by Donna and Abby

The paddocks and fields around Farmer Grey’s little estate were starting to fill up. Both he and Charity had been busy, rounding up the small herds of wild horses that roamed the area. Once the horse had been captured, they were separated into basically three groups. The largest one was the older broodmares, most with foals at their sides or in their bellies. Once the foals were dropped, they would be bred back to either Beauty or Bonaparte.

The other paddocks were filled with the young stock that needed to be gentled and broken to the saddle. Of the colts, only a few of them were set aside to be used as breeding stallions, and most of the rest would have to be gelded. Luckily, there was a vet around now.

On the day that Tom Kirby was scheduled to come out to do the first batch, Charity was already hard at work halter breaking the group slated to be broken to the saddle for the personnel out at the fort. Once that was done, both she and Samuel could start the groundwork that would lead to them being saddled for the first time.

But there was a minor problem. Kirby came out with Lupe! "Someone's got a complaint," he smirked as he dismounted Alice. Lupe, of course, had come on foot.

"You cut their balls off, and I will bite yours off," she said in a growl.

Farmer Grey threw his arms up in disgust and walked off, shaking his head angrily. Charity, who was soothing a nice looking yearling filly nearby as she worked with her on the halter, chuckled. "He's in a bad mood. One of the three year olds tossed him three times straight this morning."

"Probably the first one he wants to emasculate!" Lupe snarled. Kirby tried, unsuccessfully, to contain a chuckle.

"Actually," Charity said with a grin, "that was one we chose as a possible stallion prospect. I'm Charity Collins by the way." She smiled in a friendly manner. "If you like, let me show you the ones we decided would be best gelded, and tell you what we based our decisions on."

"You based it on they would not be good prospects to breed," Lupe said. "Not all humans are good prospects, are they? But we don't snip their balls off. Why not separate those males and give them to people who will not breed them?"

"Are you a rider?" Charity asked. "I am. My horse is a stallion and I won't put anyone on him that isn't an above average rider, simply because he has a tendency to think with his balls instead of his brains. But if you don’t want us to geld them, we won’t."

She walked over to another pen. "But this is what happens when there is too many stallions around. Take a look at this guy," she said, pointing out a weedy looking three year old with huge bite marks all over his body. He stood in one corner, his head down, refusing to put weight on one severely swollen leg. "Another stallion did that to him. We were going to have Dr. Kirby look at him and decide whether or not he could be saved or not. It doesn't look good. Stallions fight. It’s in their nature. If we leave them all intact, we will be seeing a lot of them end up looking like this poor boy."

"But you are thinking as a human," said Lupe. It was clear that was not a compliment. "Stallions fight, yes. They fight for the mares. But they also learn who is the dominant male in a herd, and they go and make their own herds. Sometimes these herds are all males. But what I said," she slowed her speech, so she could repeat what she had said previously, "is that you should give them to people who will use them properly. There must be someone other than yourself who can ride an uncut male. Are these animals not being broken for saddle? Or are they all for breeding purposes? Do they have to be mares or emasculated men to carry a human? Of course not. Some even prefer a stallion for a mount. You keep the ones you want for breeding, then choose owners for the males. Or is this not possible?" She looked at the horse indicated. "With proper care, that horse could be someone's trusted mount."

Charity shrugged. She was way too tired to argue with the woman. "You’re right. They can be trusted mounts. And there are people who know what they are doing and are perfectly capable of handling them. But we have been told they needed mounts for the *army*. If they want nothing but stallions, more power to them. I wish them well. Those that don't get permanently injured or even killed because they have no business handling a stallion, that is."

The filly started to dance around, and she quietly soothed her, calming her down once more. "Sorry to have wasted your valuable time, Dr Kirby. I won’t have any of these colts gelded then. If need be we might have to turn them back out and let them run wild again. We don't have the facilities to keep them all separated or the extra time that would be needed to train a stallion so that an amateur can safely handle it. The people at the fort will have to be content with mares." She turned her back on them, and headed to the pens to put the filly up.

Lupe growled but Tom, fearing for the pretty young woman, spoke up. "I think what she means is other people are in need of horses, besides the army. Montoya is not going to agree to a gelding. MacLeod looks like he can handle a stallion, as well. Why not give those away privately. Give them one stallion and the rest mares at the fort. And let me see if we can't do something about that poor lad over there." He came in, trying to smile. "If I can save him, I may just take him myself."

"I would be glad," Charity said with a tired sigh. "He really is a nice little guy. He just needs time to grow into himself. He won't be a bad looking horse down the road, I can tell. So is this no geldings allowed going to be the law around here? Just because *she* says so? I've been working with animals all my life and I know what I'm doing when it comes to training them. So does Grey. But if that’s the way it’s to be, okay. I’ll just have to learn this new set of rules."

Kirby looked upset at her tone. "No, I don't know if it is a law, but as the vet I can tell you I would rather not mutilate an animal if there is a way around it. If they can be found owners and remain intact, I think it is worth a shot, don't you? Just on humane levels? And to be perfectly honest, we need more horses, not less, so limiting the reproduction at this point might come back to haunt us later."

Grey had come out. "No', there is som'thin' ter be considered, lass. If there be a limited amount a' animals on this world, we might be limitin' the gene pool a might with only a few breeding studs. Not tha' we'd use 'em others ter breed, only tha' we migh' need 'em down the road a piece? If that one kin mature inter a fine stallion, his line might add ter our stock som'day. We were goin' at it as the army needed geldings."

"Looks like I'm outvoted then," Charity said, trying to hide the hurt at having Grey suddenly switch sides on her. "Look guys, I hate having to have a horse gelded too. I’m just trying to look on the practical side of things here." She glanced over at one of the ones that had been set aside to be cut, with its long, weak back, parrot mouth, and bad legs. So much for the dream of improving the breed if beasts like that were going to be kept entire and allowed to bred on. "Excuse me, but if we aren’t going to have any of them gelded, then I’ve got other work to do." She slipped the halter off the filly, gave her a last loving scratch, and then fled into the barn. Here she thought her opinion had been worth something, but apparently not.

Grey followed her in. "Yer've got a good eye, lass, an' I kin use it. We'll keep the best an' see if anyone want ter take the others as is. They both say they'll cut the ones no one takes, but yer've gotta give people a chance at a stallion if they like, or they'll be takin' our breedin' stock ter ride!"

Charity nodded, stroking her the soft, silky skin of her stallion. "On their own heads be it. Stallions can be extremely dangerous if not handled right. You know that to be true as well as I do. I just hope I don’t get proved right with someone getting hurt or even killed." A wave of homesickness washed over her. "Oh Sam, I wanna go home," she said, hiding her face in the stallion's muscled neck to keep him from seeing her tears. "What use am I here? I thought we were doing the right thing. Now I just don’t know anymore."

"I jes' told yer," he said, coming toward her. "Yer gonter he'p me start a breedin' farm. We'll turn out ther best 'orses in the new world! As fer gettin' themselves killed, I 'eard tell some of 'em were Immortal, an' hundreds a' years old. They might know a thing about 'orseflesh, as well. But it do nowt ter make enemies, me lass, when we wanter hae 'em as coostumers later!" He grinned, hoping she got the joke. "An' that vet - he were lookin' at yer pretty closely ter yer got all oopset." This time he winked, though Charity knew he had been looking at her "pretty close" himself.

"When Methos first got 'ere, 'e said 'ow it would be nice if we humans didn't 'screw' this place oop like ther last one. Aye, tis a wild place, but we're hearty fer all tha', an' I think we'll survive. As ter goin' 'ome, Lass, I shouldn't know 'ow ter go 'bout it, an' I should miss yer too much ter even try."

That was a monumental speech for the normally taciturn Grey, and he blushed, because it had come from the heart.

Slowly he put his arms around her, turning her to face him. She nodded, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "I would miss you too," she said as she melted into his comforting embrace. "I'm sorry. It's just that woman acted like I was a piece of absolute scum or something because I wanted to geld a few of the colts to make them better riding horses. And then when you agreed with them..." The tears started falling down her cheeks again, wetting his shirt.

"She's nae a woman, Lass. She's more animal than human. Imagine if she started geldin' me an' Kirby, in fron' a yer!" He lifted her chin. "An I agreed cos I don' wanter start a row over snippin' some colts! No skin off my . . . nose if they want ter look over all the males b'fer we cut. Yer picked out ther best fer us. Jes we might want ter take care b'fer we limit the entire breedin' stock. Fer all we know, this is it - this small band a' animals 'ere. It's nae nearly enoof fer all the people coomin' ter ther land!"

She shrugged. "I guess you’re right," she said. "And if she had tried gelding you, she would have had a pitchfork rammed through her! Speaking of that, I guess I'll just stay in here and clean out the stalls. Tell them I'm sorry I even suggested it." She backed off slowly and then turned to go fetch the wheelbarrow and cleaning supplies.

"Coom 'ere," he said, pulling her back. "You did say ther right thing, and we both know it. But maybe we have ter go more slowly 'ere, least till we know two things. Are there 'buyers' - which is ter say, people who want ter own - those colts as is, and two, how many 'orses we 'ave ter work from. Based on our world, it were sound advice. An' it might still coom that we'll geld ever'one a those colts. As a member a' ther male species, I 'spect I kin sympathize with 'em wantin' ter stay . . . whole." He grinned, then ventured a small kiss to the forehead. "An' thanks 'bout the pitchfork comment. Wan' he'p?"

"No thanks," she sighed. "I can manage. Shoveling manure I can do. Longstanding Union Member of Pitchforks Unlimited, after all. You better go out and see if the vet needs any help with the colt." She squeezed his hand, then wiped her eyes again. "Now get."

"If we kin save th' lad, would yer smile fer me?" he asked tenderly.

"Sure," she said.

"Good. Cos I sure could use one a' yer smiles." And, with that, he went out to help Tom Kirby doctor his horse.