{"id":17745,"date":"2025-05-16T08:04:27","date_gmt":"2025-05-16T07:04:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/cassandravoices.com\/?p=17745"},"modified":"2025-05-16T08:04:27","modified_gmt":"2025-05-16T07:04:27","slug":"small-horses","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/2025\/05\/16\/small-horses\/","title":{"rendered":"Small Horses"},"content":{"rendered":"

The big man tugged the brim of his hat and spoke gently to the camera as though a guest had newly arrived at his door.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cEvenin\u2019 folks. I\u2019m here to tell you about my new picture, The Train Robbers<\/em>, with a little lady you might have heard of by the name of Ann Margaret.\u201d He inclined his head in a manner familiar to audiences who might, in that gesture, recall the earnest frontier wisdom for which his characters were renowned. \u201cI think you\u2019ll like it. It\u2019s an old-fashioned Western with lots of action and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCut!\u201d the director yelled.<\/p>\n

The big man\u2019s eyes narrowed and his throaty voice rose to a tattered yelp.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, what\u2019s the matter now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, sir,\u201d the director hesitated. \u201cThey\u2019d prefer we didn\u2019t use the term \u2018old-fashioned\u2019 anymore. They think it\u2019ll drive away the younger audience.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho thinks?\u201d<\/p>\n

A pinkish glow glazed the young director\u2019s cheeks.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe marketing department.\u201d His fingers played nervously by an earlobe. \u201cThe studio\u2019s marketing department.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMarketing department?\u201d The big man exclaimed, his voice cracking under the incredulity. \u201cHell, anyone driven away by that nonsense can stay away, far as I\u2019m concerned. I guess they\u2019d rather we dump our regular audience and bring in a bunch of hippies instead. That it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, sir, but that\u2019s the direction I was given. I\u2019m just doing my job. How about we take five while Howard works up the changes for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man\u2019s eyebrows dwelled over a long cautious stare, then he suddenly released a brittle chuckle and slapped his own thigh.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, hell, you work that in there, Howard,\u201d he cried. \u201cYou work it all the way in there while I go parlay with our noble representative of the honorable fourth estate.\u201d<\/p>\n

He scurried sideways through a cloud of fussing assistants and technicians and crossed the dusty yard to a pair of canvas chairs which sat in the oblong shadow of a large parasol. The reporter, a young man with a vaguely tormented expression, lounged inattentively over the side of one of the chairs. When he saw the big man approaching, he yanked his legs aboard, drew his fingers from his beatnik beard and lurched upright, composing a large notebook on his lap as his pen made a nervous vigil over a fresh page.<\/p>\n

The big man sat heavily into his chair with a long, wayward grunt. He snatched a drink from the small table beside him and the ice cubes tinkled against the glass as he raised it to his lips. He took a long sideways look at the young reporter.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere were we?\u201d he said, when he\u2019d taken a messy sup.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe were talking about your acting method.\u201d<\/p>\n

A stern look waved the lines above the man\u2019s brows and an unamused fissure cleaved his mouth into a half-smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou <\/em>were talking about that,\u201d he said, \u201cnot me. There’s no method. I\u2019m myself, on purpose. It\u2019s not much of a trick but it\u2019s all the trick I got.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think that\u2019s enough these days with people like Voight, Hoffman\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s plenty enough,\u201d the man snapped. \u201cI suppose you think all this method-acting hooey is for the benefit of the audience. It\u2019s not, you know. It\u2019s just vanity. These modern actors feel like they gotta show the audience that they\u2019re suffering for their art and I guess the only way they know how to do that is to sob right into the camera. The thing they miss is that heroes were never meant to be like normal folks. The whole point of heroes is to be better than normal folks and, in my book, better means better. Not darker. Or sadder. Or dirtier, either. Not shooting people in the back like you see in all these Spaghetti Westerns. Not doing drugs or whatever else you see these days. We ought to be setting an example for people. Showing them what real courage is. That\u2019s why people come to my pictures. That\u2019s why they been coming to my pictures for thirty years and that\u2019s why they\u2019ll still be coming to my pictures in a hundred years when all these fancy dan tricks is gone the way of the dodo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou seem very confident of your enduring legacy.\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man gave a crippled, sorrowful laugh, \u201cWell, I guess I am. Faith don\u2019t cost much this side of life but, even so, it\u2019s in surprisingly short supply.\u201d<\/p>\n

The reporter bobbed excitedly and attacked the page with his pen.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople need heroes they can rely on. These anti-heroes, as you guys call them, that\u2019s just a fad the public will get tired of eventually. And, when they do, they\u2019ll come looking for real heroes again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, I take it you didn\u2019t like The Wild Bunch<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo sir, I didn\u2019t. Bad guys pretending to be good guys.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut can\u2019t a person be both? Can\u2019t a person be more than just good or evil?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo sir, they can\u2019t. They gotta pick a side and stick with it. It\u2019s thinking like yours got the world in the upside-down mess it\u2019s in. Men dressed like women and women dressed like men. Fellas that are supposed to be heroes blubbing about the place like sissies. People with no right to it demanding an audience\u2019s respect. I\u2019m no expert on scripture but I remember somewhere in there a warning against those who would try to put darkness for light and light for darkness.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you want to talk about scripture, what about Saint Paul on the road to Damascus? Wasn\u2019t that a case of darkness turning into light.\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man gave a creaking chuckle.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell son, you be sure to let me know when we get another case like that one.\u201d<\/p>\n

A few shouts came from the set and they both looked up and spent a few moments watching the buildup of activity there.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou got one more question, kid.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou going to the Oscars tonight, sir? Who do you think will win for Best Actor?\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man made a distasteful face.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Olivier is a fine actor. I suppose I wouldn\u2019t be too upset if he won.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about Brando? His performance in The Godfather<\/em> is surely deserving of an Oscar, wouldn\u2019t you say?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, son, I wouldn\u2019t say. Too showy. Stuffing all that junk in his cheeks. All vanity and, I guess you know now, I can\u2019t abide vanity,\u201d he made a point of looking at the young man\u2019s beard, \u201cin anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t you even admit that the movie itself is a modern masterpiece?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, sir, I can\u2019t. If you ask me, that picture is nothing but modern un-American garbage.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut surely,\u201d the reporter started but the big man stood up and raised a meaty palm.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe you should interview Brando. He\u2019ll tell you exactly what you want to hear.\u201d<\/p>\n

The young man frowned and the big man leaned over him, tilting his hat up his forehead.<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess you\u2019d prefer it I came off my horse like old Saul,\u201d he said with a short chuckle and staggered back to the set, leaving the young reporter chewing his pen silently.<\/p>\n

The young man stood up, put away his notes and wandered over to a young lady who was smoking a cigarette in the shade of a long silver trailer.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you spare a cigarette, honey?\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked at him and her lips formed a brief pout of distaste but, after a few seconds, she yanked a corner of her lip into a dazed smile and held out a long cigarette.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere you go, Daddy-o.\u201d<\/p>\n

When he\u2019d lit his cigarette, he leaned against the trailer and nodded his head in the direction of the renewed activity.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, what\u2019s he<\/em> like to work with?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe living legend?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked him up and down.<\/p>\n

\u201cOff the record?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure,\u201d he said, clutching the cigarette between his teeth as he dived into his bag for his notepad and pen.<\/p>\n

She pursed her lips carefully and blew a long thin plume of smoke toward the subject of their discourse.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s a royal pain in the ass.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

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 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo, dammit!\u201d the big man said with a hoarse growl, flinging a despairing arm at the apprentice wrangler. \u201cIt\u2019s still too tall. We\u2019re shooting a promo here, son. You\u2019re gonna want to get his head in the frame, otherwise people will think someone sawed a foot off me or I\u2019m standing in a trench.\u201d<\/p>\n

The apprentice wrangler, a kid no more than nineteen, opened his mouth to say something but the man wasn\u2019t waiting for an answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cTake it back and bring me another,\u201d he said and wafted the air between them with the back of his hand.<\/p>\n

This was the third horse he\u2019d returned, each with the same fatigued gesture, like an imperfectly cooked steak being waved back to the kitchen.<\/p>\n

The young wrangler grimaced and nervously tightened his grip around the reins. Mr. Mitchell, the head wrangler, had told him to keep it simple and to bring him one of the Quarter horses. He stepped apart from the horse, looking up at it and across its felted light brown flanks as though re-evaluating its suitability for himself.<\/p>\n

Between horses, the big man had dragged his canvas chair out from beneath the large white parasol and into the light. Now, as he watched the kid conduct his silent inspection, he lay back into the seat and stretched his long limbs into the warming midday sun. The man measured the moment with a throaty chuckle before taking himself slowly out of the chair. He removed his hat and slapped it once against his right thigh before refitting it and taking his famous lopsided stride over to where the kid stood, awaiting his approach with visible concern.<\/p>\n

The AD stepped beside the kid, pulled his white baseball cap over his eyes and tugged at his greying beard, offering a physical demonstration of his concern.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can work around this,\u201d he said. \u201cA wide shot from further back. Then you\u2019ll have everybody in the frame.\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man shook his head and his eyes crinkled in a stern smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cHell, Bob, we\u2019ll look like ants. You want folks to have to guess who the hell is in the picture?\u201d He pointed at the kid. \u201cYou telling me we ain\u2019t got one regular sized horse in that whole remuda back there?\u201d<\/p>\n

He started walking in the direction the kid had come from.<\/p>\n

The director joined the AD and the kid beside the horse.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d the director called.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to pick myself out a normal-sized horse. You stay here and take five or six or whatever you guys call it these days.\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man followed the track around past a set of worn outhouses to a series of fresh-boarded corrals. The kid followed at a short distance and watched the man let himself into a large pen with about a dozen horses in two groups, stepping nervously in opposite corners.<\/p>\n

The man noticed the kid and gestured to a cream and brown colt in the nearest corner.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about that little Paint Horse?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, not Bobbin, sir. He\u2019s mighty ornery. We only got him around for a special show that needs a bad-tempered ride. I wouldn\u2019t recommend using him for this type of show, sir\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d the man said, \u201cI reckon I can handle him.\u201d<\/p>\n

He strolled slowly over to the horse and carefully patted its flanks and head, whispering and clucking to the animal as he stepped closer.<\/p>\n

The horse turned one side of his head to look at the man. The large eye, wet and brown, studied him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know me, don\u2019t you?\u201d the man said, easing his hand across the thick mane and patting the horse\u2019s neck softly.<\/p>\n

He was about to chide the kid for his foolishness, when the horse suddenly bucked hard, slamming him against the fence and he lost consciousness.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

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 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell you let him in there for?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry sir. He said the other horses was too big.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToo big? They\u2019re always too big. Is he riding them or are they riding him?\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy gestured to the big man.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe just moved.\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed in the silver trailer. The kid was pressing a damp cloth to his head. A dull ache sat just above his eyes.<\/p>\n

A grey-haired man with a long black moustache in a dark suit stood over him, looking concerned.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man sat up. He took the damp cloth from the kid and pressed it to the ache above his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll live, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou remember anything?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI remember a little horse kicking the shit outta me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s Bobbin. He\u2019s the devil himself if he don\u2019t know you. Ra\u00fal had no business letting you go in there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll live,\u201d the man said and made to stand up.<\/p>\n

The grey-haired man put a hand on his chest to keep him gently on the bed.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou best take it easy sir. You had a sizeable bump. Doctor needs to check you out. Anyways, they told everyone to go home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGo home? You sure?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, pretty certain. They\u2019re all clearing out for the day.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at the big man.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou recognize me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure I do. You\u2019re Mitchell, the head wrangler, but,\u201d he gestured at his own outfit\u2014jeans, boots, spurs and all\u2014then at the grey-haired man\u2019s smart suit and tie, \u201cthere\u2019s something wrong with this picture, cowboy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI had to attend a funeral,\u201d the grey-haired man said, inspecting himself self-consciously.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d the big man said, \u201cI\u2019m sorry for your loss.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man rose to his feet.<\/p>\n

\u201cI gotta get myself into one of them suits too, so I can attend the 45th Academy Awards. I got a thing I gotta do there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou sure you\u2019re up for all that, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man loosened a soft chuckle that scraped through the relative quiet of the trailer.<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess I\u2019m pretty certain,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

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 <\/p>\n

The little hippy girl in the Red Indian getup walked slowly to the stage. She looked Apache. Chiricahua or maybe Western Apache. Jet black hair swung at her waist. A tan beaded dress. He\u2019d killed lots of Apaches in his movies. No women, of course, though he’d probably widowed plenty.<\/p>\n

For a second, he wondered if he was seeing things.<\/p>\n

He was in the wings, getting ready for his bit when he saw the little Indian girl come up\u2014almost float up\u2014to receive the award and it was as though an invisible thread drew him to her. He moved closer to the stage, between a group of heavy-set security men. He was sweating heavy and breathing hard as she commenced her speech about Native Americans and respect, love and generosity, but then she said something about declining the award and booing broke out on the main floor.<\/p>\n

She looked so small and scared flanked by those two giant props of the Oscar statuette and she glanced nervously toward the wings, where he stood, and hesitated in her speech. The large sheet containing her speech quivered in her grasp and her sad little mouth saddened further.<\/p>\n

He moved toward her and one of the security guards, a dark-haired, squat fellow, placed a thick hand on his shoulder and pinched the flesh there urgently.<\/p>\n

The big man was listening to the speech. He absently shrugged the man\u2019s hand away but another security man tugged at his elbow from behind and a taller, blonde haired security man stood beside him and tried for his other elbow.<\/p>\n

\u201cSir, you\u2019d better stay here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you\u2019d better leave off,\u201d the big man croaked as he yanked his elbows away. He tried to take another step but a fourth, a fifth then a sixth security man barred his path.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry sir but we can\u2019t let you do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo what?\u201d the big man said with a grimace. \u201cI\u2019m just trying to talk to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry sir. We can\u2019t allow that right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not your business,\u201d the big man said but when he looked back at the stage the little Indian girl had vanished like a heat mirage in the desert.<\/p>\n

The band struck up and the audience applauded and, soon after, he found himself being introduced and he made his own speech and the filming wrapped up, but he kept thinking about the little Indian girl mirage he\u2019d seen.<\/p>\n

When the ceremony was over, the stars mingled in small careful groups along political and historical and status lines. He kept an eye out for a reoccurrence of the Indian girl mirage. He didn\u2019t see her again but, talking to other guests, he learned she wasn\u2019t a mirage. She\u2019d really been on stage. She\u2019d really spoken those words. She\u2019d really stood there, hands quivering lightly, while the audience heckled and booed her.<\/p>\n

He excused himself and waved for his personal driver, a quick, bright-eyed, sharp-faced man in his late twenties with slicked-back hair and a reluctant smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet me into Brando\u2019s party,\u201d the big man said. \u201cI don\u2019t care how you do it.\u201d<\/p>\n

His driver returned twenty minutes later.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re in,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

They drove to Mulholland Drive. He gave a lift to a couple of young up-and-coming actresses whose names he didn\u2019t know and he couldn\u2019t remember when they told him but who giggled and chatted carelessly the whole way to the Santa Monica Mountains. They all entered the large Spanish-style house together and the actresses\u2019 laughter and general gaiety covered his entrance better than any gunpowder keg had in his pictures.<\/p>\n

The party was in full swing. People were drinking and shouting and laughing; little dabs of mirthful giggles and loud uncontrolled splashes of laughter as though emptied from a fire bucket. A haze of marijuana smoke clutched his nostrils as he wandered through the different rooms.<\/p>\n

A five-piece jazz band occupied a corner of the large open-plan living room and the lead singer, a tall, dark, graceful lady swirled effortlessly around a microphone stand, launching a series of winsome pleas into the warm night. On the other side of the house, by the pool, a keyboardist, guitarist and another singer performed a selection of modern hits. This singer\u2014a pale, willowy fellow\u2014decanted his soul into each song, almost collapsing into the outro before seemingly renewing his vigor for the next number.<\/p>\n

As the big man moved through the house the sound of one or other band would dominate and, each time, the conquered song would idle sedately into the background only to re-emerge moments later when he crossed some invisible threshold. As he made his way up the wide circular stairs, the two sounds grappled in the air around him, locked in close combat.<\/p>\n

A large dimly lit room of cushions and candelabras opened onto a long veranda. He picked a path through cushions and half-seen bodies which writhed with the apocalyptic fervor of drunken ardor.<\/p>\n

A set of thin white curtains floated across the wide doorway and the night air parted them just enough for him to see her standing on the balcony, looking out at the city lights in the distance.<\/p>\n

He approached cautiously. She was alone.<\/p>\n

\u201cI heard your speech,\u201d he said softly and she weaved back in surprise.<\/p>\n

He raised his hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, miss. I didn\u2019t mean to startle you. I just wanted to speak to you, if that\u2019s okay.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked at him for a long moment and eventually nodded slowly.<\/p>\n

He pointed to a metal table and chairs nearby.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you mind if we sit, miss?\u201d<\/p>\n

She glanced about uncertainly then shook her head quickly. He pulled a chair out and gestured her into it before taking the seat opposite her.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mind if I smoke,\u201d he said, smiling. \u201cI smoke when I\u2019m nervous.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, it\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiled as he took out a pack of cigarettes then, smiling again, he offered her one, which she took, and he lit both their cigarettes with a light snap of his lighter.<\/p>\n

Out on the veranda, the modern music dominated again. The band were playing a song he\u2019d never heard before called Peaceful Easy Feeling<\/em> and the people around the pool below and the singer all swayed as if caught in the same mellow current.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is nice,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she replied, smiling timidly. Her dark eyes glittered in the light from half-a-dozen ornate lamps which stood at intervals along the balcony.<\/p>\n

He pulled his chair closer.<\/p>\n

\u201cI heard your speech earlier,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she said, her eyes staring unabashedly into his, \u201cbut did you see it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSee it?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her voice took on a dreamlike quality.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you see the oppression of the weak? The bloody war against nature? The long veil of hypocrisy that hangs over this nation? The thousands of bones lying unburied on the prairies?\u201d<\/p>\n

He moved excitedly toward her, their faces inches apart.<\/p>\n

\u201cI saw,\u201d he said. \u201cI saw all of it and I felt all of it, as though you were speaking just to me, directly into my brain.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn a way, I was. I\u2019ve seen all your pictures. I know you better than any man.\u201d<\/p>\n

He frowned sadly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou saw only a shadow of me in those movies. The shameful shadow of delusion. I decided today, I\u2019ll never make another of those pictures. I\u2019m done with that life. Do you believe me?\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiled tenderly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe we can be whoever and whatever we want to be, if we want it hard enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do want it. Truly, I do. It\u2019s not something I thought about before today but so much has changed in this day. This morning I was an adolescent, knit in kin and afraid of the universe, and tonight I am become a man. The old me skulked in the shadows of that curtain, hiding in the wings, but then, bathed in your radiant candor I was baptized into the world and here I am.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes were aflame now. The music rose below them but neither of them heard it anymore.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was drawn to you,\u201d he said. \u201cLike I\u2019ve never been drawn to another. Like a celestial body stranded millennia in the cold immensity of space, suddenly feeling an urgent tug from somewhere in the vast emptiness. When those people started booing, I wanted to rush to your side. To be there with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did?\u201d<\/p>\n

He stubbed out his cigarette and took her hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I did.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd they stopped you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey tried to, but they can\u2019t stop me now. Here I am. I want to be with you now, if I can. I can\u2019t explain but something happened to me when I heard your speech. The scales fell from my eyes, and I suddenly saw the world, cold and hard, through your eyes. All the needless slaughter and butchery. All the lies and deceit. All the self-deceit. A world bereft of love or generosity waiting to be stocked. By us.\u201d<\/p>\n

She urgently extinguished her own cigarette and placed her hand on his and their fingers intertwined.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want that too,\u201d she said and they stared long and hard into each other\u2019s eyes, cataloguing the thousand mysteries there, counting each glimmer of light like beautiful little fireworks being tracked across the sky.<\/p>\n

An apprehensive cough came from behind them. They turned and his driver was there.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour wife\u2019s here,\u201d the driver said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yeah,\u201d the big man said. \u201cShit.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The big man tugged the brim of his hat and spoke gently to the camera as though a guest had newly arrived at his door. \u201cEvenin\u2019 folks. I\u2019m here to tell you about my new picture, The Train Robbers, with a little lady you might have heard of by the name of Ann Margaret.\u201d He […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":17751,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[26],"tags":[1385,2150,2152,2156,3262,4170,4993,8462,8463,8464],"class_list":["post-17745","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-cassandra-voices-fiction","tag-damien-mckiver-cassandra-voices","tag-damien-mckiver-fiction","tag-damien-mckiver-writer","tag-fiction","tag-horses","tag-john-wayne-in-fiction","tag-small","tag-small-horses-damien-mckiver","tag-small-horses-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17745","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17745"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17745\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17745"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17745"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17745"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}