By Courtnee

The day was a cloudless blue. The sun blazed her glory with relentless heat. A dry wind blew across the prairie, sending small tumbleweeds bouncing across the landscape. The empty creek-beds, full of fresh water only months before, were riddled with cracks and debris. Small slimy rodents darted from rock to rock; they were persistent in their search for food and water.

Standing atop the crest of a hill, majestic in his wild beauty, the stallion observed his surroundings. His intelligent eyes missed nothing. His long mane and tail whipped about him, as if longing to be set free. Small scars and blemishes swathed his hide, proclaiming many battles fought and won.

He loved and desired this untamed land. It was a part of him that he couldn’t live without. Though many had tried to break his spirit, none had succeeded. They’d captured so many of his family, depleting his herd to very few numbers. Man was not his only threat, nor was he the deadliest.

Snakes, blind ravines, coyotes, and countless other things took many of his mares each year. Not to mention the possibility that a younger, stronger stallion would challenge him, resting his herd from him with sheer youth.

Now it was time to move the herd into the mountains, where water was plentiful and the green grass stretched on as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of miles of dangerous terrain lay in between. The other herds had already begun the journey, long before the grass had dried and withered to dust.

He would wait no longer.

With a loud snort and a mighty toss of his huge head, the stallion plunged down the steep hill. His loud piercing whiny alerted the rest of his herd into action. Solid hooves sent puffs of dirt billowing into the air. The thunderous noise rang out across the valley, warning unsuspecting animals to stand clear.



Long after the horses had gone, a single mare still stood staring in the direction they’d disappeared. She could hear the strong call of her master, echoing in her ears. How she longed to be racing beside them, the wind caressing her face and hinting of a freedom desired by all things.

But the birth of her first foal, held her fast, smothering the last of her resistance. The pains had begun the night before. At first, she’d pushed them aside, more interested in grazing than the unpleasant cramps in her belly. But by morning, she’d managed to isolate herself from the other horses; she needed to be alone for the miracle that was close at hand.

She’d known the great move was fast approaching, could feel it in her bones. But the pain of childbirth had taken over her thoughts. Now that she was alone with no protector, fear was nipping at her heels. Even a herd as large as hers was faced grave danger every step of the way. How could she make the journey on her own, with a small foal?

As a necessity of nature, horses were born with legs that developed fast. Their only defense most of the time was fast travel away from the danger. Two days after they were born they were as fast as the adults, though could not endure for quite as long.

But two days made a huge difference between life and death for the herd. The grass was gone and water was scarce. They would need all the strength they could muster for the trip. Without food and water, strength was hard to maintain.

The brown and white horse lifted her head to taste the wind. With a snort, she slowly pawed the solid ground.

She was safe, for the moment.

The rolling prairie had a way of instantly shifting from no danger to imminent death. A horse had to always be cautious, alert for any predators. She flicked her ears back and forth, listening for warning sounds.

Pain wrapped itself around her swollen belly, causing her to uncomfortably shift from hoof to hoof. The desire to lie down overwhelmed her senses. It was time.



The mare sniffed the tiny bundle that had been inside of her only moments before. She traced her nose over the baby’s entire body, searching for any defects. Satisfied her filly was perfectly formed; she set about cleaning her child. No part of the foal’s body escaped attention.

After that chore was completed, the mare proceeded to nuzzle her daughter, demanding she stand and ease the pressure on her teats.

The filly lay motionless, unsure of what to do. But hunger soon prompted her to move about. She positioned her long legs under her body, and then shakily pushed her self to her feet. Several times the offending limbs refused to cooperate, sending her sprawling in the dirt. But each time her determination grew, until finally she stood proud and tall.

Now the only problem was staying up while she walked to her mother. The first step was short but solid, giving her the false belief that the whole thing was going to be easy. The second step sent her head first into the sagebrush. She slowly lifted her head and sharply shook it to throw off the confusion.

What had gone wrong?

Several minutes later she was able to rather easily walk around her mother, though anything faster would have to wait until after her thirst was slaked.

Over the next couple of days, mother and daughter stayed in the small refuge. The filly was strong and healthy, unaware of the worry that plagued her mother. Or of the journey that was fast approaching.

The early morning hours of the third day marked the departure of the pair. The mare set a light pace, trotting over the deserted land. The filly enjoyed all the wonderful new sights and smells. This was an adventure.

But by mid-morning she had grown tired of the game. She couldn’t understand why her mother refused to stop longer than the few minutes it had taken to feed her. She was exhausted, not yet used to the hard work of endless travel.

The mare was pressed with the need to rejoin her herd. She wouldn’t be safe, nor would her filly, until then. They were far ahead of her by three days. The only way she could hope to accomplish this feat was to travel night and day, forgoing the nighttime or grazing rests.

The first two days of travel held no real excitement. A few times they’d come across the cold sent of coyotes, making the mare skittish for miles afterward.

Their first real threat came on the morning of their third day. They had stopped by a small pond, fast on its way of drying up. She could sense the presence of another animal, a horse. At first she detected nothing wrong, but then something sent warning bells off in her mind. She flicked her ears in the direction of the animal, while lifting her head to taste the wind.

A new sent reached her nose. With a snort she tried to rid herself of the unusual smell. Impatiently, she stomped her foot, the large hoof sinking into the mud, she was debating on whether or not to run. She nickered to her daughter, the decision finally made.

The filly had wondered off to explore the strange land when her mother’s frightened voice reached her ears. Though she knew not what had scared her mother, she quickly raced to her side. Both exploded into an easy lope, there hooves sending dirt and rocks flying into the air.

Behind them the man flew into his saddle. He had been hiding behind a dried out fallen tree, studying the pair of paint horses, when the mare had spotted his sent. She was a beautiful animal, patches of brown studded her gray body and her eyes were an unusual crystal blue. He would capture her and her foal. They would bring a tidy sum to his pocket.

For close to an hour they ran, foam lathered their hide, and their sides heaved with exertion. The mare knew her daughter couldn’t hold out much longer. They were steadily falling back; the filly whinnied her protest. But she knew the danger was as strong as ever. She could feel it in her bones, could hear the third set of pounding hooves.

With one hand grasping the reigns he reached down the other to retrieve his rope. With a practiced motion, he had the lariat whirling over his head. He knew if he captured the mare the foal would follow her mother willingly.

A new sound, just as frightening, reached the mare’s ears. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the snake like rope fly through the air and then felt it tighten against her neck, choking off her oxygen.

Her only thought was of her child. Fear for her safety blinded the mare. With a squeal of rage she slid to a stop then rose on her hind legs kicking out at her captor. Slamming to the ground she flattened her ears to her head and lowered her neck, pawing irritably at the ground. She bared her teeth and dashed at the object of her anger. Just before the collision was imminent she fainted to the left, kicking out her hind legs.

Over and over she made fruitless attempts at freedom. But the man knew all the tricks. He could tell by the ribs protruding from her sides, she had not been eating well. After the long run they’d had, she would be worn out before too much longer. Then it would be easy to take her in.

The filly stood back, her eyes wide with fright. She knew something bad had happened. Her mother’s fear was transmitted to her through smell. But she didn’t know how to help. Her tiny legs were trembling with exhaustion and her stomach was cramping from hunger.

Half an hour later, the mare stood defeated, her head hung low to the ground. She was fighting for air, the rope still tight around her neck. Softly she nickered to her child. Seconds later the filly was suckling loudly from her mother’s teats.

Before the foal was satisfied her mother was jerked forward. Freedom as they’d known it was gone. Their spirits were game to be broken now, a sport that, sadly, was desired by man, their new master.



“Ain’t she a beauty? Don’t know that I’ve ever seen one like her.”

Douglas emitted a low appreciative whistle at the horse before him. She circled the pen, kicking up her heels every few strides. He’d paid a heavy purse to own the wild horse along with her filly. He relished the thought that soon he’d be mounted on her. He’d be the envy of the town. Of coarse the filly would be sold in a couple of years, when she came of age, to make up the price of her dam.

“She ain’t gonna be easy to break, boss. She’s got more spirit’n I’ve ever seen.” The hired hand stood on the lowest rail, his elbows leveraging him to the fence.

“I ain’t worried ‘bout that.” He climbed over the fence, carrying a rope in one hand. With ease he flung it about her neck, twirling the other end in a wide vertical circle as he slowly approached her.

He cast an unworried glance in the direction of the filly. She stood quietly beside the mare, curiously observing the man. Soon it would be time to wean the small horse. She’d already started tasting the oats her mother ate, and was growing fast, well on her way to being a large horse.

Turning his attention back to the horse he’d dubbed, Beauty, Douglas clucked his tongue.

Beauty threw her head up in defiance, nickering her disagreement. She attempted to pull the rope free, dragging her captor with it. But he held on tight, refusing to release his prize.

Douglass moved closer, the rope twirling faster in his free hand. Beauty gave a last hop before reluctantly trotting off in a circle. He lunged the spirited horse until she was drenched in foaming sweat. Then he gave her the order to stop. Slowly he began to approach her with one arm held out straight in front of him, palm opened and up.

He stopped a foot in front of her. He did not want to spook her. He extended his hand until it lay lightly on her nose.

The sudden pounding of hooves to his back, startled Douglass. He had underestimated the filly, shrugging her off as shy. A second later he felt her head connect with his back, sending him sprawling head first under Beauty’s hooves. Immediately upon hitting the ground he began to roll.

Beauty, startled, reared back on her hind legs. She neighed a terrifying warning before dropping hard back to the ground. Douglas hadn’t rolled far enough. Beauty’s left front hoof landed on his shoulder, emitting a sickening crunch that he felt as well as heard.

As Beauty flew past, her hind leg knocked Douglas unconscious. Mother and daughter stopped at the far end of the pen, huddling against the fence. Their ears pricked curiously as yells were heard from the yard. But neither advanced forward as several men entered the pen to retrieve their broken boss.



Two days later, Beauty and her filly restlessly roamed about the pen. No further attempts had been made at breaking the mare and no one had brought either food or water to the two animals.

Long after the night had fallen, the sound of approaching footsteps alerted the horses to a presence. Beauty softly nickered, expecting to be fed. The heavy gate squeaked open, and a dark figure entered the coral.

Willy Jackson clutched the whip in his right hand. He had a job to do. Douglas’ wife had ordered him to beat the horses as punishment for nearly killing her husband. Though he felt that Douglas would not agree, he had to complete his task. Mrs. Douglas had threatened to send him packing if he didn’t, and the boss was still unconscious.

He let the whip unfurl, grasping the base to his side. The long end trailed in the dust behind him as he closed in on the unsuspecting pair.

Beauty milled about, staying in front of her child. The arrival of a different person stole her attention. The second man entered behind the first, carrying a bucket of feed. She anxiously trotted forward, forgetting about the first man and about protecting her filly.

The plan was working. Willy gave a short whistle, signaling for Pete to rope Beauty and tie her off. After that was accomplished and Pete had hollered the go ahead, Willy raised the whip above his head.

The sharp crack of the whip connecting with flesh, echoed across the yard. The filly whimpered in pain and backed away in fright. Blood dripped from the long clean cut across her withers.

Again he raised the whip.

What happened next neither Willy nor Pete had anticipated. They’d underestimated Beauty’s love for her child. Not even a rope tethered to the fence post could keep her away.

She emitted a high-pitched neigh that rang through the coral. Beauty erupted into a gallop, severing the rope from its secure hold. She thundered to a stop in front of her enemy, trying to slash him with her dangerous hooves.

Willy, startled, snapped his wrist, cutting Beauty across the chest. She lost her balance and toppled over backwards. Willy took the initiative and ran for the nearest route of escape, dropping the weapon on the ground.

Beauty rolled to her feet, disoriented but unharmed. She savagely took off after the scared man. The whites of her eyes sparkled a wildness that refused to be broken. Willy scrambled up on the fence, but before he could jump free of the imprisoning bars, was crushed by the large mare.

She had run headlong into the wooden rails, blinded by her need to kill the person that had harmed her child. The rails groaned and splintered under her weight but held fast. She slumped to the ground, a strange wheezing, not natural, clouded her breathing.

Pitifully she struggled to get to her feet, but the pain was too much. With a final sigh, she lay motionless, only her clear blue eyes darted from side to side and her chest rose and fell with each breath.

The filly trotted up to her mother. Lowering her head she sniffed her mother. Something was wrong, but she didn’t know what. Impatiently she nuzzled her, demanding that she get up. But Beauty only nickered, her sides heaving with the effort. A bit harder, the filly nudged the mare, but to no avail.

With a pain filled neigh that echoed long into the night air, the filly released all the pain and confusion that had consumed her that night. She slumped down by Beauty; laying her small head across her mother’s neck she closed her eyes.

Douglas’ booming voice intruded into the dark, he had woken up moments before by the loud commotion. After demanding his wife tell him what was going on, he painfully headed out to the coral. What he found was pure sadness. Not only was one of his hired hands dead, but his prized horse lay dying, suffering. He could see that something inside of her had broken. “Bring me my shotgun!”

He regretted what he had to do. There was no justice in allowing Beauty to die such an agonizingly slow death. He would have to shoot her. Put her out of her misery. Turning to one of the hired hands, he motioned to the filly, “Get her out of here!”

The filly jumped to her feet as Jake moved closer. She laid her ears back and bared her teeth. She would protect her mother. But as a rope tightened around her neck, she was dragged from the coral. She whinnied to her mother, frightened.

Beauty tried to rise up, the love for her child out weighing the pain that encompassed her entire body. But her feet wouldn’t cooperate with her, the strength of being alive draining slowly from her dying limbs.

Douglas’ heart broke at the sight. Such a strong spirited mare, beautiful, to be in so much pain was heart-wrenching. All because his foolish wife held some kind of vengeful notion that the horses needed punishment. “Dammit! Where’s my gun? Pete, hurry it up!”

Pete exploded from the house, the front door slamming against the wooden wall. He sprinted to his boss and offered him the shotgun.

Douglas grabbed the gun from his hired hand, but before finishing the job knelt beside his horse. “I’m sorry Beauty, so sorry.” Wiping a tear from his eye, he stood back and aimed.

After the gunshot died in the night, Douglas turned to Pete. “Pack your things, I’ve no use for a man that participates in causing two useless deaths.”

Without another word, he marched to the house.



Over the next three years, the filly was sold many times. After the mare’s needless death, Douglas wanted no reminders of that night. She had been sold the next day to an old man, a decent fellow, but old. Shortly after he died, he left the paint horse to be sold in an auction along with every thing else he’d possessed.

Her next few owners were cruel men. Though she was broken at the age of two, she was considered to be unreliable. Her spirit was strong, much like her mothers had been. She trusted no man. Never had a reason to, until the day Kid entered her life.

Whether it was the gentle hand upon her nose, or the sincere smile that bespoke of a shared understanding. Or maybe it was the blue eyes, so much like Beauty’s, that promised a sunrise after a life full of darkness. Whatever the reason, she trusted him immediately.

Not even when he came in with a bruised face and black eye, was she afraid of him.

He’d called her Katy, and promised to take care of her no matter what. Never did he try to break her spirit or let any harm come to her. He fed her and brushed her every day, most of the time twice. He even told her all his secrets. She’d never known loyalty until she met Kid.



The day was a warm, cloudless blue. Katy playfully kicked up her heels as she galloped along the prairie. The wind caressed her face, and slid soothingly over her body. Once more she knew the taste of freedom. Never again would she be denied the gift.

Suddenly she slid to a halt, her ears pricked and strained to make out the sound. With a contented snort, she turned back, the long shrill whistle calling her home.

THE END

© 2001