Folks of all ages, sizes, built, and packing from none to a big amount of brains, came and rode Cloudy. Once in a while he'd be handled right and like it was known that a horse has feelings, and brains, but most of the time, his feelings wasn't at all considered, no thought would be given that the horse might of already went a long ways, or that he might be tired. But amongst all that rode him, the boys was the worst, and fast running the old pony downhill and towards the end.
The most of 'em would start the horse on a high lope, and from the time they got on him till he was brought back, that high lope, instead of being let up on, would most always wind up into a high run. Up and down the side streets they'd race him, loan him to other boys to race him some more, and each would do their best to show off on how fast they could make the tired horse go.
There was times as the spur, a quirt was layed on the old horse, to make him go faster; when The Cougar heart which had died in him near showed signs of coming back to life again, but the pony's spirit had dwindled down as the years accumulated, and he couldn't back the way he felt. He was weary both in mind and body, and no chance was ever given him so as to let either rest, and if once in a while the heart of The Cougar did make a try at coming back it wasn't for long, the flame would only sputter and go out, and another wrap with the quirt would only make him try to do his best once again, as just plain Cloudy, the livery stable plug.
The boys, girls, and grown ups kept a setting on the old horse, and not knowing, but sure and steady was riding and dragging him down to a death that'd be away ahead of the time when it should come—They'd compared well with a pack of wolves, for like that kind, none of 'em would ever wanted to come within a hundred yards of the horse when he was up and a fighting. None of 'em would ever dreamed of wanting to set on his back when he was The Cougar and hankering to fight and kill, but now, and at last he was down, there was no fight in him no more, and like the pack of wolves they compared so well with, they all closed in on him.
The only difference was, the wolf pack killed their victim quick, they don't leave the life drag on for days, weeks and months, nor let the victim suffer to finally die slow and by degrees—Then again, the wolf killed to eat and live.
But there was no blame ever attached to these human wolves who was killing the horse only for the pleasure they'd get in riding him, and the fine exercise that went with it, most of 'em meant well—Only they didn't know. Cloudy, always true in whatever he done, was so willing, no jab of the spur was needed to make him go, and his willingness to do his best that way, was often if not always mistaken, and took for granted that he was feeling good and rearing to go.
They didn't know the difference between a tired, wore out horse and one that's fresh and fit to be rode—Then again, there was many who never stopped to realize, to them, a horse was just a horse, and they didn't know nothing about horses—That kind figgered a horse to be like an automobile, always able to go and as fast as was wanted, and instead of stepping on the gas like is done with a car, just give the horse the whip, and that way keep him right on a going.
A winter came and scattered the bright fall days four ways. The coming of the long, cold winter, along with the raw winds that swept down from the divide, brought to the folks around a dread of the dreary months that was to follow; them folks wasn't for enjoying being out much any more, and instead found a lot of comfort in being where there was a roof over their heads, and a fire roaring between the four walls.
The tourists had all left, and scattered back to where they came. "The town was dead," and many heads was got together a trying to figger ways to break the monotony that'd took hold of the community. For two weeks a cold wind had blowed down off the mountain and once in a while would bring along light flakes of snow that kept a skipping and never seemed to light.—The weather was cussed at by some, while others kept busy bringing in wood and coal, and not any had a good word put in for Old Man Winter, not any excepting one, and that one was only an old livery stable plug.