The Horse That Came Home for the Ride

Vernon Pike

Vernon Pike’s place is six miles up the creek road from Dad’s. He is sixty-five, a widower, and he runs a cow and calf operation about twice the size of ours. He has bought calves from Dad, sold hay to Loren, and sat three pews behind us at church for as long as I can remember.

We pulled in on Saturday morning with two heifers in the trailer. Vernon was out by his barn, forking hay off a flatbed. He leaned the fork against the bed and walked over, pulling off his gloves.

I saw Biscuit before Vernon reached us. He was in a small lot behind the barn, standing at the far fence with his head up, looking toward the road. Looking toward Dad’s place.

“Lynette. Loren.” Vernon shook Loren’s hand and touched his hat to me. “I figured somebody from your family would be along.”

“Did you know Dad didn’t know?” I asked him.

Vernon’s face went still. He looked at the ground, then back at me.

“No,” he said. “Deanna called me and said the family had decided Virgil was done riding, and she wanted Biscuit to go somewhere he’d be used gentle. She said Virgil was at the doctor and it’d be easier on him if the horse was gone when he got back.”

He was quiet a moment. “I thought she meant easier like not having to watch him loaded. I didn’t think she meant he didn’t know.”

“He didn’t know.”

Vernon rubbed the back of his neck. “Well,” he said. “That’s not right.”

“I’m not here to fuss at you, Vernon. You paid her fair, and the papers were good. I’m here to buy him back.” I nodded at the trailer. “Two bred heifers. Registered Angus, due in March. Their papers are in an envelope on the dash.”

Vernon walked back and looked through the slats of the trailer for a long minute. He knew cattle. He knew exactly what was standing in there.

“That’s more than three times what I gave for the horse,” he said.

“Then I reckon you won’t argue.”

He laughed, once, without much in it. “You’re Virgil’s girl, all right.” He looked at the heifers again and then over at Biscuit, who had not moved from the far fence. “All right. Let’s swap. Back that trailer up to the side pen.”

Loren unloaded the heifers into Vernon’s side pen, and they walked off sniffing at the new ground like heifers do. I got the envelope from the dash and handed it to Vernon. He held it in his hand a moment without opening it, and then he put it in his jacket.

Then Vernon went and got Biscuit himself. He led him out of the lot and handed me the lead rope.

“He’s been standing at that fence since Thursday,” Vernon said. “Ate a little. Not much. Didn’t want to be here.”