Divorce Horse (walt longmire)
Page 3
We stepped through the gate, walked across the track, and opened the top rung of a rail that you’d never have noticed unless you were looking for it. The Bear paused at the end of the walkway that stretched a good hundred yards, the darkness permeated by the rectangular light shining through the windows of the old barn in staccato. “Which do you think will get us first, the black widows or the field mice?”
The place looked its age, deserted, and as if it might collapse at any time, the peeling white paint scaling from the untreated lumber like parchment in abandoned books. “Termites would be my bet.”
In the powdery dirt you could see where a horse with an adjustable screw attachment had been walked through. I kneeled this time and studied the boot prints that ran alongside the pony tracks, smallish and worn down on the heels.
“Female, or a very small man.”
We were away from the road and parking lots, which would make it difficult to load an animal and whisk it away. That was the beauty of horse stealing, though-you could always ride your stolen property. Of course, that might be difficult to do with a headstrong, half-broke two-year-old that bites. “Did you see how those horses fought the muggers in front of the grandstand?”
“Yes.”
“And this horse is the worst of the bunch.”
“Yes.” He smiled, having the same thought.
We got back to the infield, rounded the trailer, and found Team New Grass and my daughter where we had left them. The muggers were still attending the horses, getting them ready for the next race, while Tommy and Cady sat talking under the tent.
Tommy looked at me, and I had to admit that the Big Horn County Jail dentist had done a wonderful job on his teeth. “So, what do I do? Come into the office and fill out some paperwork?”
I pulled up short, took off my hat, and wiped the sweat from my forehead with my shirtsleeve. “Your horse is in the abandoned paddocks across the track in stall number thirty-three.”
He looked past my shoulder toward the condemned buildings. “Over there?”
“Yep.”
“How the hell did he get over there?”
“No idea.”
“How come you didn’t bring him back?”
I shook my head. “He wouldn’t let me anywhere near him, but we got him blocked off in the stall.”
He stood and glanced at the wristwatch on his arm, which looked incongruous in the middle of the war paint. “If we hurry we can get him in this next race.” He looked down at Cady and took her hand. “I gotta go, but good luck with your marriage.” He smiled with the new teeth and held her hands long enough for her to know that he meant what he said next. “There’s no way you’ll screw it up like I did.”
We watched as he walked past the muggers, who were busy currying the next team. They asked if he needed any help, but he shook his head no and lithely jumped over the railing, injured leg notwithstanding.
Randy turned and looked at me. “I’m really sorry about this, Walt. I don’t know how it is that he could’ve gotten out.”
“That’s okay. We were in the area, and it gave the two of them a chance to catch up.” Cady threw her water bottle in the trash bucket, and we made our way across the infield toward the gate where we’d come in.
Saizarbitoria was standing near the judge’s tower and joined us as we walked by. “You find the horse thief?”
“In a way.”
Cady volunteered. “The Bear and Dad found the horse over in the old paddocks.” She glanced up at Henry and then to me. “He must’ve wandered off on his own.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
The Basquo looked at me a little puzzled, and I gave him a soft punch in the chest. “I’ll tell you about it on Monday.”
I’d almost made a clean getaway when he shouted out to my daughter. “Congratulations on the engagement.”
Acting as if she was admiring her nail polish, Cady held up four fingers on one hand and three on the other as we walked across the track onto the ramp. Over the loud speaker, the announcer called all the contestants to the last heat of the World Champion Indian Relay Race.
“Did he just say ‘Indian Really Race’?” Cady caught my arm as Ken Thorpe shut the gate behind us.
“Just sounds that way with his accent.” I kept walking.
“Can we stay for the last go-round, Daddy?”
“Why?”
She made a face. “Don’t you want to see if Tommy wins?”
We watched as the other teams rode into the area in front of the grandstand, leading their remudas, but Team New Grass was suspiciously absent. Cady glanced around and then toward the infield and Tommy’s tent. “Do you think he couldn’t catch the horse?”
The Cheyenne Nation’s voice rumbled as he continued up the ramp. “Possibly.”
Cady paused, her hand remaining on the top rail. “He’ll miss the race.”
The announcer called for Team New Grass to make themselves present at the grandstand or face elimination through forfeiture. I waited a moment more at the gate and then pointed toward the team’s muggers and two horses approaching from the infield-followed by Tommy, a blonde woman, and a frisky two-year-old the color of store-bought whiskey.
I looked past the track and the infield, toward the dilapidated stalls on the far end of the fairground. “I guess he just figured out what he really wanted.” I held four fingers on one hand and four on the other against my back as I followed the Cheyenne Nation up the ramp.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-081efb-c089-8747-a68b-b706-7407-d6c112
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 16.05.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.51, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.3 software
Document authors :
Johnson, Craig
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