A good horse kept a man alive; a good rifle added a few more years.

[Lottii]

Th cowgirl sat deep in her saddle, blue eyes straining over the horizon. Her blonde hair wasn't contained as it flickered in the wind. The Mustang beneath her rocked into canter, each hoof striking the ground in an ancient beat. Black lather reins in one hand, the other resting on the horn of the saddle. She rode into the busy, small town. Hitching the bay, the girl strode into the general store, to pick up the monthly horse feed.