Myrton Ikard's Arc

Chapter 9 of 10

Myrton stood in the round pen at first light, testing each rail one last time. The wood held firm under his weight. He'd spent weeks preparing—the shelter visits, the feeders, the slow approach work. Now he needed one more thing. He walked to his truck and pulled out a leather halter and lead rope. The leather was soft from years of use, broken in but still strong. He ran the rope through his hands, checking for weak spots. There were none. He set the halter on the fence post where he could reach it easily. When the mustang came down from the ridge, when trust was finally complete, this halter would be the first thing the stallion wore. Myrton looked toward the distant overhang and felt ready. Everything was in place. He spent the morning driving the property line in his old truck, checking the distant pastures where he'd need water. The horse trailer rattled behind him, kicking up dust on the road. At the far edge of his land, he stopped near a stream that ran year-round. He'd installed a pump here last spring—a curved metal pipe that used the stream's flow to push water uphill through underground channels. He checked the connections and watched water flow steadily into the trough. The system worked without electricity or fuel. When the mustang joined his herd, this pasture would give them space and water without daily trips from the ranch. On his way back, Myrton stopped where his access road met the main highway. A metal billboard stood there, tall enough to catch the eye of passing drivers. He'd painted it himself last week—galloping horses in brown and black, with "Myrton's Mustangs" across the top in bright red letters. The paint had dried rust-resistant, built to last through sandstorms and summer heat. He'd driven past it a dozen times but hadn't stopped to look until now. The sign announced what he was building here. It told travelers he had quality horses for sale. Myrton climbed back in his truck and headed home. The pen was built. The water ran to the far pastures. The sign stood waiting for customers who'd come once his breeding stock grew. He had the halter ready and the mustang's trust nearly won. Every piece was in place. Now all he had to do was finish what he'd started—bring that wild stallion down from the ridge and into the life he'd prepared for him.