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classes with my own quarter horse gelding. I bet you can guess
where I bought him ten years ago?”
“No! Really? The bank manager rides a Hooper horse?”
“You bet. Now, tell me a little about your plans for a sale.”
“Plans? Right, plans. I guess I really don’t have any plans yet. You
might just call them intentions. I have been reading some horse
magazines, and the end of the summer and early fall seem to be a
traditional time for a ranch horse auction. I am hoping to take
advantage of the buyers from the coast and cities visiting this part of
the country at that time looking for horses. I thought that I could
tag onto one of the existing sales. If one of the big ranches is already
selling one- or two-hundred head, what is another dozen?”
“Sounds like a good plan, Joel. Who are you hooking in with?”
“I don’t know. We are pretty much isolated over at the Circle
H. Don’t get around much. Don’t want to, quite frankly. Really
enjoying the solitude of the place. I don’t know any of the other
horse ranchers. If I was able to borrow some funds to help me get
through the next month or so I thought I would see who the folks
at the auction yard might suggest I talk to.”
“Do you know someone there?”
“Sort of. I have met Roy and I’ve talked with Cindy a couple of
times.”
“Cindy. Isn’t she great? What a wonderful woman.”
“Yeah, she seems pretty swell.”
“I suggest that you talk to Roy. He is running almost all of the
auctions in this part of the country. He could tell you who might
be interested. In the meantime, let’s see what we can do about
getting you some money.”
“That’s where the problem comes in—Mr. McQuaid was saying
that a horse ranch . . .”
“Mr. Hooper, may I call you Joel?”
“Of course. Please do.”
“Joel, I really am not interested in what Mr. McQuaid had to
say. Not many people in this town are either…
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