Spatter snorted.
Brown Horse and Mister seemed content to wade in the shallows near the bank while Spatter stuck by Lucy’s side, following her into the shade provided by the wall of the narrow gully. Lynn was resting against it already, keeping a keen eye on the horses as they complacently wandered away from the women. Lucy plopped beside Lynn, surprised when cold water seeped through her pants.
“Bank’s not as dry as it looks,” Lynn said.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“You’ll dry off soon enough, once we go back out into the sun.”
The heat had stayed with them, although the humidity was gone. It was easy to misjudge whether they were overheating in the thin, hot air, and more than once Lucy had seen black spots in her vision before she realized how close she was to passing out. She’d kept that fact to herself, and her water bottle full.
Lynn cleared her throat. “I wanted to tell you… I don’t really say it much, but you taking a chance for something, taking a leap like this in the name of an idea… Well, not everyone works that way. Including myself.”
“Obviously I’m a better person than you,” Lucy sniffed, smacking her hand against Lynn’s kneecap.
“Maybe, but you could learn to take a compliment,” Lynn said, returning the smack lightly to the back of Lucy’s head.
Lucy shrugged. “That family needed the house more than we did anyway.”
“And they’ll have a good life, and you to thank, but that might be cold comfort once we hit those mountains.”
“Yeah, the mountains,” Lucy muttered, sending a rock spinning out into the stream. “I’m not too crazy about those. I can’t quite get my head around it, Lynn. I want this, I do, but the bigness of the world… it… it kinda scares the shit out of me.”
“I can’t remove the mountains from our path, little one. Would that I could.”
“Yeah,” Lucy said, watching Brown Horse favor her leg as she limped away from them. “I wish you could too.”
Lucy woke to the sound of strange birds calling overhead, and a man-shaped shadow spread across her blanket.
“Shit!” She leapt to her feet, her cry bringing Lynn upright, gun in hand.
The stranger held Brown Horse’s lead, not at all fazed that both women were holding rifles on him.
“Morning,” he said.
“You won’t be taking that horse from us, if that’s what you got on your mind,” Lynn said.
“I’m not intending to hijack your possessions,” he said casually, pushing his hat up on his forehead and wiping away the faint sweat that glistened there in the morning sun. “I’m asking permission.”
“Well, then we say no,” Lucy said.
“I don’t think you’re quite considering the ramifications for this here mammal. She’s hurting.”
“We know,” Lucy said defensively.
“Why’d you go for the injured horse?” Lynn asked, stepping closer to Lucy while keeping an eye on the stranger. “Why not take a healthy one and cut out while we were asleep?”
“’Cause that’s hardly in your best interest. Mine either. Or the horse’s, for that matter.”
Lucy heard Lynn sliding up beside her, felt the older woman’s arm brushing against her own as she lowered the rifle a bare inch. The stranger was still regarding them placidly, one hand jammed in his jeans pocket, the other loosely holding Brown Horse’s reins. He was unarmed, smiling, and completely in control of the situation.
“Lynn, what the hell is wrong with this guy?”
Lynn shook her head, and the man offered his own explanation. “I suffer from an old-fashioned malady called compassion, though these days it’s more likely to be called a personality handicap.”
“I don’t know there’s anything wrong with him so much as he just likes big words,” Lynn said quietly to Lucy.
“Ladies, I understand your apprehension. I walked into your camp unannounced, and for that I apologize. Two women traveling alone have the right to be suspicious, but I swear I am a good man.”
“Only good men I ever knew are dead or behind us,” Lynn said, rifle raised again.
“I didn’t figure I’d overcome your misgivings on the spot,” he said, sliding one hand up and down Brown Horse’s muzzle. “How about you let me administer to this here horse and give her back to you. Would that inspire some trust?”
Lucy’s brow furrowed. “What the hell are you? A wandering, cracked-in-the-head, free horse doctor?”
“No, girl,” he said, his smile touched with a hint of sadness. “I’m what I claim to be—a good man.”
The women were silent for a moment, so still that their rifle barrels rose and fell with their breathing.
“What do you think?” Lucy asked Lynn.
“I think he has honest eyes,” Lynn said quietly, lowering her gun. “But don’t think I won’t blow ’em out of your head if I change my mind,” she said to the stranger.
“I’ll remember your stipulation,” he said, already holding Brown Horse’s hoof over his bent knee.
Lucy kept her gun in her hand but stepped closer to see what he was doing. “Do you think you can help Brown Horse?”
“Brown Horse, eh? You girls adhere to descriptive nomenclature. Brown Horse… Crazy Free Horse Doctor…”
“What’s your real name, then?” Lucy asked, unsure whether she was being mocked.
“Fletcher.”
“Fletcher?” Lynn repeated, watching Lucy close the distance between herself and the stranger. “What kind of name is that?”
“The kind my mother liked,” he replied, running his fingers over Brown Horse’s hoof. He glanced up at Lucy. “You’re not horsewomen, are you?”
“Not really, no.”
“Mmm.” He gently set Brown Horse’s leg back down on the ground and patted her. “From the condition of her, I’ll assume you don’t have a hoof pick?”
“A what?” Lynn called over the distance.
“If you’re interested in overhearing our conversation, you’re welcome to join it,” Fletcher said. “Feel free to bring your gun.”
Lynn hesitated before coming over to stand next to Lucy.
Lucy could feel every muscle humming in Lynn’s body, ready to erupt into action if necessary.
“Your mare is experiencing thrush in her frog,” Fletcher explained, kneeling back down and pulling up Brown Horse’s foot to illustrate.
“A what in her what?” Lucy asked.
“A fungal infection in the soft part here,” he said, pointing to illustrate. “Find me something I can use to clean out this hoof and I’ll show you.”
Lucy looked to Lynn for approval before moving away and breaking a dead branch off a stunted cottonwood clinging to the bank. Fletcher snapped it in two when she handed it to him, and gently pushed the tip into the filth caked around Brown Horse’s hoof. She made a low grunting noise as he pried at the inner section of her hoof, and a large chunk of clotted dirt fell away.
“Might want to cover your noses, if you’re the delicate type,” Fletcher warned.
“Why’s that?” Lucy asked, and then the smell hit her and she had to close her mouth before she gagged.
Even Lynn’s stoic mask slipped. “Hell’s bells,” she muttered, backing away with her hand over her face. “Is she rotting?”
Fletcher looked down at the hoof still laid across his knee. “Nah, it’s an infection is all. Happens sometimes if they get an irritant up in that soft spot, or a burst abscess from lack of proper hygiene.”
Lucy’s brow creased. “So it’s our fault then?”
Fletcher shrugged and set Brown Horse’s hoof down on the ground gently. “You didn’t know any better. Even from a distance it’s clear neither one of you can sit a horse.”