A Red Barbre Story
High up on the rim of a green fertile valley, a lone man sat a horse. His hat was pulled low against the morning sun, his eyes scanning the scene below through slitted lids.
He sat silently as he watched the figures below. He smiled with satisfaction because he knew he had a last found what he was looking for; Red Barbre.
“Catch her Red! Quickly, before she gets away!”
“I’m trying Darlin’. She’s a quick little pony!”
The trim little painted pony darted back and forth between Red and Diego while the two men tried to reach the short hackamore they had fitted to her earlier.
Rosalinda and their son, now a little over one year old, sat on the veranda in the morning sun. Rosalinda watched with amusement as the pony repeatedly got the best of Red and his foreman.
“Good thing you are starting to tame that pony now!” Rosalinda chided. “Maybe she will be gentle by the time Adrian is ready to ride her in four years!”
“This pony will be gentle a long time before that!” Red said with a grunt as he darted toward the pony. “And Buck will be riding her next spring!”
“His name is not Buck,” Rosalinda firmly scolded, knowing it would make no difference to Red who insists on giving everyone, and now including his own son, a nickname.
High up on the rim of the canyon the lone man squeezed his horse with his legs, backing the animal away from the precipice. He reined the large horse around and slowly ride off to the east, a plan already forming in his mind.