It was the white horse. I told her to stay away from that one. Don’t go behind the horse, don’t go in front of the horse, don’t look at the horse, and - for Christ’s sake - don’t ride the horse. But the horse was beautiful.

We never gave it a name.

When I found it, it was full of thorns, all twisted up and limping. Me and boy were on federal lands, tracking down a few strays. Couldn’t be sure if it was a runaway or born feral. But the cattle turned out to be a lost cause, so I lassoed the thing and fought it all the way back to the ranch.

I knew pretty quick we’d never break the thing. It’d charge right at us when we came up to the fence. It was a menace. She didn’t mind though. She’d call its bluff, sit tight on the fence when it ran at her. She didn’t even flinch. Usually, it’d pause long enough to take a carrot from her. And a few times I saw it sit tight while she brushed its coat through the fence.

It was a high fence, about five feet high. The white horse probably could’ve cleared it once it got healthy. But it just stayed. The horse was useless to me, I couldn’t work with it. But I didn’t mind keeping it, seeing how she loved the thing. Just so long as she stayed outside the fence.

I should have known her better.

She was face down. That’s how I found her last night, crumpled up just inside the pen. The horse was gone.

I turned her over and she was breathing, but her face….her face was always so beautiful. I’d known ever since she first smiled at me. But I don’t know if she’ll smile like that again. I didn’t want to look at her, but I did. I didn’t want her to be scared.

I sent my boy to get the doctor and they returned together just before dawn. The doctor told me not to worry. He told me they could fix things like this now. But he looked like he was holding back tears. They all left for town at first light.

I stayed. There was work to do, but first I went down to the pen. Her brush was lying in the dirt. At the far end, the end towards the hills, there was a section of fence with the top board broken. I went through the fence over there.

I could tell by the grass that the horse took a tumble on its way over. I followed its trail. Every fifty paces there’d be a matted down spot. There was blood too, more and more as I went.

I found the horse laid down by the creek, its head just a few inches from the edge. It was staring at the water. The creek was golden in the morning sun. I thought it was beautiful too.