Page 8 of Repentance and Absolution
Carson laughed again, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. But t’was a good deflection, so I joined in.
“You think you’re all that quiet? Sounds like a chainsaw half the time. It’s a wonder I get any sleep.”
Oscar threw me a devilish look that Carson didn’t see. It only lasted a second, but it showed he was getting a kick out of our deception.
“Well, then, we’ll have to get you sorted out,” Carson said. “And you’ll just have to put up with each other until then.”
“I guess so,” Oscar said with a sigh.
“Here we are,” Carson said, leading us into the yard of a small house with a blue door. He stepped up to the porch and knocked.
After a moment, the door opened to an old woman in a wool shawl. She seemed to recognize Carson but gazed with good-natured curiosity at me and Oscar.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Moore. You here about the horse?”
Carson took off his hat and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve brought some friends who’re needing one. They’d like to have a look at her, if that’s okay?”
The woman nodded, smiling. “Of course. Peter’s around back in the stable. You g’on around, and he’ll sort you out.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Morris.”
The woman closed the door, and Carson led us around the side of the house to a small, square paddock in the back. There was a plump gray horse standing near the fence with one hoof lifted.
“That her?” Oscar whispered to me.
I shrugged. “I ain’t got a clue. Though it don’t look young, so maybe not.” I gestured. “Also, it’s a stallion.”
“Oh…yeah.”
“Peter?” Carson said, walking toward the covered end of the paddock. “You there?”
An old man with a wrinkled face and kind eyes came out of the shade and moved toward us, wiping his hands on his rough trousers.
“Carson Moore, how d’you do?”
“I’m just fine, Peter. These are the men I was talking about, wanted a look at that mare you’re selling. Did you find a buyer yet?”
Peter looked us o’er carefully before he shook his head. “Nope. She’s here. Hold on. I’ll bring her on out.”
We waited near the fence while Mr. Morris went into the stable. Soon he came out leading a medium-sized horse. She was bigger than I’d anticipated but smaller than Dixie, who was on the large side.
Oscar gasped.
The delicate mare was black all over but for a swipe of white all down her nose, as if a paintbrush had got her by mistake.
Peter led her into the paddock and had her walk around for us. She seemed sound. She was certainly a pretty thing.
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir, why’re you sellin’?” I asked.
Carson gestured to me. “Peter, this is Jimmy Downing and his friend Oscar Yates. They just came to Port Essington about a month or so ago. They’re fixing up Mr. Yates’ old place.”
Peter raised his eyebrows as the mare regarded us with clear, curious eyes.
“That a fact?”
“Oscar here is Mr. Yates’ nephew.”
“Well, now, it’s good to meet you, then,” Peter said, giving Oscar and me a kind look.
