Myrton Ikard's Arc

Chapter 6 of 10

Myrton watched the mustang bolt up the ridge as his truck backfired near the water trough. The stallion's hooves kicked up dust as he vanished over the crest. Myrton cursed under his breath and killed the engine. He'd forgotten about the truck's noise. Three weeks of careful work, and now the horse was spooked. He climbed out and walked to the trough. Fresh tracks showed where the stallion had been drinking just moments before. He spent the rest of the morning checking the fence line, trying to salvage something useful from a wasted day. At the north paddock, he found a section where the wood had rotted through. The top rail hung loose, barely connected to the post. If the mustang ever got this close, he could jump it easy. Myrton pulled at the broken rail and it snapped in his hand. He threw the pieces down and walked back to the barn. Inside, he grabbed his hammer and a box of nails. He'd fix the fence tomorrow, but right now he needed to calm down. He looked at the cabinet where his ribbons sat behind glass. All those competitions meant nothing if he couldn't handle basic horse work without making mistakes. The truck, the fence, his own impatience—everything was working against him. He sat on a hay bale and pulled off his hat. The mustang wouldn't come back for days now, maybe longer. Trust took months to build and seconds to destroy. Myrton set his hat on his knee and stared at the barn door. He'd have to start over, and this time he'd do it right. The next morning, Myrton drove into town to pick up lumber for the fence repairs. He parked near the registry office and walked past an old stable that had been empty for years. The wooden posts sagged at odd angles, and sand had drifted up against the stone water troughs. Someone had tried breeding horses here once and failed. The fence rails lay scattered in the dirt, bleached white by the sun. Myrton stopped and stared at the wreckage. This is what happened when things fell apart—when trust broke and horses left and all the work turned to nothing. He walked back to his truck and loaded the lumber. He wouldn't let his place end up like that. Back at the ranch, Myrton spent the afternoon replacing the broken fence sections. He tested each rail twice before moving to the next. When he finished, he walked to the old metal bucket he'd left near the barn weeks ago. Desert primrose had sprouted inside it, their yellow petals bright against the rusted metal. He hadn't planted them—they'd just grown on their own. Myrton picked up the bucket and set it on a post where he could see it from the porch. The flowers wouldn't bring the mustang back any faster, but they reminded him that some things survived out here without forcing them. He'd wait as long as it took. The stallion would return when he was ready, and Myrton would be there, patient and quiet, doing the work that mattered.