“That ‘hoss is a damn filly Bill, it’s got no balls!”

“I know,” I muttered.  We had ridden for three days for this auction; Jesse an’ me, for the forthcomin’ cattle droves, to buy a ‘hoss each to ride day an’ night.  Herdin’ was our job, our lifeblood.

Autumn was almost upon us, the scorching remnants of the Texas summer dyin’ slowly in the dry breeze the sand whipping around our boots as we stood at the Corral.

Jesse had already picked out his ‘hoss from the herd.  He was a rarity, startlingly striking.  A palomino Mustang stallion with a dappled, peachy coloured coat which shone brightly in the sinkin’ rays of the sun as it fell below the horizon.  His unique colouring was offset by a silken ivory mane and tail.

He was only a yearling, standing at approximately fourteen hands; he had a couple more inches of growth in him yet before the spring run began.

Jesse had picked out the colt for his looks alone.  He liked his ‘hosses how I liked my women; fast as Hell and God-damn beautiful to boot.

An’ my lil’ filly?  Well she was something else.  I’d never seen a ‘hoss like her on this side of the pond.  She stood out like a virgin in a whore house, a foreign import from the British Isles.  Just as tall as Jesse’s Mustang, she was as black as night with a thickly muscled neck to rival that of her male companions.  Her mane flowed lusciously along the crest of her neck in torrid waves before merging seamlessly into her forelock, reaching almost to her muzzle.

I was still leanin’ against the wooden fence of the corral long after Jesse had hit the hay.  The filly began to snuffle at my collar, investigating my scent before she raised her velvet muzzle to my face, butting me gently in the jaw before flaring her nostrils an’ snortin’ at me.

“Dammit girl,” I wiped her snot from my cheek with the back of my hand as she wickered softly, as if in amusement before sinking back on to her quarters and whirlin’ away, dust flying from her hooves as she broke into a canter towards the rest of the herd.

At tomorrow's auction, she would be mine.

*  *  *  *  *  *

I was pulled from my slumber at sunrise by the cries of angry men and frightened ‘hosses.  I staggered to the top of the bank which separated us from the corral, groggy an’ half asleep to see that half the yearlin’s in the Corral were crowded wild eyed in the far corner, slick with sweat an’ stampin’ their hooves in the dust.

“Damn ‘hoss done kicked mah colt, boy!”  I recognised the man as Kit Carson, well known on the auction circuit for his Pintos an’ Quarters.

“Whaddya expect, puttin’ a filly with a herd of damn stallions?”  This cowboy I ain't never seen before an’ I pegged him as the owner of the filly.  My filly.

“Ah’d expect her to put out like the bitch she is, not damn near break ‘is leg!” Carson spat as the cowboy drew his pistol, the hammer clicking under his thumb as he pulled it past the first notch.

Quick as a flash, Carson’s piece was in his hand, the other resting on the holster at his hip.

“Ah’ll shoot yer filly,” he growled, “An’ then ah’ll shoot you too.” He drew his second weapon.

No!

I threw myself over the bank, fallin’ over my own feet in my hurry to get to the men before they started to open fire.

“Gentlemen,” I drawled, “Surely there’s no need for all this fuss over a lil’ filly?”

Carson glared at me, his face red with anger, “Look wha’ she done to mah colt, cowboy.”  I looked over to the tri-coloured Pinto, a thin stream of blood trickling down his flank.

I tipped my hat to him in a sign of respect.  “Mr. Carson, Sir, it would seem she caught ‘im on a dark patch, if he’s cleaned up, he’ll look just fine for the auction.  Have one of your boys trot ‘im up.  If I’m right, he ain’t even lamed.”

He lowered his guns and nodded.  “You heard the cowboy, trot ‘im up lad,” he barked at a boy of about ten years of age.  Obediently he tugged at the colt’s halter until he broke into a trot.  Carson examined the colt’s gait until he was satisfied.

“Yer damn lucky, boy.  Get tha’ cursed creature outta mah sight.”

This was my chance to make a move on the filly.  “If you’ve no objections mister, I’d like to take this lil’ lady off of your hands.  Seems she ain’t worth yer trouble.”

He snorted, “Yer right there.  Welsh Mountain ‘hoss they called her.  Ah calls her Satan.  Ain’t no man can get near her.”

She came to me just fine.  Ain’t gonna admit to that, else it’ll just drive her price up.

We agreed on a price an’ he called his wranglers to bring her in.  Four men rode into the Corral, lasso's at the ready.  She lead them a merry dance until one got close enough to rope her an’ then she let fire with both barrels.  She caved in the wranglers head with one kick as blood spattered into the dust and his ‘hoss bolted, leaving his body in the dirt.

I climbed through the wooden fencing as the remaining wranglers kept their distance, eyein’ me like I was loco.  The filly kept her head low as I approached her, murmuring soothing words under my breath.  I held out a hand for her to sniff as soon as I was close enough as I pulled the bloodied rope from the dead man’s fingers, loopin’ it into a halter around her proud head.

I tilted my hat at the cowboy as I lead her calmly past him, “Pleasure doin’ business with you mister,” I said with a grin.  No one ain’t never beat me at this game, I always got the crazies, an’ I always got them at the price I wanted.

*  *  *  *  *  *

It was close to dawn by the time I reached the last ridge before the homestead after another three days of travelling with ‘Satan’ in the one hand and my own mount in the other.  I’d taken to callin’ her ‘Tanner’, I couldn’t very well go home leadin’ a ‘hoss named after the Devil.  Mary would have a blue fit.  

I couldn’t wait to show her Tanner, to show her that I’d bought a decent ‘hoss so I could do right by her an’ get a higher rankin’ with better pay on the next cattle drive.  We moved out here to the Texas homesteads five years back now, after we were married an’ I built us a home - Nothin’ fancy, just four rooms, it was what Mary wanted.

Damn, that woman’s got me wrapped around her pinky finger, I’d bleed to make her happy, I’d do damn near anythin’ for her.  But I couldn’t give her the one thing she wanted most, I couldn’t give her a child.

There was a strange ‘hoss tethered to the front porch of my home.  I checked both my pistols were cocked and loaded - the sun was only just beginnin’ to rise an’ the first thing I thought was that the bandits had finally caught up with me. Who the hell calls on a lady at dawn with good intentions?  I slid silently out of the saddle an’ tethered my two ‘hosses to the other side of the porch railings.  I crept into the building, checking the first three rooms.  They were all empty.

I pushed open the door to our bedroom, an’ I froze.  Mary, my Mary was sleeping soundly in another man's embrace.  In my bed.

“Don’t you care about me anymore?” I whispered as I drew one of my pistols an’ pointed it at the sleepin’ cowboy’s head.  “He won’t be comin’ round here anymore.”

I pulled the trigger with a grim smile.  Mary woke at the sound of the gunshot and hit the ground screaming, rollin’ for cover under the bed as her lover's blood began to soak into the sheets.

“B-B-Bill?” She stammered from the floorboards.

“I’m not kind if you betray me Mary,” I kept my other pistol trained right between her eyes which never left mine as she crawled from her hidin’ place, “I'm so sorry darlin’, did I do the wrong thing?”

“I want a baby Billy,” she cried, “It’s been five years, I never meant for you to find out...”

I stepped forwards, pressin’ a finger to her full lips, lips that I had once lovingly kissed an’ teased.  It sickened me to even touch her now.  “Don’t say a word.” I hissed, “Who are you to say we never woulda made it happen?”

I holstered my pistols an’ strode from the room, uncorkin’ a bottle of liquor an’ stuffin’ a rag in the top.  The whole place was made of wood, it’d light up brighter than the dawn.  I smiled as I struck a match an’ touched it to the cloth.

“You both deserve what’s comin’ now,” I spat, tossin’ the fiery bottle over my shoulder into the bedroom.  I heard it smash, I heard Mary screamin’ my name, but I didn’t look back.  Not once, I just loosed all three ‘hosses an’ rode towards the Kansas trail.  

The risin’ sun warmed my skin and I started to sing under my breath, “Six feet tall, came without a warnin’ so I had to shoot him dead, he ain’t comin’ round here anymore, he ain’t comin’ round here anymore...”

Y Diwedd (the end)