Sundown finds us near the Wyoming border at a town called Mercy, which don’t seem right as it’s not much more than shacks. The saloon is the finest building in town, not much but above the rest, and I buy Evan a couple whiskeys, wanting him loosened up, myself, too. We eat supper there as well, then set up camp a few miles from town. Evan builds a fire while I see to the horses, and I then find him laying out his bedroll. I do likewise, knowing the beforehand will soon come to an end.
Night air cools the day’s heat, but not so you can’t shed some clothes. The land smells sweet as light dies away. Then Evan takes off his shirt, lies on his bedding and looks up to the stars, and I lie on the other side of the fire and watch him. I note his straight nose and firm jaw, lips a little apart, eyes open to the sky, and I wonder does he count stars? What runs through him? He seems more patient than mostyoung men, giving off a calm that in itself has appeal. Like he’s both easy and difficult.