by Ron Lewis
out here. There was the law, and it should handle such matters.
The odd-looking pair exited the train onto the boarded sidewalk of the station. Meeker moved toward the freight cars. He claimed his animal, and Meeker, Michelle, and Star walked toward town, the horse following behind in a type of contentment. He was saddled, the reins were thrown up over the saddle horn, and the white Morgan walked dutifully behind his master.
As they entered the bustling city, they saw the sign. It was a big sign with words painted on it and the wood cut in the shape of a running stallion. “Samuel Piggott Horse Trader N Stables” the sign read. The pair walked into the courtyard and looked around at the establishment. There were barns and a round pen and a big corral. The owner walked out at a fast pace to the couple.
“Now what can I do for you, fine folks?” he asked them.
“We’re looking for a horse for this young woman,” Meeker told him.
“My God, you’re tall for a female!” Piggott blurted out the obvious. “Are you a Swede?” he questioned, and Michelle shook her head. “Well, you ain’t the tallest female I ever seen; they were all Swede gals. Still, you’re a tall one, that is for sure.” Piggott got down to business. “Well, I got several in here—each and every one is an excellent beasty. However, I got a deal on right now. Ya see that big Buckskin Dunn over thar? That mare is a testament to the stubborn nature of some beasts of burden. She is a tad on the insane side, and for just ten dollars, if you can ride her, she is yours. If you can’t, the ten dollars is my money, and you will be going away with bruised pride; then we can look at some milk-toast animal for you,” Piggott told them.
“What’s her name?” Michelle Tanner asked the man.
“Were I to name her I would call her Mary Todd Lincoln, for she is as crazy as one can be,” the man said with a great of deal of disdain shown for the First Lady.
“I’ll ride her and won’t be thrown,” she told the trader as she handed the ten-dollar Gold Eagle to Piggott. He looked it over, up and down, and then bit the coin. He smiled and nodded his head as he put the “wager” money in his pocket. For that was what it was—a wager—coin on one side, animal on the other.
“Saddle her up boys, we got us some entertainment. It will be a short bit of theater, though,” Piggott said.
“I will saddle her myself if you provide the rig, and it should be a mite smaller than that one.” He agreed, and she handed him another ten-dollar gold piece. He looked at her. “For the saddle, I’m riding her out in fifteen to twenty minutes.” Piggott laughed loud and shook his head.
“Each and every try is ten dollars, but if you can ride the beasty, the saddle is yours.” Piggott handed her back the gold coin.
An elderly Indian ambled into the stables at that point. He trudged back and took a position on the fence to watch the action with the others. Through weathered eyes, the old Indian watched the events unfold. His dress was strange for an Indian, a blue pinstriped suit and black derby hat.
Michelle walked up to the mare and patted her on the face. At first, the horse pulled away from the woman, but Michelle just kept stroking her. First on the horse’s face, then her neck and then down her back. Piggott watched Michelle—no one had ever done this before, but it would make no difference. He knew as soon as the weight hit the mount’s back, she would buck, and inside of four seconds, it would be over and he would be ten dollars wealthier.
Soon Michelle held the horse’s head and looked her in the eye. She stared at the animal, holding its gaze first in one eye. She then moved the pony’s head and looked her in the other eye. The mare started to nod its head. Michelle rubbed one of her ears, and she pushed hard against her hand, enjoying the massage. Her face next to the big nostrils of the animal, Michelle blew her breath at the animal.
“This woman is smart ‘horse trader’; she knows horses,” the Indian told the men around the corral. “She has hair like the flame of a fire. I’ll give her the name ‘Hair of Flame.’” He looked over at Meeker, and he recognized him. “I know you—Meeker the trapper, frontiersman, deputy US marshal, you are ‘Sleeps with Bears.’”
“I haven’t been called that in a coon’s age.” Meeker was amused as he remembered how his Indian name had been given to him. He returned his attention to Michelle and the animal. He wondered if he should know the man, though.
After a good two- or three-minute period, she put the blanket in place followed by the saddle. It was odd; for the first time the mare did not protest the saddle being on her back. Piggott was not worried. No one had gone for more than six seconds.
Michelle led the mount into the corral. The workers shut the gate behind her and climbed on the fence to watch the short action that would follow. Piggott and Meeker walked over to watch from ground level.
“Piggott, you’re going to lose that pony today,” the Indian told the horse trader. Piggott grunted at the Indian, a disgruntled what do you know sound deep in his throat. Still if that old man said he would lose the horse, he knew, he might lose the horse.
Michelle climbed on board; the beast immediately stood erect, and nothing more. Then she began to hunch her back. Michelle reached down and touched her neck. The animal softened her stance and flattened out her back once again. The animal started to paw the ground, showing her impatience again. Michelle reached down, patting her on the upper neck, scratching behind her ear. Again, the mare stopped and stood motionless.
“That doesn’t count as riding the horse, Ma’am. We call that sitting a saddle around here.” Piggott worried that she might be able to ride the mare. The cantankerous, skittish beast stood calm underneath this woman. The mare turned her head, eyeballing the rider. No rider had sat her like this; the mare always began bucking as soon as someone sat her.
“She knows what she’s doing, Piggott, leave her alone,” the old Indian told him.
“Buffalo Head, leave me be!” Piggott said to the Indian. The old man winked at the horse trader and Samuel knew, he had lost the horse already.
Michelle touched the horse with her boot heels with a slight tap. Feeling the touch of her heels, the animal began to move forward at a fast trot. The mare began to arch her back; Michelle reacted, sitting hard down in the saddle. She reached down, touching the horse, rubbing the mare’s neck with a gentle hand. Michelle slowed the horse to a walk.
The pony never bucked; she started to, but Michelle would speak in a soft, comforting voice while touching her, and the mare would relax. This went on for about ten minutes, much to the surprise of those watching the events unfold. To a degree, it surprised even Meeker. After fifteen minutes, Michelle got the mare up to a trot, then a gallop.
The mount would move at a sharp pace down the center of the corral. Michelle would tug on the rein, and the horse would react and turn to the left or right in the direction indicated. In this manner, Michelle and the beast moved around the corral at a right fast gallop.
On occasions, the mare would give signs of being impatient or wanting to buck. Michelle would talk to the pony or touch her, and her attitude would change. The mount began to turn quicker for Michelle. When she had her in a trot, the mare lifted her legs high as if she were performing. Animal and rider developed a relationship in short order.
Michelle would slow the beast down to just a walk and repeat the whole set of exercises. Michelle began to nudge with her knee, pressing in the direction of the turn as she pulled the reins with a light touch. Then as a test, she turned her with just the knee. This worked every time—the mare was smart, Michelle could tell.
“This woman rides like a seasoned brave!” The Indian showed how amused he felt at what he saw. With a keen enthusiasm, Buffalo Head enjoyed Piggott’s apparent discomfort. The mare was not so much broken as tamed down; the horse trader had heard of breaking horses this way but never seen it. Buffalo Head had seen the method and used it, and he knew the woman would ride the animal when he saw her saddle the mare.
Then, Michelle had the animal running in a large circle in the ce
nter of the corral. The Mare had one last thought of bucking. She arched her back at one point. Shelle started to reach down, but whatever had passed through the mind of the beast passed and she kept moving as directed.
“Well, Piggott, it’s her horse now.” Buffalo Head got off the fence and moved to the street.
“Go back to Colorado where you belong, you crazy old Indian,” Piggott yelled at him. The old man turned back to him and they exchanged faint smiles.
Then Michelle turned the animal, taking her to the back of the corral. Turning the animal toward an open spot on the front fence, horse and rider moved at a full run. The mare jumped at just the right moment, clearing the fence, and they charged out onto the street. Immediately Michelle pulled her down to a trot, then slowed her down more to a walk.
Piggott and Meeker ran to the opening at the front, watching as mount and rider made their way toward the inner town.
“By God, she’s riding my horse? No one has ever ridden that bitch of mine!” Piggott told Meeker.
“Not your horse anymore,” Meeker reminded Piggott.
“Guess not,” Piggott said to Meeker, his voice filled with a melodic melancholy. “By God! That critter has made me a fortune.” He looked wistfully at the animal and rider as they moved from view into the throng of city traffic. “All good things...” He smiled, shaking his head, then shook hands with Meeker. Putting the remaining ten-dollar gold piece in his hand, he told him, “Tell her to enjoy that mare she has earned her. I have never seen anything like that in my life.”
“Who’s the Indian?” Meeker asked Piggott.
“He works for the Flat Rock Ranch in Colorado Territory. Owned by some Englishman, he breaks and tends their horses. Can you believe that old buck has a degree in veterinary medicine from some fancy school back east? Pretty fair horse doctor, to be honest. Watch out, he’s a civilized Christian Cherokee; he’ll bust your balls about Jesus and salvation till the cows come home.” Piggott turned back to his establishment, muttering under his breath to no one.
From the shadows of an alley, the man saw Meeker. Touching the butt of his gun, he considered drawing and shooting him. He thought better of it—that would just be murder, and they’d’ hang you for that. He would bide his time choosing where they would do battle. A duel would save him from the gallows. He would earn his money. He would kill Meeker, but he would not swing for it. Meeker was easy to spot. He could wait a day or so. Kill the man, then send a message and get the rest of his money.
Meeker led Star while he headed the way Michelle had ridden. Samuel Piggott walked toward his stunned men. “Well, by God you better have enjoyed that as much as seeing fellers thrown, pride bruised, asses busted. I’ll tell you the truth, and by God you can take this to the bank, that was one excellent example of horsemanship. And another thing, boys…” His voice faded from Meeker’s ears as he rode further into town. Meeker could see Michelle riding back toward him.
“I reckon that fellow is going to want more money now,” Shell Tanner said, sporting a big grin on her face. She ducked her head down as her long red hair fell over her face. Michelle rubbed the neck of her new mare. Raising her head up, she shook her head and threw her hair back in place again, running her fingers through flame-red locks like a comb.
“No, actually he is giving you a refund.” Meeker held out the gold piece to her. “He says you earned her.”
“Well, I will be a suck-egg mule, an honest horse trader!” she said, amazed, as she took the gold coin and shoved it back in her vest pocket.
“He probably ain’t too honest, Michelle. More than likely he was just mightily
