If Wishes Were Horses by Curtiss Ann Matlock Page B

in.”
    Obie shook his head, chuckling, “I got a few of those myself, and I don’t imagine I’ll hold my breath till I see the money.”
    “I was afraid of that.”
    “How much he stick you for?”
    “Eight hundred.”
    Obie whistled low. “You didn’t look that foolish to me, son."
    “Well, I’m supposin’ you knew Roy Rivers a lot better than I did, and you say you got a few, so how much smarter than me does that make you?”
    The dark man grinned. “All of my notes together don’t come to twenty dollars, and I never counted on seein’ the money. That’s what makes me different.” He cocked his head. “How come you took an IOU like that from a fella you didn’t hardly know?”
    “I knew him,” Johnny defended himself. “I handled sellin’ a few of his horses, and he paid me right on the spot. How was I to know he would be gone from the hotel when I went to collect on my IOU?”
    “Well,” Obie drawled, “if it’s a comfort to you, I’ll put forth that Mr. Roy probably did have your money back at the hotel, only when he got there, he probably went ahead and spent it. He meant to pay you, but he just managed to get in that position with a lot of folks, and whoever got to him first was who got their money.”
    “Yeah, well, I guess I might have known that goin’ in, but I was half-drunk and had a red-head on my knee. He invited me to play poker with the big boys over in a back room at the stockyards. It didn’t really dawn on me till later that of all those big boys, I was the only one givin’ out cash money.”
    The tall man shook his head in commiseration, took off his ball cap, and turned it in his hand, gazing at it.
    “You play ball?” Johnny asked, nodding toward the cap.
    “Oh, yeah.” He gave a shy smile and a nod. “While back—Negro Leagues, you know.”
    “No kiddin’? I’ve seen some of those games. What team—hey, the Monarchs?”
    “Yep, Kansas City Monarchs. Outfielder and first baseman.” The man shook his head. “Long time back, but I like to wear the hat, you know. I played till I was nearin’ forty, almost twenty years.”
    “Well, I bet I saw you play. Probably more than once. You probably could have spit at me a couple of times, ‘cause I liked to get right down front.” He thought about how he must have seen the old man play, and then here he was, meeting him. “Funny world sometimes, idn’t it?”
    “You said it,” the tall man allowed.
    “I was in rodeo myself,” Johnny said. “All-round cowboy three times . . . long time ago, too,” he said. “You ever go to many rodeos?” His gaze fell to the man’s dark hands, and he felt a little foolish for the question. The races did not mix as readily at rodeos.
    The older man’s teeth gleamed and he drawled, “Guess I was always either pickin’ cotton or pitchin’ baseballs.”
    Johnny nodded and averted his gaze. It lit on the red horse that was nosing at stubs of grass now. “You work around here then?” he asked.
    “Yeah, a bit.”
    “What’s the story on this colt? He’s about three, idn’t he?”
    “Three back first of March, I guess. He was born runty as could be, had his legs all folded up, and then his mama died. Didn’t look like the critter had much of a chance, and Mr. Roy wanted to shoot him on the spot.” He slipped his hat back on and tugged at the brim. “Mr. Roy had a deep soft spot in him when it came to anythin’ sufferin’. He didn’t care that the colt weren’t worth nothin’, but he could not stand sufferin’. Every fish Mr. Roy ever caught and intended to keep, he killed right away. He said to me, ‘Nothin’ on earth should have to go ‘round sickly and hurtin’, Obie.’ Mr. Roy’d been pretty sickly as a boy.
    “Anyway, he went to get his gun, but Miz Etta, she throwed a fit and said to give it a chance, and that it wouldn’t hurt it to struggle for a few days. She set out to hand-feed it and tend it. I found a plow horse could give it milk, and Miz