“Lookit that blood! Lookit that! That’s a dead horse! That was gonna make me a nice saddle horse, now lookit. He’s worse’n dog food.”

“He’ll be on his feet in two minutes,” E.V. snickered. “And I guaran-damn-tee ya he’ll ground-tie with a shoelace, this day forward.”

“Well, I ain’t payin’ good money for this kind of a deal. I didn’t hire you to slaughter the dang fool. I coulda done that myself.” My dad stomped off back toward the house, leaving me still up the tree looking down at E.V.’s sweat-stained hat and the smashed horse breathing in long whistling gurgles. E.V. kept coiling the rope in loose loops and spoke to no one in particular.

“Horse is just like a human being. He’s gotta know his limits. Once he finds that out he’s a happy camper.” The horse bolted up to his feet as though on cue and shook himself again, sending long cords of blood flying across E.V.’s rope. E.V. just smiled and held the rope out away from his chest. “I was gonna have to wash it anyhow.” He stepped softly up to the horse’s shoulder with that peculiar hitch in his walk and grabbed a shank of mane, then led the bay back toward the round pen. The gelding led right along beside him as quiet as an old broodmare. E.V. stopped down there beside the water tank and cleaned the horse’s nose out, then gently rubbed its eyes with the cold water and turned him back loose in the round pen. He watched him for a while the same way he’d watched him before, one foot propped on the rail and twirling the tip of his cotton rope. Everything was silent. The light went on in my dad’s bedroom. The wind shifted and rattled the tin on the good side of the hay barn.