Horsefly

By Jeffrey A. Paolano

Leppe pulls the brim to snug his hat, takes hold of the reins in his left and a handful of mane in his right, and sinks, for all his legs are worth, those great Texas rowels into the bony mustang’s flanks.

That muscle-and-sinew bundle explodes between Leppe’s legs, bursting forth at a full run as fore-hooves hit the ground.

At speed, Leppe leans out of the saddle, leg hooked to his pony, grabbing up Rollins by the collar.

The stampeding beeves sweep past.

“Was you taking a bath?” asks Rollins through a twisted grin.

“Finishing my beans,” replies Leppe as drolly.