direction, small but getting large fast. The Gila Monster cowered down until it's thin belly touched the hot clay. The ground began to shake. Small pebbles bounced and jiggled in front of him. It dared to look south again.
The animal was on him in a second, then past him in a blur. The old, tired reptile had never seen such a creature before. It ran on four legs, black with a long mane of the same color blown about by the pace of its flight. Its nostrils flared and its muscles rippled and glistened in the mid-day sun.
The reptile saw the creature nearing the crack in the earth, the barrier that separated the two worlds. Did the beast know of the crack? It would never make it across, for the hole in the earth was too large. Only the creatures of flight knew what lay on the opposite side. The lizard felt sad. Such a food source would have fed him for weeks. Now it would rest on the rocks deep in the abyss.
The creature grew smaller, small enough for the cloud of dust in its wake to obscure it. But it never broke stride and when it reached the very edge of the crack in the earth it leaped and rose high in the air.
The lizard watched in amazement as, for the briefest of seconds, the body of the beast blotted out the sun before it gained traction on the opposite side. Soon all that remained were small dust devils spinning in the hot dry air.
The Gila Monster had seen enough for the day. It slithered under the meager shade of the sagebrush and waited for the coolness of the night.
2
----
Nate Walker rode the southern perimeter of his ranch checking the post line for damaged strings of barbed wire. He did this every Wednesday, no matter the weather. At one time he and his father rode the perimeter together. He looked forward to that day each week. It was their time, just the two of them. It was a time to bond and maybe tell an off-color joke or two, safely out of range of his mother's ears.
Now, since his father had died, the weekly check had become a chore. Nate, on his mount Betsy, circled the outer bands of his horse ranch in silence, looking for signs of damage. He carried a coil of the wire in a canvas bag looped across Betsy's saddle just in case.
The fence line consisted of wooden posts spaced fifteen feet apart. Four rows of barbed wire strung tight at eighteen inch intervals lay between them. It was enough to keep out the larger predators, and that's all Nate really cared about.
So far he'd been lucky, just two casualties in five years, both cows, both by wolves. He no longer bred cows, gave them up a year ago along with most of his chickens. He was a horse trader these days, and had nearly one hundred roaming the one hundred thirty five acres of his Freemont, Arizona ranch, The Rising Sun.
Betsy, who could gallop the perimeter in her sleep, stopped and snorted; never a good sign. It was odd to see a wolf during the day, but they were always out there, watching and waiting. Hunger knew no time of day or night, and wolves were always hungry.
Nate pulled the Winchester from the scabbard and faced the flat plains to the south. He saw a cloud of dust in the distance. Kids joy riding, he thought, and raised his rifle. A shot or two would scare them off.
The dust cloud came closer, moving fast, on a direct path to his property line. Nate pointed the gun high in the air just as Betsy rose on her hind feet. He fumbled for a grip on the saddle with his free hand, but found only air until his back met the wild prairie grass that grew along his property line.
The rifle flew out of his hands around the same time his breath left him. He gulped deeply as his eyes focused on Betsy. She was back on all fours but pacing frantically in circles, snorting and whinnying.
Nate lifted himself into a sitting position. He found his rifle near the fence and pulled it towards him. He had been a damn fine shot once, in his army days, and still practiced weekly. No time to stand. Something was moving fast, almost on him.
The animal was on him in a second, then past him in a blur. The old, tired reptile had never seen such a creature before. It ran on four legs, black with a long mane of the same color blown about by the pace of its flight. Its nostrils flared and its muscles rippled and glistened in the mid-day sun.
The reptile saw the creature nearing the crack in the earth, the barrier that separated the two worlds. Did the beast know of the crack? It would never make it across, for the hole in the earth was too large. Only the creatures of flight knew what lay on the opposite side. The lizard felt sad. Such a food source would have fed him for weeks. Now it would rest on the rocks deep in the abyss.
The creature grew smaller, small enough for the cloud of dust in its wake to obscure it. But it never broke stride and when it reached the very edge of the crack in the earth it leaped and rose high in the air.
The lizard watched in amazement as, for the briefest of seconds, the body of the beast blotted out the sun before it gained traction on the opposite side. Soon all that remained were small dust devils spinning in the hot dry air.
The Gila Monster had seen enough for the day. It slithered under the meager shade of the sagebrush and waited for the coolness of the night.
2
----
Nate Walker rode the southern perimeter of his ranch checking the post line for damaged strings of barbed wire. He did this every Wednesday, no matter the weather. At one time he and his father rode the perimeter together. He looked forward to that day each week. It was their time, just the two of them. It was a time to bond and maybe tell an off-color joke or two, safely out of range of his mother's ears.
Now, since his father had died, the weekly check had become a chore. Nate, on his mount Betsy, circled the outer bands of his horse ranch in silence, looking for signs of damage. He carried a coil of the wire in a canvas bag looped across Betsy's saddle just in case.
The fence line consisted of wooden posts spaced fifteen feet apart. Four rows of barbed wire strung tight at eighteen inch intervals lay between them. It was enough to keep out the larger predators, and that's all Nate really cared about.
So far he'd been lucky, just two casualties in five years, both cows, both by wolves. He no longer bred cows, gave them up a year ago along with most of his chickens. He was a horse trader these days, and had nearly one hundred roaming the one hundred thirty five acres of his Freemont, Arizona ranch, The Rising Sun.
Betsy, who could gallop the perimeter in her sleep, stopped and snorted; never a good sign. It was odd to see a wolf during the day, but they were always out there, watching and waiting. Hunger knew no time of day or night, and wolves were always hungry.
Nate pulled the Winchester from the scabbard and faced the flat plains to the south. He saw a cloud of dust in the distance. Kids joy riding, he thought, and raised his rifle. A shot or two would scare them off.
The dust cloud came closer, moving fast, on a direct path to his property line. Nate pointed the gun high in the air just as Betsy rose on her hind feet. He fumbled for a grip on the saddle with his free hand, but found only air until his back met the wild prairie grass that grew along his property line.
The rifle flew out of his hands around the same time his breath left him. He gulped deeply as his eyes focused on Betsy. She was back on all fours but pacing frantically in circles, snorting and whinnying.
Nate lifted himself into a sitting position. He found his rifle near the fence and pulled it towards him. He had been a damn fine shot once, in his army days, and still practiced weekly. No time to stand. Something was moving fast, almost on him.