Saddle Dust

Chapter 10

The road back to town had been one long stretch of sweat, dust, and spiney, low-growing cacti.

"We'd better get ourselves a ride back up north," Bill said without tone. Casey was silent for a minute before replying in a solemn voice.

"Horses?"

"Only way. Saw a little catch of them near the north side of the town. That's where we'll be leaving from anyhows. Want to skip town from the furthest point we can." Casey spits on the ground in reply and bursts out suddenly. "Dad above, we gotta get out of this damned place." She is panting with the effort of climbing back through the desert and over a small dune of boulders and sand. She shakes her head and speaks in a weary voice. "We'd better just wait 'till crickets, then slip off with 'em. Got no guns to hold up with."

The weight of Casey and Bill's task seems to pull their very boots into the ground as the two outlaws walk back toward town.

Stealing horses was the equivalent of committing grand theft. Casey and Bill would be stealing not only an investment but also someone's livelihood. Their often only way of travel, income, and in most cases, their victim's most valuable possession.

Stealing a horse was a one-way ticket to becoming an outlaw and hanging from the devil's swing— not that that mattered much since they were marked outlaws already. It guaranteed an even heavier-handed sentence if they were caught with multiple horse thefts under their belts instead of just the one from nearly three years ago. The keyword being 'if'.

When dark fell across the landscape as a spider on a fly, Casey and Wild Bill ducked off from the saloon where they had been silently sitting, holding their unfinished beers tightly.

They made their way casually to the fence of the farm they had spotted on their way into town, and Bill held up the barbed wire for Casey. She took off her canvas duster and stacked the black Stetson on top.

These horses might startle easily. Best to leave any chance of a horse fright in the dust. Bill took the coat and hat.

The sharp prongs of the wire chewed at her leather boots as she pulled herself through with grimy fingernails gripping the rocks and sand on the other side. She pulled her bandana up and began to slowly stride towards the four horses who were sleeping lock-hipped only 200 feet away.

Bill dropped to the ground and carefully followed Casey's progress as he crouched on the other side of the fence.

"Take the shorter one. The mustard quarter. Yeah, that one."

Casey neared the horse slowly and took a short length of potato twine out of her pocket. She laid a hand on the horse's hindquarters. The horse snapped awake, snorting gently, but did not run. Casey slowly walked along the horse, pulling her hand across its rough, muddy coat and making her way up to its neck, keeping the dark house and herself separated by the large animal at all times.

Slipping the bit of twine over the horse's ears, she loosely cinched it just under the animal's jaw and left the horse alone. Next, she made her way over to a massive black draft.

The draft had a white stripe down its face and gentle black eyes that studied Bill and Casey carefully. It did not move at all as they approached.

Their horse donors were well-to-do farmers if they had a horse like this. It would be excellent at plowing or getting food to market quickly.

She put another piece of twine on the draft's head and made a chip-clicking noise through her teeth at Bill.

"The horses calm? Can I cut?"

"Yeah, they're stone."

His pocket produced a stubby pair of blacksmith's scissors, and he cut the top wire of the fence.

Casey slid her leather-gloved hand into the mustard horse's neck loop and calmly walked the horse to stand next to the powerful, black draft. The draft was a beautiful creature. It was gigantic yet seemed to be agile for a draft. The animal was almost wirey and looked like it could handle any obstacle in its path.

While the horse was impractical for their travels— it stood out too much, especially with its white stripe and white socks, and probably couldn't run as well as a quarter horse could, but she saw that its eyes were clear, and its teeth were good. A healthy horse counts for ten poor ones when trying to escape the law.

At least that's what Sundance had said when they stole the horses in America.

Casey held on to the horse's neck loops tightly as they faced the growing gap in the fence.

"Ready Bill? I'm going to trot."

"Hurry up then!"

Casey began to jog with the horses as they approached the fence.

Bill cut the last two wires quickly, and Casey passed him with the two horses, sprinting alongside the animals now.

Bill grabbed the mustard quarter and, without breaking stride, they both threw themselves onto their new horse's backs, kicking them into a thundering gallop. The horses were nervous and mostly bolted on their own.

A figure appeared on the porch holding a bright lantern up to the night sky. The lantern quickly fell and smashed on the ground as soon as the figure saw the two horses growing fainter in the distance. The figure whipped out his shotgun and fired off three rounds at the growing dust cloud of the outlaws. Then he ran, cursing into the night air, after his three remaining horses which he had scared into a frenzied, neighing, hoard of hooves and tails that were quickly making their way out of the newly cut gap in the fence.