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By Root 1631 0

when a man on a black horse trotted by, with three other horses on a string, two bays and a gray. There were plenty of horses in Lawrence, and it was second nature to me to look at them—Roland Brereton had taught me what was good in a horse and what wasn’t—so I looked at this string and I was immediately taken with them. All three were healthy and shiny, well fed and clearly not overworked. They looked spirited but well broke, and the gray, especially, had a look of intelligence, in that he paid attention to his surroundings even while trotting along with the others. At that point, my only intention was to admire. I walked along with my buckets, and the man led his string of horses around a corner and disappeared.

Later in the day, though, I saw them again. I had just been looking at stoves, imagining that I would soon have a house and would need a stove to put in it. The proprietor of the store had two models, and I had pretended that I needed to think about my choice and that I would return. I had pretended to a judiciousness that I didn’t feel. Actually, the more I looked at the two stoves, the less inclined I felt to buy one. The fact that someday soon I would have to buy one, and then install it and use it and make it my daily companion, made my choice between the two seem more like a punishment than a purchase. I decided to go home and read Miss Beecher for a bit to fortify my resolve. When I came out of the store, I saw the back of a livery stable, and there, enclosed with some other horses in a corral, were the two bays and the gray. I went up to the bars. The horses were milling about some piles of prairie hay that had been thrown on the ground, and the gray was right beside the fence. I bent down and saw through the bars that his legs were clean and tight. He turned his head and looked at me, his ears pricked and the muscles in his neck arching compactly. He had a lovely throat, which meant he would be easy to ride, and his eyes were large and mild, dark in his almost white face. The owner of the livery stable, the man I had seen leading the horses, came out into the street and spit, then bit off another chaw, looked around, and spit again. When I approached him, he smiled.

"Good afternoon, young lady," he said.

"I’m Mrs. Newton."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Newton. I’m Reverend Moss." He took off his hat, then put it right back on again. The sun was brutal.

"I like that gray horse."

"Where is Mr. Newton?"

"He’s out at our claim. May I look at him?"

"He’s a six-year-old. Young and healthy, but not foolish. Well broke to ride, well broke to harness. Fine animal."

"May I look at him?"

"You sound like a Kentucky girl! That’s a good horse." He didn’t move. His reluctance gave me second thoughts. I had meant to be buying a stove right then, and my conscience began to awaken. The money for the stove was in the pocket of my dress. I touched it, suddenly knowing that the larger of the two stoves was no doubt the right one. I turned.

"Well, sure," said Reverend Moss. "Have a look at him. You won’t be disappointed."

He went inside for a rope, then opened the gate and led the gray horse out. It turned out that I wasn’t judicious at all. Rather than looking the horse over, checking his teeth, feeling for heat in his legs, pressing his back, I just took the rope and handed the reverend the money in my pocket, thirty-five dollars. He unfolded it and laughed. I began scratching the horse on the face, between the eyes. His presence was large and sweet-smelling. I’d forgotten how good it felt to stand close to a horse. Reverend Moss said, "You expect to give me thirty-five dollars for a fine horse like this?"

I pulled out my pocket to show that it was empty. Of course I said nothing about the rest of the money, sewn into my skirt. The reverend could not stop laughing as he handed me back the bills. I stood with the horse a minute, then turned and began to walk away. "Hey, ma’am!" called the reverend. "Hey! Mrs. Newton!"

I stopped and looked at him.

Still laughing, he said, "Now, ma’am, you’ll be needing a saddle and bridle