It didn’t take long for Tom and Jessie to take care of their business after Henry had run the colt through his paces. Tom paid for not only the colt’s training, but also his board for the past six months and even a substantial tip for having done such a good job with him. Jessie tried to turn it down, and was as successful as Tom had been trying to once more buy Henry’s saddle. Then the colt was loaded in Tom’s stock trailer and the rig drove slowly out of the yard.

“Are you okay?” Jessie asked, looking up at Henry as the truck and trailer pulled away.

“I’m fine,” he quietly replied. As Jessie reached over and gently took Henry’s hand, he found he was having a little trouble breathing.

The colt turned and peered through the open windows at the back of the trailer, and watched as the figures of Henry and Jessie, standing hand in hand, disappeared in the dust being kicked up by the tires as they rolled over the gravel road. He let out one long, loud whinny that echoed through the valley for what seemed like forever, before it, too, quietly faded.

Henry and Jessie stood, watching the road until the rig was out of sight and the dust settled back to the earth before finally turning and walking back toward the ranch that now seemed a bit big and empty to both of them.

CHAPTER 40

“Henry!” A voice boomed from out of nowhere. “Henry McBride! Is that you?” Henry, who was standing on the loading dock of the feed store tossing fifty-pound sacks of feed into the bed of the pickup, stopped to see where the voice was coming from. “Over here!” Henry honed in on the voice, and found it was coming from the gas station across the road. There, sitting at one of the pumps was a brand new Ford F-350 dually, and standing in front of it was the old rancher, Sam Mitchell, waving his arms.

“I’ll be right back,” Henry said to the feed store clerk as he hopped off the loading dock and trotted across the street. After dodging two cars and a water truck, Henry got over to Sam, who was just putting the nozzle back on the pump after filling his truck with diesel fuel.

“Henry, by golly!” Sam said, smiling broadly and reaching out his ham-sized hand for Henry to shake. The ever-present small patch of stubble Sam always had somewhere on his face had moved since the last time Henry saw him. It had migrated to his right cheek, not far from his earlobe. “I thought that was you. What are you doing way down here?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” Henry smiled. “You’re a long way from Elko.”

“There was a big cattle auction south of here,” Sam leaned on the truck, “the boys are loading what we bought as we speak. How about you? What are you doing in these parts?”