Summary:  In the season 14 episode “Riot!”, Griff King, a young man imprisoned for attacking his abusive stepfather, protected both Ben and Candy during a hostage situation, and helped prevent a prison break. Afterward, he was paroled into Ben’s custody. In this prequel, Griff remembers life with his stepfather. Dialogue in the beginning is taken from the episode “New Man.” Written for the 2026 Ponderosa Paddlewheel Poker Tournament.

Rating: T
Word Count: 4,306

After I turned and took one look behind at the prison Ben Cartwright had rescued me from, I never looked back again. Just set my eyes on what was ahead. And what was ahead of me was a view of three men riding free and confident through a landscape of desert and sagebrush, with a sky above it all even bigger than I remembered.

I wasn’t feeling any confidence. Because parole isn’t freedom. A prickly feeling down my spine kept telling me none of this was real; at any moment men from the prison would come barreling up to drag me back, saying it was all a mistake. Trying to calm the feeling, I drank in the sight of the wide-open range and the impossibly big sky and took deep breaths of the sage scented air. Believe me, there is no fresh, sweet-smelling air in prison.

Mr. Cartwright and Joe led the way, and Candy dropped behind. After some time, we were out of the desert, and later, when we came to a pine wooded landscape, Candy rode up even with me. I’d known him before. Years ago, we worked the same place. He started trying to jolly me up, talking all friendly as if we’d known each other well, which we hadn’t. He never knew what made me tick.

“How’s it feel to be on a horse again, Griff?” Candy was all smiles. “I’ll never forget that little pony you were on the first time I saw you.” He laughed. “It had to be the worst spindly legged little old hammerhead mustang I ever saw in my life. And you – ha! – you didn’t look much better yourself. Remember you were wearing suspenders because you didn’t have enough weight around your rear end to keep your pants up? How old were you? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

Maybe he wanted to get my mind on something other than prison, but I don’t like being made fun of. Stony faced, I just said, “Fifteen”.

“And always laughing,” Candy went on. “No matter how bad things got, you always saw the funny side of it.”

“ ‘Cause I was a kid,” I snapped back. “Kids laugh a lot. But when you grow up, you realize there ain’t nothing to laugh about. And you grow up fast in prison.”

Well, there wasn’t much more to the conversation, since I wouldn’t play along with Candy and pretend everything was perfect. Was I grateful and glad to be out from behind those walls? Of course. Only they weren’t gonna see me whoop and holler and shout hallelujah to the sky. It ain’t my way. Besides, what Candy said put me in a mood. Sure, it was great to be on a horse again – a good one. But that spindly legged one I’d had when I was a kid, the one Candy made fun of? The fact is – I loved that pony.

My mother was a hard worker. Inside, outside, she did everything under the sun the world expects of a farmer’s wife. She was able and fit. So, it’s strange how in some ways, under her suntanned skin, she was a pale woman, one who’d always lived in a man’s shadow. First, her own strict father, and later the shadow of my real dad, a good man with a big laugh, and big ideas that didn’t always work out. From him I learned to laugh things off and not hope for much.

Dad died of a sickness when I was almost fourteen, and Ma remarried pretty quick, to the first man who showed interest. Maybe she thought it was easier than being a widow trying to run a farm on her own. Big mistake. There was nothing in any way easy about Cole Hanley. He was a man I’d met three times and knew nothing about. Once he moved in, I soon learned. Except for one thing – which was me staying in school – Ma let Cole take over, make the decisions, and run everything on the farm.

Right away, he made sure to tell me who was in charge. Cole was a stocky-built man with eyes full of judgment. I was a skinny kid hoping for a growth spurt that was a long time coming. Cole took me aside and sized me up. To him, I must have looked about eleven years old. He said, “I’ll give your ma her way about the schoolin’. It’s your last year anyway. Now listen up, boy. School or no school, when you’re home, you do a man’s work around here. I got no time for little brats who don’t carry their load. You’ll do what I say, when I say, and how I say. Got it?”

There was a mean hardness to his face. I felt my own face go pale and mumbled, “Yes sir.” It was the first I realized there was not only judgment in his eyes. They held cruelty, too.

The next months were filled with learning what would set Cole off. Now, I can’t say I was perfect, and I’d been used to the occasional tanning from Dad. To Cole, though, nothing was ever right or enough. There could be spells of peace, until one day out of nowhere, he’d come at me, waving a switch, bawling me out, roaring, “If I’ve told you once….!” That sonofabitch took true pleasure in drumming up fear. He’d whip the switch through the air like crazy, all around my head and shoulders. Seemed to love hearing the sound of it. Once he’d got me scared enough, he put it to use on my back or legs. Other times he came at me with his fists, a leather strap, or the wooden spoon Ma used to mix up pancakes. It got so I could hardly choke down a pancake. Finally, the spoon ended up in the woodstove. Ma never said a word about missing it.

What do you do when fourteen’s too big for a boy to cry, and laughing stuff off don’t work anymore? You plan revenge. There were times after a thrashing I’d be holed up in the hayloft, picturing a future time when I’d be bigger than Cole – tall and strong – and I’d get even. Hate for Cole Hanley grew inside of me. He planted the seed. There in the dim loft, I guarded and tended it. It was a plant that didn’t need sunlight.

I’d always liked school okay, and it was good to get away from home and be around friends. We’d compare and brag on the horses we rode to school. Sometimes even find time to race them after lunch. My horse was a sleek brown pony named Bruno.

Bruno was what Ma called an “in your pocket” kind. He’d always been since the first day Dad brought him home. Soon as I went to him in the mornings, he’d get up close, friendly, full of life, always poking at my pockets to see what kind of treat might be inside. And boy, did Bruno love to gallop. I let him have his head as we streaked down the road those two miles to school. Every afternoon I rubbed him down and brushed him till he shone. He loved me and accepted Ma. There was no trust between him and Cole, and I was glad of it. Bruno was like a loyal friend.

Then, one day after school, Bruno was gone. He just wasn’t in the schoolyard where I’d left him tied. Me and my friends searched and called for an hour. At last, I had to walk home, sure there’d be hell to pay for losing an animal. The nearer I got to home, the more my steps dragged. There was bound to be a lot of yelling, and a beating too. I could hear it now. “How stupid can you get? If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, get your head on straight!”

Ma and Cole were out by the barn, watching me come up the lane. All of us were quiet. The expected shouts from Cole didn’t come. Ma could barely face me; she turned her eyes toward the ground.

“Suppose you’re wonderin’ where your horse is,” Cole said at last.

I stared at him with surprise, and suddenly realized. He’d done something. Bruno was gone.

“Traded him,” was what Cole said. “He’s a fine animal and we needed the money.”

“T-traded him?” I stammered.

Cole was acting strange. Instead of the rage I’d braced myself for, he was calm and smug. “Why, Griff, you don’t think I’d leave you without a replacement, after your ma’s insistin’ you go to school and all.” With an ugly sneer, Cole stepped aside to give a clear view of what stood in the corral behind him. “Take a peek. She’s all yours.”

Not saying anything, I looked across, and there she was. A tired looking, skin and bones, dapple gray mare with a rough coat and coarse tangled mane. Her sad eyes moved away from me the same way Ma’s had.

My gut twisted. This was some new low to Cole’s cruelty. Not physical abuse. This was an attack to the heart and mind. I knew I’d never see Bruno again, and was just as sure Cole wanted to see me yell, lash out, cry, beg, something…yet I wouldn’t. Just stood there loose-jawed, with a lump in my throat and tears starting at the edges of my eyes. I blinked, pressed my lips together real tight, and willed those tears away. Whatever satisfaction Cole wanted, he wouldn’t get it from me.

Near the fence, the horse stood quiet, dull-eyed. She didn’t move, so I did. I stepped forward, stretched a hand out, and scratched her forehead. Then I spoke very low, and for Cole’s benefit, let a small smile curve my lips. “Well howdy, girl,” I said.

All through supper, Cole needled, trying to get a rise out of me. “When you gonna thank me for your new pet, boy? Coulda left you with nothin’, you know, ‘cept the man practically gave her away.”

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”

“This one’s bigger. You were outgrowin’ the other anyway.”

“Sure.”

“Eat up.” Cole spooned extra food onto my plate. “Don’t you dare waste what your ma cooked.”

Grief made it hard to eat. Supper seemed to take forever. When it was finally over, I took a chunk of cornbread out to the corral. I didn’t want this horse. Still and all, it wasn’t fair to take things out on her, and I needed to start making her mine right away. She was standing in a corner of the corral where cottonwood trees grew outside the fence. I went in, holding my hand out to show the treat, and waited for her to come. Instead, she laid her ears back, swished her tail, and meandered farther down the fence line.

Slowly, I walked ahead, offering the cornbread, talking in a soft way. “Howdy there, girl. It’s me again. Come on over.” She wouldn’t let me close, matching my pace, moving away with every step I took, and this went on for a bit. She had no halter on, no rope to catch hold of. If I sped up my steps or ran, she did the same. After we’d made a full circuit around the corral, we both stopped and stood still. In a minute I tried again – stretched my hand out farther. “Come on, don’t be afraid.” Neither of us moved for a while. My arm got tired, holding it out, waiting. The horse stood there looking like she was trying to figure me out. She was still shy, but her ears weren’t back anymore, and at last, real cautious, she reached her neck out, inched toward me, and took the treat. I patted her neck.

“Good start,” I said with a nod. I’d brought a brush with me, and she let me run it along her neck and one of her sides a few times, then got tired of it, walked away, and we started the game again. She wouldn’t stand still for the brush. This went on for an hour or so. It was pretty clear I’d be walking to school the next day.

Heading out to do chores early next morning, I spotted her on the far side of the corral. “Howdy!” I yelled out. “Howdy there, girl!” The horse twitched her ears. It made me laugh, so from then on, she was Howdy.

Wouldn’t you know, it was pancakes and eggs for breakfast. I ate a plateful of eggs, choked down two bites of a pancake, and bolted for the door, calling over my shoulder. “No time. Gotta walk.”

I wasn’t gonna argue about it with Cole. He wanted to embarrass me in front of my friends. Walking to school was better than showing up on a scrawny rough-coated horse. Images of sleek pretty Bruno filled my head as I walked. I’d been so proud of him. Now I had nothing to be proud of. At school, I had to tell my friends Bruno was gone, and simply said he’d been sold. Nobody asked why. Everyone lived on farms or small ranches, and even the youngest understood how something, even a thing you loved, could be there one day and gone the next, sold to put food on the table. Except, Cole hadn’t done it for the money; he’d done it to punish me and Ma. My friends didn’t need to know that, and I let them believe what they would.

I didn’t relish walking to and from school, so it was time to see how Howdy would ride. Again, I coaxed her with a treat, managed to get a halter on her, and tied her to the fence with a short rope. Surprisingly, she stood still while I saddled her. Then I found out Howdy was a horse who fought the bit. When I brought the bridle close, she took one look at it and pulled back on the rope as far as she could go, bobbing her head the whole time. Every time I reached for the halter, she jerked away.

My dad had told me a horse who fights the bit has probably been treated rough. “Don’t ever jam it hard against his mouth. If a bit hits the horse’s teeth, it hurts him and he’ll get to where he won’t take it.” Dad showed me how to get the horse to drop his head, where to push my thumb into his mouth to make him open it, and how to gently slip the bit in. I was pretty young when Dad taught me this, and it stuck with me. So when Howdy wouldn’t take the bit, I figured sometime in her life, she’d been handled badly.

There was a trick I could try, though. School was good for more than book learning. At recess, us kids talked constantly about our horses and how to care for and handle them, so I knew what to do. I got a little stick, dripped some honey on it, and offered it to Howdy. She was more than happy to lick it off. The next morning I gave her the stick with honey again, and in the afternoon, I dripped a little honey on the bit instead. When I put it in front of her, she sniffed it and stuck her tongue out. Gently, I slid the bit into her mouth and she took it. In a few seconds, the whole bridle was on. I rubbed her ears. “Good girl.”

Having to walk the two miles had me getting up earlier than before. Even so, I was in no hurry to take this horse to school. The other boys had been sympathetic about the loss of Bruno. They were sure to be less kind when they saw Howdy. “Crowbait”, “scraggly”- she’d get called those and more. So I tried to fix her up. Gave her extra oats and treats to put some meat on her bones. Brushed and combed, untangled her mane. She got to looking some better, and her eyes brightened up. I rode her around the farm and down the road so we’d get to understand each other.

I had lied to my friends. The way Cole treated me wasn’t anything for discussion, so I made up a story to explain where Howdy had come from. “Some old guy came by and left a horse at our place. He was going away and couldn’t keep her.” Casually I said, “She ain’t much. At least I won’t have to walk.” It didn’t stop the teasing when the boys finally saw her. Things were pretty much what I’d predicted.

“Get a load of this worn-out nag!”

“Hey, Griff! Wanta race this afternoon? Haw haw!”

Someone yelled “glue bait!” and the little girls thought it was so funny they galloped around the yard screeching “glue bait! glue bait!” the whole time during recess. It purely set my teeth on edge.

A kid named Eddie could hardly catch his breath, he was laughing so hard. He slapped Howdy on the rump. “Can this spavined hayburner even run?”

Laugh it off, Griff. It was hard to do; this was making me so mad. I’d expected the teasing. What I didn’t expect was how it made me feel, the anger rising up. And what I definitely didn’t expect was finding myself plowing into Eddie and going at him with my fists. “She ain’t spavined! She ain’t that old!” The next thing, we were on the ground slugging away at each other. The teacher ran out and broke us up.

Yeah, I got in trouble for it. The teacher came to the house after school and told Ma and Cole about it.

“Do it again, and you won’t have any horse at all,” Cole threatened within the teacher’s earshot. As he turned away, there was a glint in his eye. It was the first and only time he ever showed me the least sign of approval.

A few months later, things came to a head. As long as we’d had Howdy, Cole had pretty much ignored her, so it was a shock to come around the corner of the barn one afternoon and find he had taken her from the corral. I stopped short and stared at him standing there with my horse.

“I’m goin’ to town. ‘Bout time I gave this pet of yours a try.”

I was horrified. I’d seen how Cole treated the work horses, and he was in no way gentle with them. Afraid for Howdy, I didn’t know of any way to stop Cole from riding her, but there was one thing I could do for her sake. “I’ll, uh, tack her up for you.”

“Get outta here,” he growled. “I ain’t gonna stand around and watch you waste my time.” He was right next to Howdy’s head and swung a bridle up fast by her face. Howdy shied.

“Wait! She’s -”

“She’s what!” Cole took hold of the lead rope, yanked Howdy close, and jammed the bit up to her mouth, forcing it against her teeth. Howdy fought. Pulling away and backing up, she dragged Cole with her. Cole stumbled till he got his feet back under him, then threw one steely arm over Howdy’s neck, and with the other hand forcefully grabbed her face. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“Stop!” I yelled. “Don’t!”

Howdy struggled against Cole’s grip. Suddenly, she threw her head high with a sharp whinny and sprang sideways. Cole slammed into the fence. He let out a bellow and a string of curse words and threats. He didn’t seem hurt, though, because it took him only a second to notice a length of chain that was hanging on the fence. Still cursing, he snatched up the chain and swung it at Howdy. She had danced away, only she was still too close – the chain smashed into her shoulder. She squealed and bolted for the road.

“You bastard!” I was so mad I couldn’t think. I flew at Cole, wild, fists up. “Damn you! Damn you!”

He swatted me off like a gnat. A backhand to the jaw whipped my head to the side, sent me sprawling, and set my ears to ringing. I blinked, trying to sit up, but Cole got close. When he raised the chain again, I cringed, certain I was done for. Instead, he planted a boot on my chest and shoved me flat. From where I lay on the ground panting, he looked like a giant standing over me. There was true hate on his face. “Stupid runt,” he snarled, and flung the chain down next to my head just to see me flinch and roll. “You find that horse,” he ordered, stabbing a finger at me. “I paid for it. I own it. You lose it, you’re in trouble.”

Hours later, hoarse and exhausted from searching and calling for Howdy, I went home, hoping she’d returned on her own. She wasn’t in the corral. The chance she’d been put away in the barn was almost not worth thinking. I checked anyway. The two work horses were there. For a moment I stood still, expecting to feel the comfort I usually got in the barn, with its dim light and mixed smells of hay, leather, and manure. But the sight of the ladder to the loft made me turn and leave. Too much time had been spent there after run-ins with Cole. It didn’t offer comfort anymore – only reminders.

Behind the barn, late afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves of the cottonwood trees growing there. I dropped to the ground under one of them, and for a long time just sat, wondering what my life was going to be if Howdy didn’t come home, if there could never be anything to call my own. Over my head, the cottonwood leaves danced in the flickery twisting way those kind do. The rustling sound was so peaceful it put me to sleep. In a sunny dream, me and Howdy chased cows.

The thing that woke me was a low nicker and a nudge at my shoulder. The day was fading to dusk, the light almost gone. I doubted Ma had even tried to find me. Howdy had. I should have trusted her; known she’d come back.

“Aww, Howdy girl.” Stiff-legged, I got to my feet, scratched her forehead, and examined the welt on her shoulder. “Let’s get you in the barn and see what we can do.”

She gave a slow blink. Now, this was probably a kid’s imagination, but in her eyes, I saw understanding, as if she knew we were comrades in a fight we couldn’t win – yet. Pressing my bruised face against her neck, I whispered, “I had a dream. About you and me and an idea.” Howdy took a deep breath and shifted a little, almost like she was really listening and wanted to hear more.

“We’re going away,” I said. “I’ll get a job on a ranch far away from here. When I get tall and strong enough, we’ll come back. Then wait and see what I do.” I patted Howdy’s neck and made an unwise pledge. “Someday, I promise, I’ll get even.”

The dream stayed with me, and one fine day, me and Howdy rode away. I begged Ma to leave too. She stayed with Cole. I’ll never understand why.

After a few false starts, an outfit in Billings gave us a chance. Howdy wasn’t the best cow pony ever; all the same, she proved up to it. The next years were a blur of learning, working hard, and earning respect for it. There were new friends, and I could laugh again.

But I got in fights, too. Trouble was long-held anger and a wish for payback couldn’t be licked by fighting other cowboys who had nothing to do with where I came from. The promise made under the cottonwoods was always with me, so finally, I went home. Ma was still there – worn-out, frail looking, with a fresh bruise on her face.

What I did to Cole that day landed me in prison.

I wouldn’t wish those walls on anyone. There wasn’t one good thing there until some twist of fate put me in a situation that ended up getting me paroled. Now I work for the Ponderosa. It’s all right. It would have been nice if the anger had stayed behind when I got sprung; but no, it tagged along, and still kicks up sometimes, set off by things other people seem able to shrug off. I want to be free of it. All anger ever did for me was drag me down so far, I nearly killed a man. And in the end, Cole Hanley won anyway; the law was on his side.

When they sent me away, Cole even got to keep the horse I rode in on. It wasn’t Howdy. I’d retired her a while back. Gave her away to a farm couple in Montana who had two kids. One was just a baby. The other was a six-year-old boy who needed a horse to ride to school.

THE END

A/N: Written for the 2026 Ponderosa Paddlewheel Poker Tournament. The cards dealt to me were:

• Howdy!
• If I’ve told you once…
• Wood spoon
• In your pocket horse
• Low nicker