Lemuel T. Lee watched from behind the corral fence as his young stable hand wrestled with a buckskin stallion. The man bit his lower lip and gripped the top railing tightly; his feet and hips twitched involuntarily as if he felt every pull and tug. After a short and ugly fight, the horse bucked the boy off and he fell hard on his back. Lee winced, closed his eyes, and sighed. The boy picked himself up and staggered toward him.

“Not a chance in hell, Mr. Lee. You’ll need to cut the bastard if you want to ride ‘im.”

“That’s alright Red. Put him back in the stall and get him some hay. Then you can go home for the day. Don’t forget to bring the basket back to your ma.”

“Yes sir. Thank you, Mr. Lee.”

The boy staggered back and unsaddled the horse. Lee took the saddle from him over the fence and carried it into the tack room. He cleaned it up and was about to put it away when the door opened and Reverend Bread came in, his head held high by his collar. He removed his hat.

“Mornin’, Lee. Been lookin’ for ya.”

“You just found me,” Lee responded, placing the saddle on a nearby rack.

“We’ve got a group of young cowboys in town today, headin’ west.”

“Are they?”

“Yes sir, they are. They’re drivin’ a few heads to California, and bringin’ some fine horses too! I’ve been talkin’ to ‘em all mornin’. They’re lookin’ to sell—”

“Doggone it! Not again!” Lee’s voice echoed in the old wooden shack. “I’ve told you we ain’t got no room for no more damned horses. We can’t even manage the ones we got!”

“Well, I’ll be…” Bread huffed. “We’re runnin’ a business here!”

“Me and the kid are running it while you spend the day at the Saloon drinkin’ whiskey and droolin’ over Rosita’s behind!”

“Well, I’ll be…!” Bread’s face turned red. “I’ll have you know I have been very busy these days holding services at the saloon as well as other establishments. And I’ll have you know that I have a mind to buy those horses and you can’t stop me. Last I checked the sign said ‘Bread and Lee Livery’, not the other way around.”

“It was supposed to be alphabetical!”

“Alphabetical my foot!” Bread stormed out and slammed the door behind him.

Lemuel Lee didn’t see his partner again until dinner that night. He dreaded having to share a table with the old man, but he didn’t dare miss the affair. Without speaking a word about it, both men had agreed to never fail to attend a Friday dinner. Those were the nights when real business got done. The future of the enterprise depended on it. So when Hopper, the cook, sounded the dinner bell, both men dropped what they were doing and presented themselves at their home’s dining room.

“After you, Reverend,” Lee said, gesturing toward the old wooden table where Hopper sat devouring a plate of beans.

Reverend Bread gave a quick nod to his partner, removed his hat, hung it over the back of his chair, and sat down. Lee followed suit.

They ate in silence, occasionally glancing out of the window at the sun setting behind their property. From the small dining room, they could see the corral, the horse stalls, and the red-painted wooden storage shacks. Memories began to fill their minds. The three men had moved and nailed every single plank that stood on the dusty grounds. They had traveled far and lost much on their way to Gila Ridge, but the town wouldn’t be the same if it weren’t for them.

“I met a fellow—” Bread stopped himself and looked across the table. Lee gave a nod, breaking the tension and inviting him to go on. The old man cleared his throat and continued. “I met a Mexican fellow at Rosita’s… He’s lookin’ for a new horse. I figured we could sell him the buckskin since you’re so eager to sell.”

“A Mexican fellow?” Lee asked. “Is he any good with horses? The buckskin ain’t broken yet.”

“He ain’t got much to offer, and he said he’d handle it. If nothin’ else we’ll have a good laugh watching him try. He’s comin’ over tomorrow.”

Hopper stood up and collected the empty plates without a word. He returned from the kitchen with a bottle of tequila and walked to the front porch. Bread and Lee bid each other good night and headed to their rooms.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Lee woke up early the next morning to prepare breakfast. He stepped out on the porch to pick one of the red peppers that hung drying in the sun. Hopper lay sprawled on the floorboards, clutching an empty tequila bottle. Lee gave him a nudge with his boot.

“You ugly son of a bitch. I can’t remember the last time you made breakfast in this house.”

Hopper groaned, turned around, and continued to sleep. Lee glared down at him. He stood there lost in thought for a while, and his eyes began to well up. He muttered under his breath, “You good-for-nothing son of a bitch. I should’ve kilt you the night we lost her.”

“Good morning Mr. Lee!” Young Red’s voice made the man snap out of his thoughts. He came down the main street carrying a basket full of eggs, still limping from the day before.

“You and your ma should keep some eggs for yourselves, son,” Lee said with an affable smile.

“It’s not a problem Mr. Lee. We’ve got plenty of hens now. You and Mr. Bread have been payin’ me good money.”

Red walked proudly into the house and set the basket on the dining table. Soon, Bread joined them for a breakfast of eggs and biscuits. When they were finished, the three of them headed out to the corral. Red set out to muck while Lee filled the troughs and Bread brushed the horses. It didn’t take long until the precinct’s gates opened.

The three turned to see a tall, brown-skinned man wearing a green serape and a black felt hat. As they walked toward him he lifted his head and the brim of his hat revealed a face scarred by smallpox and a knife cut on his chin. He wore a black mustache and smoked a corn husk cigarette.

“Buenos días,” said Lee while extending his hand.

“Morning,” replied the Mexican as he shook Lee’s hand. “I am Vargas. The padre over there says you’ve got a good horse for me.” Red and Reverend Bread approached and shook Vargas's hand.

“That's right. He’s got the makings of a good horse, he’s got quite the character though.”

A loud neigh that came from the stalls interrupted the conversation. The buckskin stallion was at it again, kicking the walls in his enclosure and pacing frantically. The ruckus echoed through the grounds.

“He’s our newest acquisition,” explained Lee. “One of the mares is in heat. He’s no good around them. We’re gonna geld him soon. You may want to come back after that.” He looked at Vargas for a sign of understanding. He mimicked the movement of scissors with his fingers. “You know, cut him. Cortar?”

Vargas nodded. “No need. I am good with horses,” he said in an unassuming tone.

Red let out a chuckle, “You’re gonna need some luck, amigo.” He looked at Lee, who smiled and nodded. “I’ll get ‘im out for you.”

Vargas walked inside the corral and waited for Red to get the horse out for him. Bread and Lee stayed outside the fence watching. It took a while, and it sounded like the kid was having an awful lot of trouble saddling the horse. Vargas flicked the butt of his cigarette away and lit another one. Finally, Red came out leading the stallion who kept bucking and trying to bite. Vargas dropped his new cigarette and laid his hat on the ground. He stood leaning his head back defiantly and let out a firm shout.

“Deesh-chi!”

The horse seemed to instantly understand either the strange word or the tone it was spoken in. He stopped misbehaving and stood still, watching the brown-skinned man intently. The word also seemed to affect Lee, who wheeled toward Bread with a confused look. He opened his mouth as if to speak but turned away to continue watching. The stallion began to walk slowly, his head low, toward Vargas. The man scratched the horse’s neck and moved to his side. In one quick motion, he hopped on the saddle and grabbed the reins. Then he began to shout orders to him in the same language, clicking his tongue and letting out high-pitched “whoops” in between. The horse obeyed and trotted around the corral with an elegant gait.

Lee turned toward his partner again. “What in the hell!” He stormed into the corral slamming the gate behind him. “Hey, you! You god damned redskin, you get down right now!”

Vargas didn’t get down. He directed the horse toward the man and glared down at him.

“I ain’t sellin’ to no god damned Indian! You get off that horse right now!” Lee’s face was bright red, and the vein on his forehead seemed about to burst.

“I am Rodolfo Vargas, of Nogales. I lived with the Indians a long time but I am no Indian.” He lifted his hat with his left hand, making a point of displaying his short hair. Meanwhile, his right rested on the revolver under his serape.

The gesture seemed to soothe Lee. He took a deep breath. “So the bastards took you. Just like they took my daughter Cora.”

Vargas looked down at his muddy boot for a second. Then he lifted his gaze. “Cora Lee? Is your daughter Cora Lee?”

A chill ran down Lee’s spine. He gripped Vargas’s leg with his right hand while he held the horse’s hanging reins with his left. He looked up, his eyes wide open.

“What do you know about Cora Lee?”