The boy gasped, ?No wonder,? Blue mumbled unnerved, ?whom did I kill?? he asked he boy. ?Mi papa!? said the young lad. He figured so; no one would go out of his or her way for less. The boy rose, a fist crashed twice into Blue’s face, against his jaw: not iron hard, but hard enough to make Blue off balance, his hands trying to hold onto his shooter. The boy tried to snatch the gun out of Blue’s hand; as he fell backwards, the crowd sensing some kind of injustice, somewhere in all this, listening, watching; it was as if they were trying to pick their favorite, and it didn’t look like Blue, even though the horse that crushed into and over two pedestrians, that were still under the horse, that only a leg and a arm was showing, still the favorite was the boy, if indeed one could read their eyes correctly.

The crowd surged into a circle, as if to corner boy the attacked and attacker, horse and all, lest they get away before the police came, it now was a show.