He wasn't bald yet. Or at least he didn't consider himself to be. He agreed that the ring of hair that circled the back of his head from ear to ear was thinner than it used to be. But it was still visible. Shoot, when he had his hat on it looked like he had a full head of hair and he figured that the only people that would see him with his hat off would have known about it -his hair-- already. At fifty seven years old, it was no concern of his anyway.

He stood with his hat in his hand and looked at the old adobe house. The general store that his dad Stanley had started was all but bankrupt now and he hadn't really any choice but to move to Florida with his son. Florida. Just the thought of it made him shiver. He couldn't ride like he wanted to anymore because he had lost much of the feeling in his hands. Twenty seven years of dialysis will do that. He felt the wind blow a familiar gritty mixture of dust and sand through the air as he watched Destry lock the house.

"Well, I think that about does it."

"I'm much obliged, son. Coming all the way out here and all."

"Yeah, well I guess that just leaves Wyatt. What do you want to do about him? He's pretty old and I can't imagine he'd fetch hardly anything in Albuquerque."

"I've been trying to put that decision off for as long as I could."

"Well he ain't coming with us I'll tell you that right now."

"I know, I know. Let's get some coffee so I can think about it. What I want to do."

"Okay."

They rode in Terry's 1966 Chevy C-10 pickup truck that had years of dust caked into every corner and had the sweet musty smell of horses and dust and cigarettes. The truck was a manual with the gear shift jutting out of the steering column and Destry had trouble driving it to say the least. The jarring sound of gears grinding together resounded in Terry's ears and made him think of things that didn't work well together. Like himself and Florida. He thought about the horse trailer that he'd sold last week, the one that he hauled all over New Mexico with this very truck, taking himself and Wyatt to polo matches. He looked down at his full quill Ostrich skin Tony Lama boots and wondered if people wore boots in Florida or if they'd look at him funny.

"Did you want anything besides coffee?" The waitress was a pretty Mexican girl with dark black hair.

"Not for me."

"I'm fine, too. Thank you."

"Well, what do you want to do about the horse? You've got to get rid of it somehow."

"I reckon he's worth more to me than he is to anyone else. There really ain't no good options."

"What about Corinne's boy? He old enough to ride yet?"

"I'd thought about that. The boy's nigh on eight years now. Well suited for a pony, not a horse."

"Could keep him till the boy is ready to ride."

"Cooped up? In the Pruit's tiny little stable? Hell, he'd give it one kick and the whole place'd cave in on him. And I ain't so sure he would mind."

"Well, what the hell do you want to do then? We got to leave in a week so you'd better think of something."

He lay awake all night thinking. Tomorrow was Wednesday, which meant he and Destry would have to go into Albuquerque for dialysis. It was the twenty seventh year in a row in which he'd had to have some stranger clean his blood for him because his kidneys had failed him. He went every week now. Lately, it felt like they'd been taking blood out and forgetting to put it back in.

When he woke up he heard the sound of a truck engine and the clop of horse's hooves and he pulled on his Wranglers, grabbed his hat and went outside. Destry was walking Wyatt into their small one horse trailer.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Look, if you can't make a decision about it, I'm going to."

"This ain't your property."

"Well it isn't yours anymore either. Look, I'm not trying to be the bad guy here and I know you don't want to leave but we just don't have a choice. Ever since Susan died you haven't been able to take care of yourself. You can't hardly drive anymore and you can't ride at all. Now what's the point of keeping a horse that's got at least five, maybe seven good years left in him if you can't ride him? You're doing him a disservice just as well." It didn't take long for Destry to slip back into a thick drawl, especially when he was frustrated or angry.

Terry just looked at the ground. He knew this moment would come and he had dreaded it worse than most things he'd ever dreaded in his life. He spat on the ground and stared where he had spat and toed the dust with his boot like he was trying to drill a hole in the earth's crust.

"I suppose," he said. He didn't look up.

"Well good."

"I'll take him over to the Pruit's place and give him to the boy. I know that Corinne's been asking about the horse."

"Sure. I'll let her know you're coming. It'll be a surprise for the boy."

"What's his name again?"

"Casey."

As he drove, he smoked a cigarette and tried to relax. The sky was clear and the drive was short. The Pruit place had a long drive that led up to the small adobe house. He parked the truck at the far end of the driveway and led the horse out, talking softly to it with one hand holding the reins and the other on the horse's broad neck. He guessed that Destry had left it saddled for the boy, or maybe for him. He clambered into the saddle with some difficulty and rode the horse slowly toward the house. The familiar gait and the slight breeze at his back and the soft heat of the rising sun felt good and made him want to increase the horse's speed but he resisted. It was a cool morning that reminded him of the days when he played polo while Susan watched eagerly from the sidelines. His hands felt light as he rested them on the saddle horn, and he was happy that this would be his last memory riding Wyatt, the horse that was as surefooted as he was beautiful.

The boy Casey was speechless when he saw the horse. When he saw the man, he knew how much the man loved the horse and he shook hands gravely with the man and said thank you. He knew that it was not every day that somebody received a horse like this one and it was even more rare that somebody who loved something that much would give it away. The man spoke to the horse and the horse jerked his head and snorted accordingly. He wanted more than anything to ride the horse but his mother said that it was too big and the man said he could not disagree with the boy's mother.

                                                            ***

The air in the plane was hot and stuffy and stale and it made him nervous. Behind him a small child had started crying, setting off a chain reaction of tears. The flight was supposed to leave at 6pm, but it was already 6:20. He had made Destry sit in the middle and had himself taken the window seat, but he was no longer sure if that had been a good idea. The blood red sun was glaring in through his small window. What little view he had of it amidst the concrete reminded him of the colors of Wyatt's coat when the sun reflected off of him. He moved uncomfortably in the seat that was much too small for him and squinted into the sun and thought he could see an eight year old boy on a big bay horse riding uncomfortably and trying to get his balance.