Gayle Souter was buried on the ranch. He died simply—a horse shied, stumbled, and Gayle came off, lay stunned for a moment, then got up, remounted, and never said a word. But he’d been busted inside, and it was Burn English who brought him in. He had packed the old man’s corpse on a horse like a side of meat, but therewas no other way. English said he’d found Souter up by the burned cottonwood, head propped on a rotting log, bowed legs sprawled out with the boots still on.
Burn English. Here Gordon looked out through the window. He was still puzzled by the man. Neither Katherine nor her husband would talk about English. The last time Gordon had tried, about three years ago, there had been a look shared between them that promised much but gave up nothing.
English had stayed in the area for a number of years. He had bought land, put in piped water, and built sturdy corrals. He raised excellent stock from the wild mares, using the dark colt as the sire. No man ever complained that an English-bred mount lacked stamina, speed, or good sense.
Eager Briggs still leered toothlessly at the world when he would tell his tales. He lived in Gutierrezville, where he’d found a widow to take him in. Briggs didn’t ride any more, but he could and would tell his stories, except if asked about Burn English.
It had been Red Pierson who rode in four years ago, saying Burn English was gone, his cabin destroyed, his horses set free. No one saw the mustanger again. Not around Magdalena or Socorro, over to Quemado or Springerville, or even near Horse Springs. He had disappeared, leaving behind only the legacy of good horses and a lot of embroidered speculation.
About The Author
William A. Luckey was born in Providence, Rhode Island, but later went West to work with horses. “I’ve spent the past forty years dealing with rogue horses using my own methods to retrain and make them useful—I’ve evented, shown dressage, fox-hunted for twenty seasons, worked cattle, gone on five-day trail rides. I’ve owned over 150 horses personally, going back to when I was seven. I’ve actually been riding now for almost sixty years, and have taught riding for over forty years.” High Line Rider appeared in 1985, the first of many Western novels published to date.