by Betsy Byars
He turned his head to watch the truck. “Who are the Minneys?”
“That’s Mrs. Minney coming now—the smartest woman I ever met to be so dumb.”
Mrs. Minney stopped her truck and got Out. Her shirttail was flapping, and her hair was rising, and she came running over so fast Charles and I backed up a few steps. Even when she came to a halt, she still seemed to be going somewhere.
I said politely, “Mrs. Minney, this is my nephew Charles.”
She said, “Mr. Cutter! Mr. Cutter! Do you know anything about cutting the wings off a colt?”
I said, “What?”
She repeated it. “Do you know anything about cutting the wings off a colt?”
I just stood there. I thought about this old Appaloosa I used to have with a map of Mexico on his side. It was my first stunt horse, and he could take as good a fall as you ever saw. And then one day—I hadn’t had Mex a year when this happened—when we got ready to fall he just planted his feet and braced his neck and stood. I couldn’t believe it. I knew Mex was telling me he was never going to fall again, but my mind couldn’t take it in. Now Mrs. Minney had brought me up short in the same way.
“What?”
She sighed. “Wings! Little wings about that long on either side of his shoulders.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know what to do about it. I’ve never seen a colt with wings before.”
“I haven’t either, Mrs. Minney,” I said. “But whatever those things turn out to be, I can assure you that they won’t be wings.”
“Why not?”
“Because they couldn’t be.”
She looked at me closer. I must have had an amused look on my face, because she said, “This is no joking matter, Mr. Cutter. I told you when we bought the mare that we wanted her and the colt for the grandchildren. I trusted you not to sell me a horse that was going to have a colt with anything extra.”
I lowered my voice, the way I do when I’m trying to calm an excited animal. “Mrs. Minney, I believe there’s just been a little mistake here.”
You can soothe a horse with your voice sometimes, but not Mrs. Minney. She got louder. “If there’s been a mistake, it’s yours for thinking I’m going to stand for this.”
“Now, Mrs. Minney—”
“I tell you I am frantic. I went out this morning to load my truck, and there was the colt. It had been born during the night, and while I was standing there with my heart in my throat—there is nothing as moving as new life—well, then I saw the wings. And I tell you I haven’t been the same since. Frank has been in the bedroom with the shades drawn. With his sensitive nature he’s not even able to paint.”
“Mrs. Minney, there is no such thing as a horse with wings. There never has been and never will be.”
“But there could be,” Charles said. His eyes had gotten big with interest. He stepped right in front of Mrs. Minney. All his aches and pains seemed forgotten.
I said calmly, “I beg your pardon, Charles, but I have seen horses and known horses since the day I was born. And there never has been such a thing as a horse with wings.”
“There’s a vase from Mycenae—it’s in the National Museum in Greece—and there’s a winged horse on it. Some people say that it’s a scene from mythology, but others, including me, believe that there actually was a winged horse and—”
“Charles!”
“And then there are the horses from Pech Merle—that’s a cave in France,” he continued in a rush.
“I am familiar with that cave,” Mrs. Minney said. I could see that she was far more impressed with Charles’s knowledge of horses than with mine.
“And there are horses painted on the wall”—Charles went on—“and above the horses are hand-shaped marks like wings.”
“That’s true!” Mrs. Minney said. “I never thought of it, but those marks are like wings.”
“And do you remember the skeleton found in the diggings at—”
“Charles!” He shut up long enough for me to say, “Now that is enough! Mrs. Minney doesn’t want to hear you trying to prove something that is impossible.”
“I do!” Mrs. Minney cried.
I ignored her. “Mrs. Minney is worried enough without your adding to it. She doesn’t care what’s been painted on vases and cave walls and—”
“I do!” Mrs. Minney cried again.
“No, you don’t!” She stepped back for a moment. “What the three of us are interested in right now”—I continued as calmly as I could—“is what has been on this earth, actually been on this earth. And there has never been a horse with wings and never will be. Never!”
They both looked at me without speaking. Then Mrs. Minney sat down on the porch steps. She said, “Well, actually, it is a relief, Mr. Cutter, to hear that.” She sighed and patted her face with her shirttail. “Nobody knows what a relief it is to think you have a horse with wings and then find out you have a horse with—” She broke off and looked at me. “What would it be that the horse has?”
I did not want her to get excited again so I said, calmly, “Well, since it’s not wings, it will have to be something else. I think we can all agree on that.” I glanced from Mrs. Minney to Charles.
“Well, if it’s not wings,” Charles said, “then of course it will have to be something else, but I still think—”
I rested my hand on his shoulder so firmly that he choked down the rest of his words. “What I am going to do, Mrs. Minney,” I continued, “is come over to your place now, look at the colt, and tell you what he has.”
“Could I come too, Mrs. Minney?” Charles asked. “I’d like to see this for myself. It is quite possible, you know, that this is the first winged colt in the—”
“Charles!”
“Of course you come.” Mrs. Minney took a deep breath and sighed. “I feel better now. My trouble is that I get excited too easily. Another woman, seeing she had a colt with wings, would probably have the wings removed in a sensible way and go about her business.”
We climbed into the truck, and she said, “The trouble is that all I can think about just now is investigating the caves, and when something happens to distract me, I get upset.”
“Your reaction seems normal to me,” Charles said. “A colt with wings would be exciting and upsetting to anybody.”
I nudged Charles and said to Mrs. Minney, “Anyway, everything’s going to be all right now.”
Mrs. Minney backed the truck around and almost went in the ditch. Then she said, “Yes, we’ll look at the colt, find out what the trouble is, and then go in the house and have some lemonade. Would you like that?”
“I would,” Charles said.
“And tomorrow I’ll be back at work. You cannot imagine what excitement there is in entering a cave where men lived hundreds of years ago and finding bits of sandals and bows and arrows. Even a bit of pollen centuries old can tell what plants these men had. A piece of bone can tell what diseases they suffered from. You, young man, with your knowledge of caves, probably know something about this already. You”—she leaned forward and looked at me—“probably don’t.”
“No’m.”
She drove for a few minutes. Then she shook her head and said, “Still and all, I will feel easier in my mind when I know what those things on the colt are.”
I thought I heard Charles say “Wings” under his breath. I wasn’t sure, but I nudged him again anyway. That kept him quiet for the rest of the drive.
A Surprise
WE STOPPED IN FRONT of the barn and got out. Mr. Minney stuck his head out the back window of the house, and Mrs. Minney called to him, “Don’t worry, Frank, those aren’t wings on the colt after all.”
“They looked like wings to me,” he called back.
“Mr. Cutter says no.”
“What are they then, Mr. Cutter?” he asked, still leaning out the window.
“I’ll let you know in a minute.” I took off my hat and waved it at him. This was a thing I used to do in the rodeo. It always seemed to give
the crowd a lot of confidence in what I was about to do, but not Mr. and Mrs. Minney.
Mrs. Minney waited without speaking until my hat was back on my head, and then she said, “Frank and I don’t like this, Mr. Cutter. We don’t like it at all.”
“Yeah, I got that feeling, Mrs. Minney.”
“We had such happy visions of the grandchildren riding around the ranch. Come on in the barn.” She took me and Charles in an iron grip and led us down to the last stall. We stood there for a moment because it took our eyes a while to see in the dim barn.
Peggy, the mare, was a fine chestnut with a white mane and tail. I reached over and scratched her muzzle and said, “Good girl.” I couldn’t see the colt—nothing but the spindly legs because he was on the other side of his mother, drinking her milk. Then Peggy shifted to the side, and there was the prettiest little Palomino colt you ever saw. The sun was coming through the window behind us, and it shone down on the colt. He was pale gold like wheat, and his mane and tail were silver. There was a white spot on his forehead.
As I watched he moved closer to his mother on his long awkward legs. I said, “Why, there’s nothing wrong with that colt. Look at him, Charles. He’s perfect.”
“You’re not going to get away with that,” Mrs. Minney said. “There’s something wrong and I know it. And don’t think for a minute that you’re going to give me a few comforting phrases and walk out of this barn like you’re not responsible.”
I leaned forward and looked again. “There are no wings on that colt.”
Right when I was saying that in a loud voice, the colt gave a little sidestep, nuzzled up against his mother, and kind of lost his balance. That was when something came fluttering out from his sides. It was a quick movement, so light and fast I almost didn’t see it.
“I’d like to know what you call those,” Mrs. Minney said in a hard voice.
“Wings,” Charles said.
I said, “Now hold on a minute. Horses don’t have wings. That is a known fact.”
“This one does,” Charles said in a voice hushed with excitement. He turned and looked at me. His whole face was lit up.
For a minute I had a funny falling sensation. Like one time when I jumped a horse off a forty-foot cliff into a Missouri lake. When I jumped I was so scared I had a knot in my stomach as big as a cannon ball, and I thought that cannon ball would probably take me all the way to the bottom of the lake. I never made a jump like that again.
Charles turned to Mrs. Minney. “Did you notice the shape of the wings, Mrs. Minney? They seem to have the same structure as those of the newborn swift and may never be really strong enough for flight.”
“I’m glad to see there’s at least one person with brains in the Cutter family,” Mrs. Minney said.
“On the other hand,” Charles continued, “the wings could increase in strength until they are quite capable of lifting the weight of horse and rider, which I estimate to be about fifteen hundred pounds.”
“The boy knows more about horses than a lot of other people in this barn,” Mrs. Minney said coldly. She had been a city lady for so long that she still carried over her shoulder a big leather pocketbook. Now she kind of struck me with it so there wouldn’t be any doubt who it was that didn’t know much about horses.
“Mrs. Minney, listen, I am just as surprised as you are. There is an explanation for this though. I do know that.” The cannon ball in my stomach was so heavy I thought it was going to bring me down to my knees in the barn.
“Huh!”
“A perfectly logical and sensible explanation.”
“Ho!”
“I’ve been working with animals all my life, and I know there is always a logical and sensible explanation for everything.”
Without giving me a chance to try to think up this explanation, she nudged me again with her pocketbook. I said, “All right, Mrs. Minney, if you’ll just calm down a minute, I will step into the stall and have a look at the colt and find out what has happened.”
“I think I already know what has happened,” Charles said eagerly.
Mrs. Minney folded her arms in front of her. “I think we all know what has happened,” she said. “Only one of us is too stubborn to admit it.”
“What occurs to me,” Charles went on, “is that this could be a throwback in the gene structure. Or perhaps the result of some drug that the mare took during the gestation period. Uncle Coot, did you give the mare any drugs?”
“No.”
“Did she have access to any strange foods?”
“Will you hush and let me try to find out what has really happened here?”
I opened the door of the stall, went in, and rubbed Peggy’s neck. You have to move gently with a colt that’s a few hours old. I usually try to handle them from birth to get them used to me. I knelt down and ran my hands over the colt. I turned to see him in a better light. Now the wings were the most obvious things in the world. I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t seen them earlier.
“Well?” Mrs. Minney said.
I put my hands on the colt’s sides, and the wings came out and fluttered against my hands. I couldn’t say anything because I felt like I had a wad of cotton rammed down my throat. I stood up slowly.
“Well?” Mrs. Minney said, louder.
I took off my hat and ran my hand over my hair. I shifted my pants up an inch or two and jammed my hands in my back pockets. I looked down at the colt and still I couldn’t speak.
“Well?”
“Mrs. Minney.” I swallowed and the sound of it was like a gun going off in the quiet barn. “Mrs. Minney, I don’t know why and I don’t know how, but you have got a colt with wings.”
Texas Pegasus
AS SOON AS I said that, Mrs. Minney took the leather pocketbook and brought it down hard on my head. It was like getting hit with a saddle. Then she started saying, “I knew it, I knew it,” and “You’re not getting away with this. You’re not, you’re not, you’re not.” I never saw such a mad woman in my life.
“Mrs. Minney, Mrs. Minney, ma’am, wait a minute. Listen!” I was trying to get out of the stall without upsetting Peggy and the colt and to shield my head at the same time. Mrs. Minney drew back and watched me. Her eyes were such little slits I couldn’t even see what color they were. “Now, listen,” I cried again.
“I’m listening,” she said, taking a deep breath, “but it better be good.”
“I just don’t think you realize what you have here, Mrs. Minney, that’s all I want to say. A horse with wings is a valuable thing. If you have the only winged horse in the country, in the world actually, then you’ve really got something.” She didn’t look impressed. “A winged pig would even be great, a winged squirrel, but a winged horse!”
“Actually there really are winged squirrels,” Charles said, “only the wings are more like folds of skin.”
“Will you shut up, Charles?”
“I just thought you’d want to know about the flying squirrels.”
“Thank you.”
Charles said, “And there are also flying lizards in Indonesia, but actually they only glide from tree to tree, and there is also some kind of creature called a flying fox, but I believe—”
“That’s enough, Charles! Mrs. Minney is upset enough without your alarming her even more with these wild stories of flying foxes and lizards.”
“The thought of flying lizards in Indonesia is much less alarming to me,” Mrs. Minney said, “than what is happening here in this barn now.”
“Well, sure,” I said. “I never worried about those lizards much over there either.”
“You never even knew about those lizards!” She wasn’t going to let me get away with a thing.
I said in a firm voice, “The point is, Mrs. Minney, that this colt is quite possibly the most valuable colt that has ever been born.”
“All I want—” she said. And she opened her eyes wide enough for me to see what color they were. They were a cold gray. “All I wanted was a horse that I
could sit on and ride when I felt like it and that my grandchildren could sit on and ride when they came out to visit.”
“I know, but this—”
“And if you think we are going to get on any horse with wings, you are mistaken.” She leaned forward and looked at me real close. I had a horse named Bumble Bee used to do that before she bit. “If it’s got wings,” she said, “then it just might fly!” She pulled back and looked at me with her arms folded over her pocketbook.
“Mrs. Minney,” I said, “what is it you want me to do? Whatever it is—just tell me and I’ll do it.”
“That’s more like it,” she said. “I want one of two things. Either you remove those wings and leave no trace they were there—and frankly I don’t think you can do that—or you take the mare and the colt back and refund my money.”
“It’s my duty,” Charles said, “to tell you that this time, Mrs. Minney, my uncle happens to be right. A horse with wings is valuable. The public is always eager to see something unusual and—”
Mrs. Minney put her hands on her hips. “I thought better of you, young man, than that. If what you are suggesting is that I run some sort of carnival side show and exhibit this poor unfortunate animal—Why, I’d as soon turn babies out of their carriages.”
“I wasn’t suggesting a carnival exactly, but television appearances would be a possibility. You could become famous.”
“What do I care for fame? What is fame except people recognizing you, and everybody I want to recognize me does so already.”
“But I mean really famous, world famous.”
“Young man, if you become famous because of something you have done, that is one thing. Becoming famous because of something you own is another matter. Now I don’t want to hear another word.” She turned to me. “Are you taking the colt and mare back or not?”
