clint felt Black Star tense up, but he didn't try to buck. Clint leaned down and stroked the stallion's neck.

"It's all right, Black Star. I'll just sit here for a while and let you get used to me being up here."

Cally stood by with her carrots and after each session, she'd currycomb Black Star and feed him a carrot. Clint decided the stallion liked Cally as much as she loved the horse.

After two weeks of just sitting on the stallion's back, Clint leaned forward, touched Black Star's sides with his heels and said, "All right, Black Star. Let's see if you can walk."

After that, it was just a matter of teaching the stallion what to do when Clint laid a rein on his neck and what it meant when Clint pulled gently on the reins.

Clint was happy. Black Star had proven to be a very intelligent horse. He learned quickly and was easy to control. The stallion was also as fast as Clint had predicted. The first time Clint lead Black Star out of the corral, mounted him, and urged him into the south pasture, Black Star hadn't balked. In fact, it seemed to Clint as if the stallion was happy to be somewhere besides the corral.

Little by little over the next few days, Clint urged Black Star from a walk to a trot, then to a canter. When the stallion seemed to be comfortable with that, Clint leaned forward, pulled his hat down tight on his head, and then pressed harder with his heels. In seconds, Black Star was galloping over the pasture. Clint let the stallion run for a while, but then slowed him until he was walking again and headed back to the barn.

The day that Clint galloped Black Star out over the south pasture, he learned something else about Cally. When he'd ridden the stallion back into the corral, Cally asked Clint if he thought she could ride him.

Clint said he didn't think that was a good idea. Cally's mouth became a firm line of determination.

"Why not? He was fine with you."

Clint smiled.

"And just how do you think you're going to get into the saddle?"

Cally's face didn't change.

"You're just treating me like I'm sick or something. Well, I feel just fine and our baby isn't due for another six months. I just need a little help getting on and I won't go anywhere besides the corral."

Clint tried several different arguments, but quickly remembered that when Cally set her mind to something, here was no changing it.

"All right, I'll help you up, but if he starts doing anything but walking, I'm gonna pull you off that saddle."

Cally walked up, put her cheek against Black Star's neck.

"You'll be all right with me, won't you? All I want to do is see if it feels like I've always thought it would feel."

Black Star put his head over Cally's shoulder and nickered. Cally chuckled.

"I think he wants his carrot, but he can't have it until he lets me ride him."

Clint sighed and helped Cally into the saddle, then backed slowly away. Cally patted Black Star on the neck and then touched his sides with her heels like Clint had shown her. Black Star started walking, and Clint decided the look on Cally's face more than made up for her being so stubborn.

}|{

Up until the time Cally was too big to fit in a saddle, they often took rides together, Clint on Rowdy and Cally on Black Star. Clint marveled at the connection between them.

If they both walked out to the corral where Black Star was kept, the stallion would always trot up to Cally first. Once he'd seen that happen over and over, Clint decided that things do happen for a reason.

Clint realized he and Cally and the stallion had a lot in common. Clint had lost everything before the war and had lost even more during the war, but then he'd found Cally and everything had started to make sense again.

Black Star was much the same. The horse had been abused since he was born but had refused to give in until he was treated to the kindness of a woman who had lost her first husband and then had to contend with Asher's plan to marry her so he could own the ranch. She'd also made Clint see that it didn't matter what had happened before. All that mattered was what happened going forward. Together, the three of them had found a place in the world where they fit.

}|{

In Clint's and Cally's later years, Black Star still waited patiently in the corral for the carrot Cally always brought with her, though he was only in Clint's and Cally's mind. The real Black Star was buried under an oak tree in that same south pasture and he had a granite headstone that read, "Black Star, A Special Horse". What they really saw from the front porch of the ranch house was Midnight, the last stallion of the many stallions and mares sired by Black Star. He was all black with one white star on his forehead, and he was just as fast and just as tame as the black stallion that brought Clint and Cally together.

Neither Clint nor Cally continued to ride much once they reached their fifties. They left the riding to their three sons and the husbands of their two daughters. Clint took care of the ranch finances while his sons and sons in law did the hard work with the cattle and horses. It took all of them, because over the years, Clint and Cally expanded the ranch to a little over three thousand acres.

Six hundred brood cows and twenty bulls roamed those pastures along with fifty brood mares and six stallions. Every year, the ranch drove around four hundred steers and heifers to the markets in Abilene, Kansas, and every year, the ranch took at least forty two-year-old geldings and mares to the auction in Dallas.

Clint kept training the new foals every year, though he gradually turned that job over to Robert Mayes, his daughter Edith's husband. Robert liked horses a lot more than he liked cows, so Clint taught him how horses think and how to gain their trust.

Cally always planted a lot of carrots every spring, and while her daughters took care of the house, she could usually be found out by the corral beside the barn with Midnight. If you happened to be there, you'd have heard her talking to the horse.

"Midnight, you're such a beautiful horse. I've loved you since the day you were born, just like I loved your daddy. I wish I could ride you, but I don't move as good like I did back then. I'll just brush you and tell you about when I used to ride Black Star after Clint taught him to be gentle.

"I remember one time when we were riding out to see the cowhands branding calves. I didn't know Black Star knew about working cattle, but..."