Myrton Ikard's Arc

Chapter 4 of 10

Myrton stepped out onto his porch as the sun climbed over the eastern hills. The air was cool and still. He'd spent weeks preparing, watching, learning from Tom and the other ranchers. Now it was time to see if the mustang had noticed him too. He walked to the stable and saddled his quarter horse mare. The leather creaked as he tightened the cinch. Today he'd ride the trail that ran along the ridge where the mustang grazed. He wanted to see the land from the stallion's view, understand what drew him there. The mare snorted and shifted her weight. Myrton swung into the saddle and headed north into the desert. After an hour, he spotted a yellow palo verde tree spreading its branches wide near a dry wash. The greenish bark stood out against the red rocks. He dismounted and led the mare into the shade. This was a good spot, the kind of place a wild horse would use during the heat of the day. He pulled out his notebook and sketched the location. The trail wound past clumps of desert primrose blooming yellow against the dusty ground. Their petals looked soft in the morning light. Myrton had never paid much attention to wildflowers before, but now he noticed them everywhere. They marked water sources and changing seasons. The mustang would know these signs better than any chart or calendar. Myrton dismounted again and crouched near a cluster of blooms. The soil here was damper than the surrounding ground. He stood and scanned the area for hoof prints. Nothing fresh, but the stallion had been here recently. The signs were getting clearer. By noon, Myrton reached an old stone building half-buried in sand. The Pony Express station had been abandoned for decades, its walls crumbling and windows empty. But the structure still stood, a reminder of when horses carried everything that mattered across this desert. Myrton tied his mare to a broken post and walked inside. The air was cooler here, protected from the sun. He sat on a weathered bench and ate his lunch. This place had been built for horses and the people who rode them. That history felt close now, like it was passing something forward to him. He finished eating and walked back outside. The mustang was out there somewhere, watching and waiting just like Myrton. The land between them was shrinking, one careful day at a time.