Charlie and Myrtle Smith sat on the porch of their small South Texas farmhouse, watching the afternoon sun slip out of the cloudless sky. “Been thinking, Myrt,” Charlie said as he rolled himself a cigarette.

 Myrtle loosened her bun and began to unbraid her hair. “What about?”

 “Moving to town. For five hundred dollars Ezekiel Albright said he’d sell me his barber shop and his little rent house over on Baize Street.”

“Where you going to get that much money?” She began to brush her hair, counting the strokes aloud. “One, two, three…”

Charlie used his teeth to close the drawstring of his tobacco pouch. “I figure we can get pretty near that much for this land, the house, and our livestock.”

“Sixteen, Seventeen. Pretty near? Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty.” She shifted the hairbrush to the other side of her head. “What about the rest? Twenty-one.”

“I’ll have to sell Pretty Boy.”

“Twenty-five. Never thought I’d hear them words come out of your mouth, Charlie Smith. Twenty-six.”

“Never thought I’d say them. But I’m sick of farming, always worrying about rain and grasshoppers and early freezes. Giving two-bit shaves and haircuts to businessmen and drunk cowboys can’t be that hard.”

“Whatever you think, Charlie. Forty-one. I married you for better or worse. Forty-two. What do you figure you can get for Pretty Boy?”

Charlie took a long draw on his cigarette. “Can’t afford to take no less than a hundred dollars.”

“That’s a lot of money, even for a fancy horse.” She set her hairbrush aside.

“Yep,” Charlie agreed. “But old Slim Baker’s been wanting that big palomino ever since he laid eyes on him. He’ll pay a hundred for him.”

“Baker’s a sharp horse trader,” Myrtle observed. “He’ll skin you if you give him half a chance.”

“I know that, Myrt.” Charlie exhaled a stream of smoke. “Slim can’t get to me if I skin him first.”

“I guess I’d better start packing up for the move.” Myrtle gathered her hairpins.

Charlie nodded. “Reckon I’ll make a trip to town in the morning.”

***

Myrtle watched through the window as the lone rider unlatched the gate and approached her house. It was Slim Baker, sure enough. “Charlie better not have let that shyster get to him,” she muttered.

Slim dismounted and threw his horse’s reins across the porch railing. He glanced briefly toward the house, then turned and sauntered toward the barn.

Beginning to feel her anger rise, Myrtle stepped onto the porch. “Morning, Mr. Baker,” she called out.

“Morning, ma’am.” Slim tipped his hat. “Is your husband home?”

“No. I reckon he’ll be back directly.”

Slim grinned. “I saw Charlie in town. We made a deal for me to take Pretty Boy off his hands.”

Myrtle put her hands on her hips. “Let me tell you one thing, Slim Baker,” she said, her Irish brogue intruding on her South Texas twang. “No matter what Charlie said, you’ll not get that horse for one penny less than one hundred dollars.”

Baker stared at her, motionless and speechless for several seconds. Finally, he spoke. “That’s a powerful lot of money.”

“It is,” Myrtle agreed. “But that’s the price. Take it or leave it.”

Slim used the toe of his boot to break a clod of dirt. He looked away and then moved his eyes back to Myrtle. “Mrs. Smith, I believe I’ll just pay you and take Pretty Boy right now.” Baker counted out a hundred dollars in fives and tens.

Myrtle checked the money twice. It was more cash than she’d ever seen in her life. “All right, then,” she said, tucking the bills inside her bosom. She stood on the porch, arms folded, while Slim brought Pretty Boy out of the barn, put a halter on him, and rode away with the beautiful horse prancing along behind his mount. Slim might put the shuck on a lot of folks, she thought, but he’ll have to get up early in the morning to cheat me out of a fair price.

Not long afterward, Charlie came rushing into the house. “Myrtle, you ain’t going to believe this,” he shouted. “I done sold Pretty Boy—”

“I already know,” Myrtle said. “Slim Baker come and got him an hour or so ago.”

“I didn’t expect he’d be in such an all-fired hurry.” Charlie pushed his straw hat back and took out a plug of Bull Durham tobacco. “For once I skinned old Slim good. He agreed to pay me a hundred and twenty dollars for Pretty Boy, and we shook hands on it. What do you think of that?”

Copyright, Carlene Havel, 2015. All rights reserved.