still screamed in that way horses do when something is desperately wrong and only one glance told Blake he’d broken his leg, the bone visible through the blood and mud.
Damn Blakiston and his penny-pinching. The terrible state of the road was likely to blame for his horse’s injury.
It took but a second to take in the scene and decide what to do. Misty kept launching herself at the traces, kept trying to drag the cart forward to escape the smell of blood, the fear from her companion and driver, the noise that scraped at one’s ears. She was going to turn the cart and drag everything straight into a ditch.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, jerking this way and that with the horse’s movements, he reached beneath the rough timbers. Blake took out two linen wrapped bundles. The first, a loaded pistol which he gripped tightly in his right hand, the second, a short knife which he held in his left. He wasn’t sure what to do first. Put Monster out of his hysterical misery or cut Misty free.
Deciding it was more important for Misty to take off into the afternoon’s fading light, he tucked the gun into the back of his waistband and approached Misty with a hand out, muttering soothing murmurs that she would only just hear over the still screaming Monster.
“Easy there girl,” he said, trying to run his hand gently over the muscles rippling her hide. “I’m going to cut you loose.”
If he released Monster from his pain first, Misty would still try to break free and they would all be in more trouble. He would rather be stuck on the road with a cart for shelter than lose everything including his last horse.
Within minutes, he had the lead ropes cut, still murmuring to a horse with wild eyes and a tension that told him she would be dangerous when finally unfastened.
He’d concentrated so intently that he hadn’t noticed Monster’s screams diminishing, the big horse now shooting breath from his nostrils in heavy gushes of wet, hot air. Reaching over Misty’s back, he cut another rope. Only three left to do and she would be safe from the cart and ties. But not from her own terror. That could still undo her.
As he cut the rope stretching over her massive girth, he looped his fingers in the bit to keep her head still, but Misty wouldn’t have it. She rose up in the air, blocking out the sky and everything else as she loomed over his head.
But even as Blake covered his head, he felt the edge of her razor-sharp shoe skate over his shoulder, the pain immediate and searing, ripping through his shirt to graze down to his elbow. When she landed back on solid earth, he didn’t hesitate. Sawing the knife against the leather took only seconds, but it felt like hours, the motions seemingly slowed to a point where he didn’t think he even moved. Misty kept trying to thrash her head from side to side to dislodge the hand at her jaw. She was beyond help as she tried to bite, tried to dislodge the bit between her teeth so he would have no control.
And then he let her go, jumping back, landing heavily once again, Misty’s beating hooves sounding for only two heartbeats before she was gone from sight.
Blake said a little prayer for her that she didn’t find a hole in the deteriorated road or stumble in her haste.
Misty must have kicked Monster, either that or the big horse finally noticed he was dying, his screams of pain starting up again. Blake rolled to his feet, every inch of the pain inflicted on him by his own animals ached and throbbed at the same time.
There was nothing he could do for the other horse. He wasn’t going to dodge yet more deadly hooves just to see if given the chance the horse would right himself. Reaching for his pistol, he found only the fabric of his dirty trousers. When he glanced back to see where he’d dropped it, Sophie was there, blood dripping down her cheek from her head. Her once beautiful gown was covered in mud and God knew what else. In her outstretched palm was the pistol he needed to silence the big black beauty.
“You might want to turn away,” he warned as he took the gun from her shaking hand.
She nodded and turned her body, chin slumping to her chest.
“I’m sorry, boy,” he whispered as he kneeled on