The big chestnut stallion paced back and forth along the long fence line, bored by inactivity. In the six weeks he'd been in this pasture, he'd worn a rut along the fence. He wished his owner would put another animal in the pasture with him. Cows were pretty dull to talk to, but at least they were something. The stallion perked up at the sight of a lone horse and rider coming up the road. He raced to the upper corner of the field to wait.
As the rider approached, the stallion greeted to the other horse. The piebald mare gave a half-hearted reply. The rider pulled off his hat and ran his arm across the damp dark hair on his forehead. He slowed the mare as they approached the fence. That stallion is a beaut, he thought.
The stallion snickered, and the rider laughed. "You think this mare is ugly? That won't get you a date with her, pal."
The chestnut made a surprised sound. "Of course I can understand you," the man replied. "I've always been able to understand horses. Well, unless they're idiots, like old Bess, here." He patted his mount's neck and leaned his crossed arms on the saddle horn. "Mind you, I was six years old before I realized that no one else could hear what I heard. My mother used to say," the man affected an Irish accent. "'Brisco, stop talking to the horses like they're human. It's not natural.'"The stallion harrumphed.
"Why'd she call me Brisco? 'Cause that's my name. Brisco County Jr.," the rider said. "What's your name?"
The stallion told him.
"Comet? Very fancy. How'd you get a name like that?"
Comet tossed his head, answering proudly. "You're fast, huh? How 'bout we race you to that tree?" Brisco nodded to an oak at the other end of the pasture fence and spurred the mare to action. Comet wheeled and pounded after Brisco. County saw the stallion gaining on him out of the corner of his eye and hollered at the mare to go faster. By the time Brisco reached the oak, Comet had already circled it once. He tossed his head in triumph. Poor old Bess was blowing like a blacksmith's bellows, but the stallion was barely winded.
Brisco poked the brim of his hat up with a forefinger. "I don't suppose you're for sale, are you?" His dark eyes widened in surprise at Comet's answer. "Your owner's afraid of you? Why is that?" Comet gave a derisive snort. "He wanted a plodding cart horse. Well," Brisco chuckled, patting the mare's neck. "Have I got just the horse for him. Uh, you are saddle-broke, aren't you?" The stallion nodded. "Good." County turned the mare around and headed back to the farmhouse. Comet, keeping pace along the fence, offered a suggestion. Brisco laughed in disbelief. "You really think pretending to be lame will drop your price? That's okay, pal. I've got money in the bank." Comet whickered. "What do I do? I'm a bounty hunter. You're not afraid of bad guys, are you?" The horse's answer made County grin. "So you eat them for breakfast, huh? Well, we'll see." Half an hour later, Brisco transferred his tack from Bess to Comet. The stallion's owner was so relieved to be rid of him that he gave County a break in the price. "I got him as payment for a debt, and then I didn't know what to do with him." As he pulled the girth straps tight, Brisco said, "Suck it in, pal. First livery stable we come to, we'll have to get a longer girth." He barely got settled in the saddle when a yippee from Comet gave him a split-second warning that the stallion was going to rear. County hung onto the saddle horn and dug his knees into the chestnut to keep from falling off. The farmer shook his head, certain that the cowboy was a lunatic. Brisco shrugged sheepishly, touched the brim of his hat and guided Comet toward the road. And the rest, they say, is history . . .