Free Pinto Lowery by G. Clifton Wisler

an older person could pass along to a young one. No, things had to be learned all over again ... and again ... and again.
    After stuffing himself with three helpings of Arabella Richardson’s meat loaf, four potatoes, and a fair assortment of greens, Pinto finally accompanied Jared back outside.
    â€œThe crew’s sure to be havin’ its supper, too,” the boy announced. “Pa’ll be tired, but I don’t figure he’ll be past hagglin’ over horses. He’s a fair hand at tradin’, folks say.”
    â€œWell, that ought to make fer a well-passed evenin’,” Pinto declared as he collected his horses. As he climbed atop the big black, Jared ran his hand along the flank of the chestnut mare.
    â€œDon’t suppose I might have a ride on her, do you?” Jared asked. “Just the three miles or so to the range camp.”
    â€œGet her saddled,” Pinto answered. “But don’t hurry her along. She’s not used to carryin’ anybody.”
    â€œI’ll be easy on her,” the boy promised. “You see I don’t wear spurs. Don’t even dig my toes in like some I know. Truth is I never needed to. Horses sort o’ take to me.”
    â€œThat’s ’cause you smell like one,” Job hollered from a nearby corral. “Can we come along, Jared?” Jim said, glancing up hopefully.
    â€œBe late comin’ home,” Jared told them. “We’ll have ourselves a ride tomorrow.”
    The smaller boys nodded soberly, then dashed off to find some other mischief. Jared soon had the mare saddled. Then he climbed atop the spry chestnut and led the way northward. Pinto followed.
    It took but a quarter hour, even riding slow, to reach the range camp. Along the way Pinto eyed the two thousand grazing long-horns that would make up the Double R trail herd. Some of the animals bore other brands, Pinto noted. Richardson was probably taking on other than J. B. Dotham ’s steers.
    That was, indeed, the case.
    â€œPa’s got close to every man in Wise County out here,” Jared explained as they rode. “Times’s been tough lately, and we all got our hopes pinned on sellin’ these steers for a high profit.”
    â€œYou got de jump on de south Texas crews,” Pinto said. “Bet you’ll get yer price.”
    â€œTrailin’ cattle’s a regular adventure, I hear.”
    â€œCan be,” Pinto admitted. “I recall a high time or two. More’n one nightmare, though. Near got drowned once and trampled twice.”
    â€œDone it, have you?”
    â€œTwice.”
    â€œHow come you ain’t signed on with somebody this year?” Jared asked.
    â€œNobody’s been fool enough to take me on,” Pinto said, laughing. “Truth is, I hoped yer pa’d have a place.”
    â€œWon’t even take me,” Jared grumbled. “But it might be different with a full-grown man.”
    â€œYou look man aplenty to me,” Pinto replied. “Likely yer pa wants somebody to watch over yer brothers and sister.”
    â€œHe says that,” Jared muttered. “But he’s taken along others littler with mas and brothers barely past diapers.”
    Pinto tried to think of something to say to the boy, but after all, words weren’t much of a tonic for hurt insides. Besides, the camp appeared on a nearby hill. Jared nudged the chestnut mare into a trot, and the two of them ushered the other horses between them.
    â€œSon, what’s brought you out here?” asked a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a tan stiff-brimmed hat.
    â€œPa, I brought Mr. Lowery along,” Jared explained. “You remember Bob Toney talkin’ about him. He’s got three horses to sell off. Thought you could use ’em maybe.”
    â€œThought right,” the rancher responded. “Lowery, I’m Ryan Richardson. Slide along down and let’s dicker. These three, huh? What