The high ridges of the night before were soon, for him, at eye level, then, sure enough, sank below him. He’d made good time. He’d spotted them once that first day. He’d studied them in binoculars. One of them had studied him back, waved up. Where was Ginny now? What was her line of uninterrupted thought here? What happened on the hill with the mare? He liked the idea: John Law.

He had lied a little on his Sheriff’s Deputy application, checked the box for EXPERIENCE IN LAW ENFORCEMENT. We can call ourselves anything, he knew now. Just fill in the blank after checking the box: Lawman. Cowboy. Pirate. Elaborate on the blank line.

His ass hurt. The saddle didn’t fit him right. Bowman would know why with a glance, but as for himself, the pain in his ass was a total mystery. Sound carries uphill, he’d always heard, but now he knew. In these slick rock amphitheaters, he more than understood the nature of sound, and this shift from only hearing to understanding—this seismic shift—caused his body to vibrate in an undetectable way. He’d like to tell some human about the seismic shift. It was, he saw, the only drawback of horses.

“The seismic shift is altitude and fear,” said the yellow horse.

They argued.

He’d notched three days on his belt since he passed the posse.

All day after he’d passed them—though it seemed impossible—he was sure he could hear their horses coming. A voice would fade around a cornice, a crag, no, a lookout. Someone calling out a name. If he was ever murdered—the idea popped into his brain—he would come back and haunt the evildoers as a ghost. Now there were moments he thought only of murder. Ginny was more cowboy than any of them—the next flash of knowing. Still, these mountains were architectural, like the city skyline from the bus from Verona into Manhattan, but bigger, better, a thousand times. The distance had swallowed Dan’s cries. Why could he not keep his mind on track? The sky looked kind, but was it? At noon, he smeared sunscreen on his cheeks and listened.

He’d lied, too, about the stamps. Of course he had them, a white lie to the posse, a yarn.