Chapter 15

Bill puts an end to this by saying we should keep better watch on the stock.

“Yes, sir,” I reply. When I go back to Ned, I lean in and tell him, “You ever kick a porcupine, I’ll skin you.”

His big brown eyes take little note of such a threat. He knows I’m joshing.

Then I’m back in the saddle and work resumes.

I like it when I’m off on my own looking for strays. This country is right fine, pine smell strong, the air fresh. Good grass keeps the dust down, and I surely don’t miss what came up off the ground in Arizona, where blowing dust seemed a constant. A man could settle here and be most content.

* * * *

Fanciful notions fade when I start counting how often Dutcher goes to the house for supper. When two times a week becomes three, I bristle as bad as that porcupine, and when Dutcher fails to come back to the bunkhouse one night, I am beside myself. There’s no telling time in the dark, but I know the night is nearly gone when I give way, dress, and slip outside.