Chapter 7 - Eight Horses at the TroughThe truck belonged to Wade Larkin.
Hannah recognized it immediately.
Everybody did.
Wade owned five hundred acres west of Miller Ridge and had spent years arguing that every unbranded animal within ten miles somehow belonged to him.
He stopped beside the pasture.
Got out.
Stared.
“Well, damn.”
Clay stood.
Hannah remained in the shade.
Wade walked to the fence.
“That your missing mare?”
Clay nodded.
“And whose are the rest?”
“No idea.”
Wade smiled.
“I might.”
Hannah’s exhaustion disappeared beneath suspicion.
“How?”
Wade looked toward her.
“Some of my horses have been running loose.”
“These are feral horses,” Hannah said.
“You suddenly an expert?”
Clay stepped between them.
“Not today, Wade.”
Wade noticed Hannah’s condition.
The rope still lay beside the post.
His expression changed slightly.
But he said nothing.
Instead he focused on the horses.
The seven strangers drank.
Sable stood among them.
Wade pointed to the older sorrel.
“That one looks like a horse I lost two winters ago.”
“Branded?” Clay asked.
“Could be.”
“You see a brand?”
“Not from here.”
Hannah struggled to stand.
Clay moved instinctively toward her.
She stepped away.
“I’m fine.”
She was not.
But she refused to lean on him.
They approached the fence.
The strange horses immediately became nervous.
Sable stayed calm.
Hannah whistled.
The buckskin mare lifted her head.
Walked toward her.
The others watched.
“That’s how she brought them,” Hannah said.
Clay looked over.
“What?”
“Their water dried up.”
“You know that?”
“The Dalton spring was almost gone.”
Wade laughed.
“So your mare went out recruiting?”
Hannah ignored him.
Sable reached the fence.
Hannah touched her face.
The mare breathed against her palm.
Then turned toward the seven.
The gray mare approached two steps.
Stopped.
Hannah recognized her.
She had seen that horse from a distance for years.
Always near the center of the Miller Ridge herd.
“You know her,” Clay said.
“I’ve seen her.”
Wade climbed onto the lower fence rail.
“Let me get a rope.”
“No,” Hannah said.
He looked back.
“Excuse me?”
“They’re frightened.”
“They’re horses.”
“Exactly.”
Wade smiled.
“Your dad just lost seven thousand dollars for three days. I don’t think anybody needs advice from you.”
Clay’s head snapped toward him.
“Enough.”
Wade was surprised.
So was Hannah.
Clay continued.
“Nobody touches them until we know who owns them.”
“Fine. Call the livestock officer.”
“I will.”
Wade shrugged.
“But if those horses are mine, I expect them back.”
He left.
Clay telephoned the county livestock office.
An inspector named Sarah Voss arrived two hours later.
By then Hannah had showered, changed clothes, and drunk enough water to stop shaking.
The mark on her cheek remained.
Sarah noticed.
She also noticed Clay could barely look at his daughter.
But she stayed focused on the animals.
Through binoculars she checked necks, shoulders, and hips.
“No visible brands.”
Wade returned.
“Some brands get covered.”
Sarah nodded.
“That’s why I said visible.”
She photographed each horse.
Asked about where they came from.
Hannah explained the tracks.
The dry spring.
Sable’s connection to the range band.
Sarah listened carefully.
“These might be estrays from old ranch stock,” she said. “Could also be descendants of horses left after the Dalton place shut down.”
“Who owns them?” Clay asked.
“That is what we determine.”
“And until then?”
Sarah looked at the pasture.
“They came onto your property voluntarily. Keep them contained if you safely can. Don’t sell, transfer, breed, or alter ownership marks.”
“We have enough feed for one horse,” Clay said.
Sarah gave him a sympathetic look.
“Now you have eight.”
That sentence landed hard.
The farm had been struggling to feed cattle.
Seven additional horses meant hay.
Water.
Fence repairs.
Veterinary assessment.
Clay looked as if Sable had returned carrying seven bills instead of seven animals.
Hannah watched the gray mare.
“If they leave?”
“Don’t chase them dangerously,” Sarah said. “Document it.”
Wade crossed his arms.
“And if I prove they’re mine?”
“Then we handle them through the county.”
Sarah drove away.
Wade lingered.
He stared at the gray mare.
Hannah noticed something.
The horse stared back at him.
Then immediately retreated behind Sable.
Not curiosity.
Fear.
Hannah’s eyes narrowed.
“You know that horse.”
Wade looked at her.
“Like I said. Might.”
“No.”
Hannah stepped closer.
“She knows you.”
Wade smiled.
“Careful, girl.”
Clay moved beside Hannah.
Wade climbed into his truck.
Before leaving, he said:
“I’ll bring paperwork tomorrow.”
Dust followed him down the road.
Hannah watched.
Clay said quietly:
“What was that about?”
“She was afraid of him.”
“Horses are afraid of strangers.”
“She wasn’t afraid of Sarah.”
Clay looked toward the gray mare.
Hannah continued.
“I think Wade knows exactly where those seven came from.”
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And if she was right, Sable had not simply returned with a herd.
She might have brought back evidence.
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