The crowd thought the boy in the wheelchair was helpless-until the wild mustang lowered his head to his boots

not feel like the end of the story.

Cold came early to Dry Hollow that year.

By the last week of September, the evenings dropped fast and hard, pouring down from the dark hills and settling in the low places of Walt’s ranch. The sagebrush turned silver in the dusk. Water troughs wore a skin of ice in the mornings thin enough to break with a knuckle. continue reading …