Chapter 7

“I don’t have one.”

“You can use mine.”

“Thank you.”

Back in the bunkhouse, belly full, I want nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep. Instead, I pull on a jacket, strap on Bunch’s gun, don my hat, and go out with Lane. We saddle our horses and Doc seems eager to get moving. Then Lane and me ride the pens’ edge. These pens are bigger than any corral I’ve ever seen and I get what a large operation this is.

“How many head?” I ask Lane as we walk our horses along the fence.

He laughs. “You counted ‘em.”

“Just part, wasn’t it? I understood there are more to come.”

“Right. Total is around twelve hundred. This here’s what?”

“Eight hundred forty two, counting calves.”

Horses are in their own corral, closer to the barn. “Horses look to be good stock,” I offer.

“Earl’s big on that. Not a nag in the bunch.”

As the night wears on, we separate, patrolling mostly the pens’ outer edges, and once I chase off a coyote.

Lane then rides over. “Supposed to shoot ‘em,” he says.