Frank Hopkins had sat on the hillside, watching Hidalgo gallop away. He would miss that horse. It had been two years ago to the day, and he sat on that same hillside…yet the horses were long gone and his pride for his people had grown stronger…He had owned the name Blue Child. He sat, thinking of the race, the last race he had won. It wasn't the race over the ocean of fire. It was of the race to save the herds, the race to keep his mustang safe.
"Frank Hopkins?" The voice shook him from his mind.
"That's me." He answered.
"Message." The man handed the letter to him. "Respond in four weeks in Jamestown."
Frank opened the letter gingerly:
Frank Hopkins,
The race of your life is at hand. You needn't bring money. Just horse, tact, and your charm. In one month, the race begins. It is my understanding that Hidalgo is no longer your horse. I hope the horse you currently ride is adequate for long distance travel, or, if not, you can acquire one before this race.
R.S.V.P. to Jamestown before the race, to Mr. Smith.
Sincerely,
Torrian Smith
P.S. I believe that you would like to know that you are racing for my father's entire estate. Including our horses. The net worth is about $100,000,000,000. See you in Jamestown. Kisses
Frank folded the letter and placed it in his shirt. This was a price he couldn't pass up without thought. He had a month to think.