"You sold me a wild horse at the price of a trained thoroughbred, you bastard! Do you think you can come to my land and scam me?"
The argument was between a man from the Indian reservation and a local who thought he had more rights simply because he wasn't of Indian descent. Men like him could be found everywhere—doing the same things and spouting the same insults.
No one from the Indian reservation would tolerate the kind of insults the man was shouting.
"Watch your mouth and stop yelling in front of me. I'll say it one more time—the deal is done. Take your horse and get out of my sight before I lose my patience."
"You're a damned liar, a bastard! Nobody can ride this horse at all!"
"That's your problem. There's nothing wrong with the horse I sold you."
The two men faced off verbally in the middle of the field, quickly drawing a crowd of onlookers.
It was easy to understand what was happening from their heated exchange. Apparently, the brown horse had to stop after just a few steps of being ridden, gasping for air. It seemed the horse was in poor physical condition and unfit to ride.
The brown horse looked sick, panting heavily as it paced back and forth, visibly agitated.
The two men were equally stubborn, refusing to back down in their verbal sparring. Eventually, the market's security staff stepped in to break up the argument.
Susie was fed up with the place and wanted nothing more than to return to the cabin, help Dante manage his business, and then have something to eat. Unfortunately, the man she'd chosen to marry was not one to ignore the events unfolding around him.
Just as Dante was about to continue on his way to his truck, the horse let out a loud neigh.
"What's wrong?" Susie asked, intrigued by Dante's reaction, as he rarely showed much emotion.
Dante's eyes fixed on the brown horse, which reared up on its hind legs. It was small and somewhat skinny, giving the impression it wasn't worth much. Yet its coat wasn't the dull brown of an ordinary horse—it gleamed as though painted with a pure and vibrant shade of brown.
He stepped forward and called out to the horse's owner, ready to investigate further.
The dejected owner, who had resigned himself to putting down the sick horse, was taken aback to see this rough-looking man staring at him.
"What do you want?" the horse's owner asked, still irritated.
"Can I touch it?"
"You're free to touch the horse as long as you don't waste my time."
Dante placed his hand on the horse's back, pretending to be casual as he spoke to the owner.
In truth, this horse was exactly as the seller had claimed—a purebred. From what Dante could see, the horse's spine was naturally wider than that of other horses, which meant a conventional saddle would press against both sides of the spine.
At high speeds, the friction between the bones and the saddle would increase, causing the horse to slow down or stop to relieve the pain.
By all accounts, this was a good horse with significant untapped potential.
The horse's owner was baffled by Dante's actions as he carefully examined and stroked the horse. "Hey, if you like the horse that much, I can sell it to you."
Dante, now certain the horse wasn't sick, said, "I'll buy it. Name your price."
"What did you say?"
"I said, I'll buy your horse. Name your price."
"Five thousand dollars," the owner replied, worried the man might back out. He quickly named a slightly higher price than what he'd paid for the horse, hoping to make a small profit.
Dante stared at the owner for a moment, smiling.
The owner, nervous that he might have overplayed his hand, stammered, "If you're serious about buying, we can negotiate the price."
"No need. I'll pay what you're asking, but under one condition."
"What is it?"
"Go home and stop arguing over your mistakes. You're a disgrace to the cowboys around here," Dante said, handing the man a check for the full $5,000.
Though Dante wasn't a cowboy himself, he knew that those who weren't cowboys often tried to pass as such, which was fine. But they couldn't afford to act foolishly because everyone depended on each other in this place, and one idiot could tarnish the reputation of real cowboys.
Taking the reins, Dante instructed the staff to deliver the horse to his ranch.
"Not bad—you just prevented a future fight," a familiar voice said from nearby.
Ryan, wearing the badge of a livestock agent, approached Dante and the horse he'd just purchased.
"You're looking good. How do you handle mornings after drinking so much last night?" Ryan asked.
"I manage. Actually, I just got here. How about you? Shouldn't you be dealing with these kinds of problems as a livestock agent?" Ryan knew Dante would make an excellent livestock agent.
But Dante wasn't interested in such jobs. "Maybe someday."
"Heading out already?"
Dante nodded. "Believe it or not, I've got to prepare for another trip."
"Doesn't sound like much fun."
"It's not, buddy," Dante replied, far from enthusiastic about the meeting he had scheduled in a few days with Felipe Lobos.