There was no question she was going to need help again in the off-season, and while she wasn’t quite sure which of the wranglers she might ask to stay on, she was certain about who she wouldn’t. Chad had steadily been wearing out his welcome ever since he’d gotten back from the last fishing trip, and as far as Jessie was concerned, as soon as the season was over he would be leaving and would not be coming back.

Of the rest of the wranglers, most had summer jobs they’d be going to on guest ranches up north, in Colorado, Utah and Wyoming. She knew there were three that didn’t have summer jobs lined up, not yet at least. Little Steve, Jim and Henry. Of those three, Jim seemed to be the most likely candidate. Little Steve was good with horses, but not too handy when it came to maintenance type work. Henry was good at everything, as far as Jessie could tell, but he was a cattleman at heart and more than likely wouldn’t stay on if he could find a job on a cow outfit. Besides, he was a drinker, and she’d already had complaints about the smell of liquor on his breath during the day by guests. The last thing she wanted to do in the off-season was play nursemaid to a drunk. So by process of elimination, Jim seemed like the most logical choice. He was a hard worker, good with the horses, and was pretty handy in general. She had briefly mentioned the idea to Jim in passing a few days before, but at the time he hadn’t said much, and the truth of the matter was, neither had she. Still, as the thumbnail-shaped moon began to grudgingly show itself on the horizon, she decided to wait a couple more days before she’d make the final decision. With fatigue suddenly setting in, she found herself staring blankly at the back door. She blinked her eyes twice to bring her back to consciousness, then rose from the table, set her half-finished cup on the counter, and called it a day.

Later that night in the dark bunkhouse, the only light in the room the dim moonlight streaming in through the window, Henry woke from a semi-drunken restless sleep to see Chad quietly pulling on his jeans near his bunk. He picked up his boots, and then snuck out the front door. After several seconds, Henry heard the faint sound of a gate opening, and a few seconds after that, the sound of horses running. A couple minutes later, Chad reappeared, sneaking back in the door with his boots in his hand and, without taking his jeans off, climbed back in bed.

Henry wasn’t able to get back to sleep, which wasn’t uncommon, and he laid in the darkness with his eyes closed trying to fend off an impending hangover that was pressing on the back of his neck and creeping toward the front of his head. Just before sunrise, the pounding in his head began to subside enough to where he actually started to doze. For a time he was vaguely aware of his surroundings, as one is during that instant between consciousness and unconsciousness, then as sleep overtook him, the awareness drifted away. It seemed as though no time had passed whatsoever when he was jarred awake by the sound of thundering footsteps on the bunkhouse porch and the door next to his bed opening, and then slamming closed.