The first night at a new place was always difficult for Henry. Not necessarily because if the newness of the place or the fact he was starting a new job, but because not knowing the place or the schedules of the people, he never knew where he could go to drink where he wouldn’t be found out. At this place, however, it ended up being surprisingly easy. As it turned out, all of the employees on the place would traditionally stay in the dining room after the evening meal and visit with the guests. Most were still in the dining room for an hour or more after dinner was finished. As a result, Henry found on that first night he was able to sit on his bed and swallow as much as he could while looking out the windows and watching for anyone who might be approaching. Before the wranglers started filing in just after dark, he had already drunk his fill, had the bottle tucked safely in his footlocker and was curled up in bed.

For the most part, Henry’s night was quiet. It may have been because of all the walking he’d done during the day, or maybe it was the first comfortable bed he’d slept in in a while. Either way, the familiar and constant nightmares stayed away and his sleep was sound and deep. Just before dawn an old memory gently began to push its way into his consciousness, triggered by a gentle breeze that crept in through the open window next to his bed and brushed across his face. He was riding the fence line in the high meadow the day after the lightning strike that killed his old, well producing cows. He was on his good ranch horse, Jack, and next to him was eleven-year-old Josh riding a little bay gelding named Wisp. They had ridden a long way in silence, partly because Henry was trying to decide what to do about losing so many good cows, and partly because Josh was wanting to talk to his dad about something and didn’t know how to approach him about it.

“Jasper’s dad just got a new saddle up in Winnemucca the other day,” he finally said.

“What’s that?” Henry snapped out of his thoughts about the herd.

“Jasper’s dad got a new saddle,” Josh repeated. “At that new tack shop up in Winnemucca.”

“Oh yeah,” Henry nodded. “I did hear somethin’ about that.”

The two continued to ride on, with Josh occasionally glancing in disgust at his father’s old saddle. “When are you gonna get a new saddle?”

Henry chuckled to himself at the question. “I don’t need a new saddle. I got this one, here. Nothin’ wrong with it.”

“But it’s old,” Josh protested.

“It was your grandfather’s. And his father’s before him, and his father’s before him,” Henry smiled.

“I know,” Josh shrugged. “That’s what I mean. It’s old!”

“I used to think of it that way too,” Henry said. “But it’s more than an old saddle. It’s part of who we are. My grand dad gave it to my dad, he gave it to me, and one day it’ll be yours, and hopefully your son’s after that. You might see it a little different then.”