Summary:  We saw it happen in The Gift, first of all. Then in Ponderosa Explosion, and again in The Stallion. Made us wonder what the others thought. This should explain it, somewhat. Maybe…..  Rating:  T  (1,515 words)

                           Death of the Letter S

“So what did you all do today?” the buckskin horse closest to the door asked, hanging his head over the partition between himself and the black horse.

The big black shifted his shoulders and pulled his nose from his food pan, some kernels of corn dropping from his mouth as he chewed. “Nuthin’ much,” he muttered then put his muzzle into the hay in his manger.

Beside the black horse on the other side, the small black and white pinto snorted and picking up his head looked across the black’s broad back and eyed the buckskin. “That’s ’cause you didn’t do much!” the pinto called out then returned to his flakes of alfalfa hay.

“Keep the noise down, would you?” the chestnut at the far end of the stable called out testily. “Some of us need our rest!”

The pinto and the black seemed to shrink in their stalls. Sport’s temper was well known and even though each of them was enclosed in their individual boxes, the past had proven that his long neck could reach over the wall and those big white teeth of his could deliver a bite to an unsuspecting shoulder or haunch.

The buckskin picked up his ears and turned his head to address the horse at the far end. “Well, sounds like you might have had an interesting day.”

The long-legged horse at the far end shifted uncomfortably in his deep straw bedding. Sure, it was nice and quiet now but it was with an air of expectancy. He was expected to answer the old buckskin and he didn’t really want to. The pinto eyed him and seemed to smile.

“He don’t want to tell you, Buck,” Chubb replied, his black nose coming up from the hay and again spilling some to the growing pile at his feet. “But I am sure Cochise’ll fill you in.”

The pinto edged closer to the wall that separated him from Chubb and away from the one where Sport now had his nose touching the top edge. He warily eyed the sweeping white blaze.

“Yeah, he don’t want to tell you that this afternoon, he had them purty white hooves of his in the worst mud and slime you could imagine. Saw him too I did! And for a while, could even smell him! Bad stuff you put them fancy feet of yours into, weren’t it? And, Lordy! You should have seen him dancin’ in it! Didn’t know we had a pig for a-”

“That’s enough out of you!” Sport pinned his ears back, menacingly.

“And to make matters worse, when he went to get out of that mess, he lost his footing!” The pinto cackled and backed wisely into the corner furthest from the copper nose.

“Cochise!”

“Now what was more embarrassing? The fact that you, with all your claims to be the best riding stock on the Ponderosa, lost your footing? Or the fact that you had to wear the proof all over your butt for the rest of the afternoon?”

Even Buck had to snort delightedly. Chubb kept his head down, supposedly eating but the eye to that side showed he was watching. Cochise, cheeky Cochise, bared his own teeth and tilted his nose in the direction of the chestnut as though daring him to try and chastise him.

“At least I was working,” and Sport pulled the sounds out slowly, giving each word its full significance. “I wasn’t hauling some fly-weight rider into town and back! Must have been such a tough chore, getting the mail.”

“Okay, okay,” Buck called out gently. “We don’t need a feed-slinging match like we had the last time! Sport, settle down. You start kicking your stall walls again and you know it will only hurt you! Cochise, enough of that! I’ve seen you come through that barn door looking, and smelling, pretty awful! You don’t like those white spots of yours muddied any more than Sport does his hide! Besides, if the three of you hadn’t been so intent on getting to your suppers, you would have noticed that we have a visitor in the barn tonight.”

The black, the pinto and the chestnut all picked up their ears and turned to view the stall Buck had indicated behind him.

There she stood, so black she almost looked blue in the lantern light with an arched neck, her dainty head raised and twitching ears. She moved uneasily in the confines of the box-stall, rubbing her hindquarters against the smooth wood there as if to scratch. But always, she kept her attention on the four horses across from her.

“My, my, my,” the pinto crooned and turning completely around in his space hung his head into the alleyway. “You got a name, sweetheart? Or shall we just call you ‘mine’?”

The newcomer dipped her head and shook her long mane from side to side. “My last master called me Jezebel.”

“Now why would a human do that? You need a name like Princess!” the little black and white threw out, giving their guest a good ogling while he leaned further into the alley.

“Careful there Cochise,” Chubb warned. “Last time you were leanin’ on that rope, you got yourself dumped into the middle, tangled up your legs in the rope trying to get up and had to have the humans help you. And as I recall, you couldn’t leave the stall for a couple of days afterwards, neither.” He turned his attention to the little black. “Hi, there, Miz Jezebel, I’m Chubb. That cantankerous buzzard at the end is Sport; this’un tryin’ to get out of his stall is Cochise. I suppose that you and Buck have done made your howdies.”

She dropped her head and pawed at the thick straw bedding. When she looked up again, she made sure that she gave the huge black across from her a side view. She always thought that it showed her best lines, that side view. “Yes, he and I have been talking some this afternoon and he has told me so much about the ranch and the humans here. But he didn’t need to. All of us fillies over at Mr. Samson’s Bar S Ranch know about the Ponderosa. Why it is legendary! And we all dream of being sold to the Cartwrights.” The filly swayed as she spoke, heedless of the fact that every motion she made was followed carefully by the three younger horses across from her, now with their heads hanging out into the causeway. Sport fidgeted with his shoulders, trying to make himself taller while Cochise leaned harder against the rope barrier. Chubb, still dribbling grain from his muzzle, blinked several times then moaned in sheer pleasure.

“Are you here just for the night or something a little more….permanent?” Sport asked, pausing and drawing out the final word.

“Well, the white haired gentleman who lives here,” Buck arched his neck a little more, showing his pride at being the man’s mount. Jezebel didn’t seem to notice and went on, her words growing more and more dreamy as she did. “He said that tomorrow he would see to it that I was branded! Can you imagine that? I get to wear the Pine-tree brand! Wait until I run into some of my old friends from the Bar S and show them!”

Across the space, the three younger horses dropped their heads morosely. Only Buck spoke up and then it was with the greatest of delicacy and gentleness. “Jezebel, they have to put a mark over your old brand, you know, before they can put the pine tree on. It will hurt.”

She tossed her head haughtily. “I don’t care! The human said that I was to be a birthday gift so I guess that means one of you will be put out to pasture.”

The laughter started with Sport and washed like a quick wave over Cochise and Chubb. Before too long, the three horses were having to lean against their stall sides to stand up. Even Buck was having trouble not laughing. But the little black filly, hearing them and feeling very put out and insulted again affirmed that she was a gift and that one of them would soon lose his human to her.

Rubbing his nose along one foreleg to wipe away the tears from laughing, Chubb finally asked the others how long they thought she would last.

Sport replied, turning back around to munch a little more hay before retiring for the night. “Give her a week at most. ‘Bout long enough for the X over the old brand to itch.”

Chubb and Cochise agreed and did the same that Sport had done: turn back to their feed. After all, they knew the wisdom of what he had said. No gift horse ever seemed to stay around long on the Ponderosa.

The end…literally.