In the flash, Maizy's ears pinned back, and Oscar knew he was in trouble.
The mare winnied into the blackness and stood straight up on her hind legs. Didn’t even come back down before bolting for the open range.
A sick weightlessness twisted Oscar’s belly before his back pounded into the ground, knocking his wind into a cloud of dust.
Lightning crashed again, and he could just see Maizy’s golden tail disappear over a far ridge.
She’d be back, he thought, but probably not ‘til morning.
By then, he might be dead -- drowned or eaten or electrocuted to a crisp.
Pain erupted in pulses from his spine, through his arms and legs, and Oscar cursed himself.
For being foolish enough to try and bring in the cattle when he could taste a storm in the air.
For getting so damn old.
Hell, when Black Moonbeam had flung him off in a storm just about like this one, Oscar had scrambled to his feet and given chase. Now, Oscar rolled onto his knees and coughed.
Black Moonbeam … it had been 20 years since that regal stallion disappeared into the night, but Oscar missed him everyday.
Something rustled off in the darkness, and Oscar gripped his six-shooter.
“Maizy? That you?”
Thunder exploded around him, and the sky lit up like a battlefield. Against the electric yellow clouds, the silhouette of a horse clopped toward him.
It wasn’t Maizy.
The jet-black coat had turned salt-and-pepper, the back swagged with age. But there was no mistaking the intense eyes and the spotlight swath of white fur on the muzzle -- a moonbeam.
Black Moonbeam.
Oscar nodded.
“Well, get on over here and help me up, then.”
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