The old paints carried a history of a building changing hands on their backs when they were led in twos and threes from the smoke-filled building. Each one was saved and led off down the street in spite of their squealing kicks, but the card game and prize money had to be abandoned.
“Which would you rather?” Leroy riddled to the younger laborers, “A night’s winnings or a life’s earnings?”
Fire raged in high heat across the street, but all hands had their sweating backs turned. Every eye from the stable were on the dripping reds and yellows and blues of their father’s and their grandfather’s lifetimes sliding off the front of the building. It was awesome to behold. The men told the story for years, though the youngest of them remembered scrubbing the signage from the 150 ponies the next day much better.
