"Down that way toward town."
"How big is your pasture; how far is it to the back side?"
"A half-mile."
"Do you remember if the mare was near the railroad fence, or out in the other side of the pasture?"
"Yep, she was agin the railroad. But why all these questions?"
Then I told him the whole story—the cattle drive, the lack of a rope to tie the mare, our week of searching, the telegram, and I let him read the reply. After he finished reading it he said,
"That's right, she was three miles from Rotan by the railroad."
So we finally got the mare back and we were happy about that. Now there is still the question as to why my brother didn't bring the things we needed. He had a simple answer: He didn't want to. No further explanation, no apology, no feeling of guilt, no regrets—just simply didn't want to.