Don't Tamper with Horses

Part 9

...Continuing...Moss sighed with relief as the town came into view. His bay horse walked slowly beside him, head hanging as he limped on his right fore-hoof. The thrown shoe hung half-way out of Moss's pocket as the foot-weary pair trudged into town. "Far 'Nuff, ain't that a fitting name? We've gone far enough." Moss glanced up and down the street the empty main drag. The blacksmith's forge was cold and quiet, and only the breeze stirred the dust on the street. Far Nuff seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something.

Moss chewed his lip, then walked his horse to the joint blacksmith shop and livery stable. "Hello!" he called. "Anybody in?"

A door creaked in the back, then a kid stuck his head around a stall partition. His eyes loomed large and dark in the dim barn. "Are you with Deveney?" he whispered.

Moss glanced around again, then glanced at his horse. "No, I've got Rocket. Is Deveney any good?"

The kid shook his head. "He's the worst around these parts. I never heard of Rocket. Is he worse than Deveney?"

Moss shrugged. "Rocket's the best cutting horse I ever had. Is Deveney slow, or is he a bronc?"

The kid's eyes got even larger and he stepped out of the stall. He was a skinny boy, just shy of his teenage years. A thatch of dark hair curled over his forehead. "Gee, ain't you scared talking about him that-a-way? Deveney's an outlaw, and he's supposed to be riding into town. We don't know when."

Glancing back over his shoulder at the empty, silent street, Moss whistled gently. "You folks are sure squirreled away. But do you suppose the blacksmith would take a look at Rocket's hoof?"

The kid shook his head. "We ain't got one. The last one didn't last a week."

"What happened to him?" Moss asked.

"Deveney shot him." The kid shrugged uncomfortably. "That's why everybody's hiding this time. Speaking of which, we'd better shut the door."

Moss helped the kid shut the heavy door as horse hooves began to rumble in the distance.