From a collection of 100-word stories & wonders
We corralled the Ghost Stallion with my mares in a draw somewhere east of Coyote Creek. If this was indeed the great white horse of Indian legend, we were up against a comet-tailed Moby Dick, and I had no desire to play Ahab. I sat a stump, smoking, thinking. If he’d just let my mares go, I’d be happy to back the hell off. But Bill and the others wanted him, of course, when not even the bravest warriors could master him, ever. Then, Bill didn’t believe it was him. Just some goldarn white stallion. But I knew better.