Pinto
Legacy Name: Pinto

The Legend of the Hat-Snatcher

The heat of the afternoon was just a low, golden hum over the prairie—the kind of quiet that acted like a lullaby for the neuroleptic Silas. They weren't currently hunting outlaws or outrunning storms; they were just heading into town to pick up a shipment of supplies and maybe some peppermint for Pinto.
Silas was humming a tune, something about a girl in Abilene, when his humming turned into a rhythmic, whistling snore. His chin dipped down, resting comfortably on his chest, and his hands went limp on the reins.
Pinto didn't miss a beat. He knew the drill. With the practiced grace of a thief, Pinto reached back. He caught the brim of Silas's sweat-stained hat in his teeth and lifted it clean off. He didn't drop it though. Instead, he shook it once—sending a puff of dust into the air—and then delicately balanced it between his own brown ears.
He looked ridiculous, a paint horse in a cowboy hat, but he had a job to do and loved wearing Silas's hats while he did it.
Without Silas at the helm, the pair tended to drift because Pinto didn't know where the town was only which direction they had been heading. Pinto noticed a particularly tempting patch of clover off to the left, but he also noticed a huge clump of brickle burr bushes right in their path. If he let Silas ride through that, the man would wake up covered in burrs and spend the whole evening grumbling while he painfully picked them out of his trousers.
Pinto sighed through his nose and took a wide, careful path around the mud, keeping his steps high and rhythmic to keep Silas from sliding sideways.
They reached the creek a few hours later. Normally, Silas would dismount and lead him to the best spot, but Silas was currently deep in a dream about a poker game and large women.
Pinto steered them toward the shallowest part of the bank. He didn't stop to drink immediately; instead, he stood perfectly still, acting as a sturdy, four-legged bed. He kept his ears flicking—one forward to listen for the trail, one back to monitor the loud but steady snoring of his passenger.
A stray bison calf wandered over, curious about the horse wearing a hat. Pinto gave a sharp, silent glare and a tiny flash of teeth. The calf got the message and scrambled away back to ita mother. Nobody wakes the boss until it’s time.
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The sun started to dip, casting long, purple shadows. Noises of the night awoke when rhe sun went to sleep. Pinto decided the nap had reached its limit. He didn't want to be trying to navigate the upcoming rocky pass in the dark with a sleeping pilot on his back.
He was also getting bored. He was a horse who appreciated a bit of theater, and since the desert wasn't providing any, he decided to produce his own.
He walked over to a low-hanging tree. He didn't choose a thick branch—he wasn't trying to knock Silas off—he just chose a thin one. As they passed under, the little branches tickled Silas’s nose.
With a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, Pinto dipped his head down, letting the hat fall underneath him. He waited for the show to begin which only took seconds.
"Lord... did it happen again, Pinto?" Snort "Ey where’d it go?" Silas sputtered, hands flying to his bare head. He looked left, then right, peering desperately into the dark empty, windless horizon. "I swear on a stack of Bibles, Pinto, the ghosts of the Mojave are getting greedy. Not a breath of wind and they’ve snatched the wool right off my scalp!"
Pinto stood perfectly still, the hat tucked neatly between his front hooves l, watching Silas spin in the saddle like a top. The cowboy’s bewildered grumbling was the best entertainment for miles, and Pinto let out a soft, vibrating nicker that sounded suspiciously like a horse trying not to laugh. It was a long way to town, and if Silas was going to provide the comedy, that horse was happy to provide the necessary material.
Pinto waited until Silas turned to start checking the saddlebags before he gently kicked the hat out to where Silas could view it.
> "Oh! There it is," Silas exclaimed, leaning down low from the saddle to scoop it up. "Lucky thing you’re a patient one, Pinto. I don't know what I'd do without a steady horse like you to keep me on the straight and narrow."
Pinto gave a soft whinny, nudging Silas’s pocket where the peppermints lived. He figured he’d earned at least two for the hat-sitting service and guide work today.