In the clearing, Saul stared down at the cob for a long time. Bits of burlap flaking off. A mystery, his face said, but no one spoke until Saul started it. He scanned the rock faces of the hollow, lifted his .270, fired off a few rounds. The magazine kept feeding him shells.

“How many?” Saul called.

“Two so far,” Maul said.

The little gray mule had returned, and the tallest, a brown. The two reds were missing. The buckskin was seen on the ridge. Bowman was after it last they saw him. Ella was counting pots. The paint appeared with his saddle under his belly. Dan caught his reins. They unsaddled him and he skittered off and cantered a circus ring around the clearing, wild-eyed still. A water jug. A roll of utensils had scattered in foliage. The dun took an hour to come. The yellow horse appeared at the creek with the chestnut. The sorrel would come, Saul said, when the cabin was done burning. The door fell forward halfway. Something crashed and smoked on after. The wind calmed. The smoke rose straight. The two mules were tied together by the creek, no hobbles. Maul inspected their gear. The black mule came to the cockeyed mule, the tallest.

“Three,” Maul said. “Only three mules.”

“Bowman!” Saul called.

They’d never heard him say the name before.

When Bowman arrived limping with the buckskin jenny, they were still waiting on the sorrel. He sat on a stump near the cob with Saul and studied it. His jeans were ripped at the knee. No asked about the knee but they all looked.

Maul stood at the edge of the trees. He led the buckskin to the creek.

“Four outta ten,” Maul said. “Goddamn.”

Bowman dragged his leg into the trees again and reappeared lugging the bay’s saddle, which rose and fell with his uneven gait. The saddle was fine and heavy. The tack was looped about his neck. The blanket was rolled up on the seat. Metal clanged when he dropped the tack. The afternoon was gray and cooling, fat clouds. He limped to the creek and led the chestnut out, set the bay’s blanket on his back.

“What are you doing?” Dan said.

Bowman positioned the blanket.

“You take the yellow horse,” Dan said.

Bowman slung the saddle over the blanket.

“Call your horse,” Ella said. “Let’s go.”

“Take a pill,” Bowman said.

“He’s coming,” Saul said. “My horse always comes.”

“Everything always works out for you?” Ella said.

“Take two,” Bowman said. He tightened the girth.

“What pills?” Saul said.

“Tell him,” Bowman said.

“You can’t have my horse,” Dan said.

“He’s mine,” Bowman said. “Or he’s dead.”

Dan dropped the halter. He stepped back. His body went loose but his hands were fists.

“Consider this a warning,” Bowman said. He adjusted the stirrups.