A tiny wild horse struggled with all its might to free itself from the barbed-wire fence. Every time the filly tried to break away, that devil’s rope would clutch her silvery blue coat like it could pull it clean off her bones. Blood dripped from its bitty hooves and darkened the thirsty earth.

Nara searched the horizon for the band of wild mustangs that left their youngest to the cruelty of this fence. It seemed a shame, for the foal was a rare blue roan. The grass around the fence had been stomped and chewed to the ground surrounding the little filly. The band had lingered a little while before taking off. Nara jumped down from her cart and placed one hand on her rifle pack, then hung her head. She imagined the mama horse stood with her newborn until that last moment when the swishing tails and flying manes of her brethren began to disappear into the hills. Only then would she have abandoned her own. Self-preservation is a strong instinct.

A shot echoed in the valley, and a bullet grazed the metal fence with a spark. The little mustang spooked and twisted with violence to free itself from the barbed wire.

“Ivar! Don’t you dare!” Nara hollered.

Ivar pointed the barrel of his rifle to the sky and nudged up his hat, shaking his head as if she were a few eggs shy of a basket. With one keen eye on her callous neighbor, she rummaged around in the back of her cart for nippers, glad she’d been out mending posts. Cutting an animal away from a fence with just a Buck knife was a bloody mess. She jogged over rough ground to protect the mustang from the next bullet.

“Nara, what’re you gonna do? The band’s moved on.”

Of the many times she’d wrestled one of her calves from the devil’s rope, she’d always come away with a bruise or two. She stepped toward the mustang. “Shh . . . I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Its ears shot back in a show of strength, a velvety muzzle let out a high-pitched cry for its mama, tired little hooves stamped the ground. Blood matted its silky new coat. This little thing couldn’t be more than a month old.

“I know you’ve got spirit, girl. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Ivar cocked his rifle from over the fence. “Let me shoot it. That mustang’s gonna kick the crap outta you.”

“Ivar Magnusson, you shoot this little filly and you’ll ride outta here with more holes in your butt than an anthill!”

Nara moved swiftly to pin the foal against the fence, but that wild horse wouldn’t be still. Bucking its all, the mustang swung its head around and popped Nara in the face, knocking her hat to the ground. “Shitfires,” she hissed, keeping ahold.

Ivar kept his rifle trained for the moment she couldn’t manage the mustang anymore, but quitting wasn’t her way. She trapped the horse with her shoulder. The nippers clenched the first barb so close to the foal’s skin, she gritted her teeth for the pain she’d inflict. The metal snapped, freeing the foal’s back half.

The horse bucked around and knocked Nara on her hind end. The second barb pulled on its tender skin, flesh bowing out.

She jumped up. “Damn you, Ivar! Are you gonna just sit there?”

With all her weight, she trapped the bloody foal against the fence before it ripped off half its hide. Nara’s stomach tightened as she strained to get the nippers around the second barb. Ivar jumped the fence that divided their properties and trapped the foal with a strength she would never possess.

“God’s green earth,” he swore under his breath.

Cold metal broke under her nippers, the foal’s front legs gave out, and it pitched forward to the ground. Nara grasped its four shaky legs and laid it on its good side. The fight had drained from its frightened eyes dried over from thirst, and it writhed around with less conviction. “Don’t give up, little girl.”

“Pretty cut up. Shooting it would be a kindness. She’s gonna end up chicken feed anyway, but before ’en she’ll eat your grass down.”

“She’ll heal up. Get me some rope.” She pointed with her jaw toward her cart.

He dusted himself off and went for the rope. “Nara, you are one peculiar woman. You oughta save your strength for your cattle.”

She searched the endless flat-topped buttes in the distance, looking for any speck of the mustangs, but the sun had begun to singe the hills in colors of fire, extinguishing itself like the embers of a hot cigarette. Nothing much moved north, either, except green grass flowing down the hills in waves. The wind held its breath for a moment and then gusted, throwing hair in her eyes, blurring the surrounding mountains.