it
would be. One more death meant little to him.
“I feel like I’ve caused you so much trouble, and after everything you’ve done—” “You are trouble,” he said, but he smiled to soften his words. “Don’t you apologise for
it. You’re worth a hundred of him and don’t you forget it. I won’t put up with garbage like him. This is your home, and he’s nothing more than a dime-a-dozen ranch hand.” “A ranch hand you need, though.”
“Not that bad, I don’t. I’ll string up every man here and work this damn ranch myself if I have to.”
As it turned out, the issue of who was to blame for Foster’s death ended up being moot. He awoke the next day, although he stayed in the barracks. On the third day, he disappeared.
“He was here this morning,” Simon told Dante. “I sent him to muck the stalls, but looks like he took one of your horses and left.”
“That’s too bad,” Dante said. “Good horses are hard to come by.” Bad men though, he could do without.
A few days after Foster’s disappearance, Dante took Frances with him to ride the fences. On the furthest end of the pastures, they found a deer caught in the fence. It had tried to jump over, but its foot had caught in the barbed wire. It had obviously struggled a great deal to get free but had only managed to tear up its leg on the wire. It lay panting and helpless, too tired to fight, its eyes rolling with fear as they approached.
Living on a ranch had inured Dante to the death of animals, but the deer made him sad. Life on the prairie was cruel.
“Think we can cut her free?” Frances asked.
Dante pointed at the odd angle of the deer’s leg. “Pulled it right out of the socket. She won’t be able to walk.”
“Can’t leave her like this.”
“True enough.”
Dante pulled his knife. She tried to buck as he knelt next to her, but her strength was gone. He put his hand on her neck and made soft, calming noises, the way he did with the horses. He remembered a story from his childhood, told by Olsa, of the Ainuai and how they could soothe an animal to sleep before they killed it. He wished he knew how to do that.
“It’ll be over soon,” he whispered.
He made the cut fast and deep. For some reason, he’d expected Frances to turn away, but he didn’t. They sat in silence, watching her struggles end. Dante hadn’t lied. It was quick. Then they had to cut her free from the fence.
“You know,” Frances said, “I kind of feel like an ass saying this, but the salt pork ran out a while ago. It’s been a long time since we had meat on the table that wasn’t beef.”
That was true, and Dante knew the Ainuai would have asked, “How will the whole be served?” It was a sad thing, but there was no sense it letting fresh venison go to waste.
They took the deer as far from the pasture as they dared and made quick work of butchering her. Dante silently said a prayer, both in apology and in gratitude, not to the Saints, but to Olsa’s ancestors. It was something he’d never done before. He had no idea if they heard him or if they’d accept a prayer from a man like him. He only knew it felt right.
The strapped the meat to their saddles and then walked down to the stream to wash the blood from their hands. They were midway back to where the horses waited when Frances put a hand out and stopped Dante dead in his tracks. He didn’t say a word, but pointed to the west.
Dante looked. He saw what Frances was pointing at, but he couldn’t quite put words to what it was.
“What the blessed hell is it?” Dante asked.
His confusion was echoed in Frances’ voice. “I have no idea.”
It was like a misty grey curtain, from the heavens to the ground. “Looks like rain,” Dante said. “But no rain I ever seen.”
“It’s not monsoon season.”
Monsoon season or not, the grey wall was moving towards them at an alarming speed. He could hear it now, too. It was louder than a stampede. The two horses bucked and reared, then bolted together back
would be. One more death meant little to him.
“I feel like I’ve caused you so much trouble, and after everything you’ve done—” “You are trouble,” he said, but he smiled to soften his words. “Don’t you apologise for
it. You’re worth a hundred of him and don’t you forget it. I won’t put up with garbage like him. This is your home, and he’s nothing more than a dime-a-dozen ranch hand.” “A ranch hand you need, though.”
“Not that bad, I don’t. I’ll string up every man here and work this damn ranch myself if I have to.”
As it turned out, the issue of who was to blame for Foster’s death ended up being moot. He awoke the next day, although he stayed in the barracks. On the third day, he disappeared.
“He was here this morning,” Simon told Dante. “I sent him to muck the stalls, but looks like he took one of your horses and left.”
“That’s too bad,” Dante said. “Good horses are hard to come by.” Bad men though, he could do without.
A few days after Foster’s disappearance, Dante took Frances with him to ride the fences. On the furthest end of the pastures, they found a deer caught in the fence. It had tried to jump over, but its foot had caught in the barbed wire. It had obviously struggled a great deal to get free but had only managed to tear up its leg on the wire. It lay panting and helpless, too tired to fight, its eyes rolling with fear as they approached.
Living on a ranch had inured Dante to the death of animals, but the deer made him sad. Life on the prairie was cruel.
“Think we can cut her free?” Frances asked.
Dante pointed at the odd angle of the deer’s leg. “Pulled it right out of the socket. She won’t be able to walk.”
“Can’t leave her like this.”
“True enough.”
Dante pulled his knife. She tried to buck as he knelt next to her, but her strength was gone. He put his hand on her neck and made soft, calming noises, the way he did with the horses. He remembered a story from his childhood, told by Olsa, of the Ainuai and how they could soothe an animal to sleep before they killed it. He wished he knew how to do that.
“It’ll be over soon,” he whispered.
He made the cut fast and deep. For some reason, he’d expected Frances to turn away, but he didn’t. They sat in silence, watching her struggles end. Dante hadn’t lied. It was quick. Then they had to cut her free from the fence.
“You know,” Frances said, “I kind of feel like an ass saying this, but the salt pork ran out a while ago. It’s been a long time since we had meat on the table that wasn’t beef.”
That was true, and Dante knew the Ainuai would have asked, “How will the whole be served?” It was a sad thing, but there was no sense it letting fresh venison go to waste.
They took the deer as far from the pasture as they dared and made quick work of butchering her. Dante silently said a prayer, both in apology and in gratitude, not to the Saints, but to Olsa’s ancestors. It was something he’d never done before. He had no idea if they heard him or if they’d accept a prayer from a man like him. He only knew it felt right.
The strapped the meat to their saddles and then walked down to the stream to wash the blood from their hands. They were midway back to where the horses waited when Frances put a hand out and stopped Dante dead in his tracks. He didn’t say a word, but pointed to the west.
Dante looked. He saw what Frances was pointing at, but he couldn’t quite put words to what it was.
“What the blessed hell is it?” Dante asked.
His confusion was echoed in Frances’ voice. “I have no idea.”
It was like a misty grey curtain, from the heavens to the ground. “Looks like rain,” Dante said. “But no rain I ever seen.”
“It’s not monsoon season.”
Monsoon season or not, the grey wall was moving towards them at an alarming speed. He could hear it now, too. It was louder than a stampede. The two horses bucked and reared, then bolted together back
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