Panhandle by Brett Cogburn

the plains. The canyon was miles wide and shallow where we camped, but deepened and narrowed farther west, until the world above might not have even existed at all. We made a fire beneath the chalk-marked red rock bluffs of the north rim, and sat watching the sun melt into the high caprock miles to the west. The red stone of the canyon walls combined into a single orange glow, and then turned to shadows.
    Once, those timeworn bluffs, at the jagged head of the canyon, had sheltered and hidden the Comanches in winter. That was years before we arrived, but the appearance of a band of Indians dragging their travois from the dark wouldn’t have surprised me. In fact, it would have seemed right. The Comanches and the buffalo were gone, but the Palo Duro was still there—a forever place where you didn’t have to close your eyes to envision the wild scope of a land that once was.
    I wanted to get an early start the next day, so as to make Clarendon by morning. I attempted to go to sleep, but Billy wouldn’t have any of it.
    â€œI never knew you to take sick.” Billy poked the fire with a piece of shinnery oak.
    â€œYou come with me out of a concern for my health?”
    â€œI guess I came along hoping to get a dose of the medicine you’re looking for.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.” It didn’t take much acting for me to play dumb.
    â€œDamn, can’t you just admit that you’ve been thinking about that girl for a month?”
    â€œAnd I suppose you can?”
    He didn’t hesitate for a second. “Hell yes! This is just about a perfect country, except it’s a long way between water and women.”
    â€œWe don’t even know that we can find her,” I said lamely.
    â€œSpeak for yourself.” Billy didn’t lack in confidence. And he had reason where women were concerned. I’d never seen him around decent women, but the girls along the row were crazy about him.
    I went to bed grumpy and jealous over a woman I’d never met. I didn’t have a claim on that girl, but it was like he was busting in on my own private little dream. I went to sleep with Billy still sitting by the fire.
    Morning came and we left camp for the short ride to Clarendon. Billy seemed to have slicked up a bit, and I grumbled to myself. I felt I probably looked like I ought to be thrown out with the wash. I don’t know how he did it.
    Clarendon wasn’t much to look at early on. You could pass through it at a run and never wind your horse. It showed signs of building, but was still pretty hardscrabble looking. The buildings were a mix of different types, lumber being in short supply out on the treeless plains.
    We stopped in the middle of the main street. Both of us were silent, thinking the same thing. Two could be a crowd sometimes.
    Billy beat me to the punch. “I need a new shirt. Think you could handle the mail?”
    An angry protest started to form on my lips, but I had second thoughts. Looking at Billy made me wish I was cleaned up a bit. I decided to find a place to knock the dust off and curry and brush up a little.
    I took the mail from Billy and we parted ways. Before I went looking for that girl, I intended to find a barber and a bath. I was going to outshine Billy this time, come hell or high water.
    I had to settle for a haircut given by the blacksmith’s wife, as Clarendon hadn’t as yet acquired a barber. The same woman mended and laundered my best white shirt for a half dollar. I washed up the best I could in a tub out back of their shop. When I headed down the street to the post office I was feeling quite dapper in my damp, semi-white shirt, and half-dollar haircut.
    By the time I had finished my preening and mailed Wiren’s letters, it was early afternoon. I hadn’t as yet struck any sign of Barbara Allen, or Billy either for that matter. Careful questioning of a citizen got me directions to Allen’s