2
Half a mile from
town, the horse James and Dodds rode began to give out. He not only
slowed, his legs were unsteady in the mud.
Dodds reined him in
at a tree and said, “We’d better go on foot from here.”
In the rain the horse
looked cold and sick, his hazel eyes glazed, ragged breath rocking
his ribs every few seconds.
Dodds saw how James
was watching the horse over his shoulder as the two set off walking
fast for town.
“Don’t worry, son,”
Dodds said. “He just has the same problem I do.”
“What problem’s
that?”
“Same problem you’ll
have and your own son’ll have. Age. He’s just old and the rain’s
got him spooked a little. I’ll come back for him in a while and put
him up in the livery and hay him and rub him down and he’ll be
fine.”
“He’s a nice
horse.”
“You get real
attached to things, don’t you, son?”
James shrugged,
wiping rain from his face. He had been out in the downpour so long
that he knew it would feel odd when the rain stopped. Human beings
seemed to get used to things, even things they basically didn’t
like. “I guess I do.”
As they walked, Dodds
looked over at him and said, “I want to tell you something.”
“What?”
“That I’ll do my best
not to shoot him.”
“I appreciate that,
Sheriff.”
“I just hope he
doesn’t back me into a corner.”
“People do that to
you?”
“All the time. They
get distraught or they get drunk or they get heartbroke and then
they do very foolish things and they don’t leave me much
leeway.”
“I’ll talk to
Septemus. He’ll listen to me.”
“I hope so, son. I
hope so.”