The first thing I looked for when I hit the fence line at Rancho Socorro was King, but he wasn’t there. The ranch looked a little softer in the morning light, but that was the only difference. Same truck with the flat tire. Same shiny orange tractor.

The old dog lay in front of the barn and he wagged his tail in the dirt when he finally noticed us, which took a while because he’d been sleeping.

We leaned our bikes up against the barn and then all went to say hello to Willy the dog, who didn’t get up.

“He’s stiff in the morning,” said Fisherman, like he didn’t want anyone to criticize the dog.

“Sure,” said Ben. “Everybody is.”

I was pretty sure Ben wasn’t.

“Think we could do some target practice?” asked Ben.

Fisherman put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not supposed to touch guns when my uncle’s not here.”

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s probably a good rule.”

“We could each do a couple of shots. Like at a target,” said Ben. “I never shot before. My dad’s too Canadian to let us have a gun. But I bet I have good aim.”

“Man, I been shooting since I was six. You ain’t going to beat me,” said Fisherman.

I wanted to tell them how dangerous it was for anyone to use guns, but especially kids. We learned all the statistics in school. But maybe it would be like when I said we used to have an Olympic-length pool.

Using a gun sounded like the worst idea ever, but before I could talk them out of it, I saw King galloping across the scrubby field toward us. He looked like a horse in a commercial, his head high, his tail flowing, kind of like we had important news and he couldn’t wait to hear it.

“Here he comes!” I said, and my heart went faster the closer he got. He was so cool it made me feel a little choked up.

“You going to shoot?” asked Ben.

“No thanks. I’m going to see him.” I was staring at the shiny horse who was craning his head over the fence at me. He was the coolest thing ever.

I didn’t bring water, but I did bring six carrots from home that I stuck in the waistband of my shorts. We don’t have any sugar cubes because my mom and sister think sugar is from the devil.

When I got to King, he sniffed my hair and my face, and I admit I kind of sniffed him back. I never knew how the smell of a horse could make a person feel calmer and more alive.

“Hey, boy,” I said and held up a carrot. He lipped it out of my hand.