The old cowboy limped from the outhouse behind the saloon. His left leg ached deeply, just like it had for the past twenty-five years after the wild Mustang he was trying to break had kicked him and broken it. If the ranch owner hadn’t paid fifty dollars for the colt, he’d have put a bullet between the thing’s eyes, broke leg or not. He could always tell when it was going to rain because the leg would start to throb like hell. That actually was kind of useful sometimes, except for out on the prairie where you could see a storm brewing a hundred miles away. There wasn’t any storm brewing today and there wouldn’t be tomorrow. It was the middle of the summer and there hadn’t been any rain since spring. What breeze there was blew dust down the sunbaked street through the middle of town. He leaned on the bar, swung his bad leg around, rested it on the brass foot rail, poured the last shot of whiskey out of the bottle and threw it back. The old cowboy was the only one in the saloon except for the bartender and five guys playing poker at a table in the back of the room. He looked at himself in the glass behind the bar. How the hell did he look so old? He didn’t feel that old. He could still ride, rope, punch cattle, fight and dance with the ladies, but he knew deep down he was never quite the same again after that damn horse kicked him.
The doors to the saloon swung open and a young cowboy walked through them. The old cowboy turned, looked at him and almost laughed. He was soaking wet from head toe. The young cowboy was a good size with black hair, a black beard and dark eyes. He took his hat off, beat the brim against his forearm, put it back on and ambled up to the end of the bar. His boots squished when he walked. Leaning against the end of the bar, the young cowboy bent over, pulled his right boot off, poured the water in it into the spittoon, then pulled it back on his foot. He did the same with the left boot. He caught the old cowboy’s gaze and gave him a nod. He walked down to where the old cowboy stood, put his elbows on the bar, rested his left foot on the rail, looked in the glass and let out a long sigh. The guys playing poker had stopped and watched him, then went back to dealing.
“What the hell happened to you?” the old cowboy asked. The young cowboy looked at him for a few seconds, then said, “Fell.”
“Fell?”
“Yeah, fell.”
“Off what?”
“Horse.”
“Musta been a tall horse,” the old cowboy laughed. The young cowboy looked back at him and didn’t laugh. The old cowboy quit laughing and the smile evaporated from his face. The young cowboy motioned for the bartender. The bartender walked toward him, wiped the bar in front of him and said, “What’ll it be?” He didn’t seem to see anything odd about a soaking wet cowboy leaning on his bar in the middle of a drought. Running a saloon in the middle of nowhere, he had pretty much seen everything. “Gimme a pint o’ mash and two glasses,” said the young cowboy. The bartender turned to the cabinet behind him and pulled out a brown, corked pint bottle. He reached under the bar, picked up two glasses and set them all three up on the bar. Then he walked away. The young cowboy pulled the cork out of the bottle, poured a shot into one of the glasses and slid it in front of the old cowboy. He poured himself a shot, picked up the glass, looked at the old cowboy, nodded again and threw the whiskey back. He shuddered a little, poured himself another, then turned and said to the old cowboy, “I’d been chasin’ her for weeks.”
“Chasin’ who?”
“A mare. Chestnut colored with a black mane, a black tail and a white diamond between her eyes. Most beautiful mare I ever seen. Most beautiful mare in all o’ Texas, I’d say.”
“How would you know that?” snorted the old cowboy.
“You’ll have to take my word on it.”
The old cowboy emptied his glass. The young cowboy emptied his and refilled them both. “Anyway, she was never with a herd. She was always alone. First time I saw her was up on Stony Ridge. You know where that is?”
“Yep.”
“From th’ first time I seen her I swore I was gonna catch her. I was gonna catch her and we’d be together. She was gonna be like my wife.”
“Boy, you been out in the sun too long.”
“I’d catch sight of her every now and then, grazin’ or coolin’ off in the water. So, today I was up on the ridge and came around a corner and there she was. I stopped dead in my tracks, then ducked behind a tree.” The young cowboy took another sip from his glass. “I decided this was my time. I eased out from behind th’ tree and snuck up to another one. I pulled my rope off my belt, made it into a loop and moved up behind her nice and easy. She still ain’t seen me, so I took my rope and I flung it in the air.”
The old cowboy emptied his glass and the young cowboy filled them both. “Well, sir,” the young cowboy continued, “I got her and I’m a-pullin’ on her and she’s a-pullin’ back like a mule goin’ up a ladder.” The old cowboy laughed at the thought of a mule going up a ladder. “She’s a-rearin’ up, shakin’ her head an’ hollerin’,” said the young cowboy. “So I take a chance, climb up on a rock an’ I jump. Damned if I don’t land right on top o’ her. She took off, runnin’ higher up on that ridge than I’d ever been before. I’m a-bent over hangin’ onto her mane for dear life. She’d calmed down a little an’ seemed t’ be gettin’ used t’me bein’ on her back. All of a sudden she stopped an’ I almost went over her head. I looked down there was a big ol’ sidewinder, all coiled up an’ ready to strike. She acted like she didn’t know what t’do for a second, then jumped off th’ edge with me holdin’ on.” The old cowboy almost choked on his whiskey. The story had sounded reasonable up until this point. He looked at the young cowboy and said, “So you’re a-tellin’ me that you was on th’ back of a wild horse that jumped off a cliff?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Today?”
“Yes, sir, just this mornin’.”
“Go on, boy.” The old cowboy was curious to know where this was headed.
“Like I said, we was higher than I’d ever been before. We was above th’ clouds. I looked down an’ there was two eagles flyin’ underneath us. We was hangin’ up there in the sky. Off in th’ distance below her head I seen th’ moon, an’ then I realized we was movin’ forward. It was like she was flyin’ straight toward th’ sun. It blinded me an’ I couldn’t see. So I look behind us an’ I seen th’ black walls of th’ ridge an’ below us was a bottomless canyon. Then I seen birds below us an’ I notice they was a-risin’. That’s when I realized we was fallin’ down this crevice, ‘bout a mile, I’d say.” The old cowboy was looking at the young cowboy like he had stalks of corn growing out of his ears. The young cowboy poured the last of the whiskey out of the bottle into their glasses. “I look down an’ I see this red thing a-comin’ up on us real fast. I didn’t know what the hell it was at first but then I realized it was our reflection. They was a pond at the bottom of th’ canyon. We hit hard, water went everwhere an’ we went under. I’m a-huggin’ her neck, hangin’ onto her mane an’ a-holdin’ my breath. I feel us sinkin’, then I feel her legs start movin’ an’ a-kickin’. We’ve hit th’ bottom an’ she’s a-climbin’ up outta th’ pond. She comes out an’ shakes th’ water off. I lost my hold an’ went a-flyin’ off her back. I land on my ass an’ bounce backerds about three times. She run about fifty yard away from me, stopped an’ looked back at me for a second. Then she turned an’ galloped off. I lost her, she got away.” The young cowboy turned up his glass and put it down hard on the bar. “Then I walked here,” he said. “I needed a drink.”
The old cowboy sat there speechless. Then he started to chuckle. Then he began to laugh. He was laughing so hard he could see the guys playing poker were staring at him. Finally, when he could talk, he said, “Hellfire, boy! I’ve heard some whoppers in my time, but damned if that one don’t beat all! You sure you ain’t been eatin’ some o’them cactus flowers?” The young cowboy didn’t say anything. He took his foot off the rail, put four bits on the bar and nodded at the old cowboy. The old cowboy watched him walk toward the swinging doors. Before he walked out through them, the young cowboy stopped, turned to the old cowboy and said, “I’m gonna try to get her again, someday. I’m goin’ t’ketch that horse if I can.” He looked at the guys playing poker, nodded at them and walked through the doors.
The old cowboy sat at the bar for a bit, thinking about the tale he had just heard. He chuckled, looked at the clock on the wall and saw that it was time to head back to the ranch. He put a silver dollar on the bar, pulled his leg off the rail and limped through the swinging doors to the hitching post. He untied the reins, looked at his old horse and laughed again. “Can you fly, ol’ gal?” he said. He put his right foot in the right stirrup, pulled himself up by the saddle horn and swung his left leg over and into the left stirrup. He rode slowly down the street and out of town.
As he was riding, he looked up and saw Stony Ridge. He decided to take the trail over it back to the ranch. He climbed up and as he reached the top, he rounded a corner and came to a dead stop. There, grazing was a chestnut-colored mare. She stopped grazing and stared at the old cowboy. She had a white diamond between her eyes, a black mane and a black tail. Her mane and her tail were soaking wet.