“Howdy” Mom—Yes diamondback (reverse pic)—Snakes are ubiquitous (everywhere)—My broomtails woke a fell’r like this guy just the other day—No one injured but horses do “spook”—Some myths are real—Met a woman—chasin’ her—My eyes are opening—Are yours open, mother? The Big Window I’m in it—Effervescent! So long—

Ignorance is not always inherited. The young can rise above beginnings.

He reckoned he smelled breakfast somewhere. Someone cooking it for someone else, not him. He reckoned, too, he’d heard a rifle shot.

He’d asked what to call the horses when he borrowed them, but the sheriff said he “didn’t believe in naming animals.” Why? he asked. Respect or disrespect? The sheriff said names were for people not animals and this shocked the deputy. The animals knew who they were, said the sheriff. He got no further. It left him in a state of awkward nakedness in relation to his team. He was not a quitter. He tried new names each night, by God. Misty and Clyde. He’d mail the cards back in civilization. His knees ached. His palms rope-burned even through gloves. In truth, rope was frail, just braided grass invented by primitives. Gloves cooked his fingers. He fed the horses apple treats from the flat of his hand. Mandy and Buck. No reaction. What might the sheriff’s niece from the city call the horses? No idea. He’d seen palm-feeding on Gunsmoke. One thing was sure: the West was the cure for passivity. Neither Cowboys nor Indians were cubicle dwellers. At night in camp, the animals glided toward him for apple treats and his fluids pumped faster, big as ships cutting slushy seas, and he touched his blade.

The rifle smoke was still visible in the dawn light. They were that quick about the chase.

All three Watches rode bareback hard up to the Ridge of the Rifle Shot. Their horses leapt up scree that rolled away beneath their hooves, the men hanging onto manes and necks, their legs gripping the heaving bellies. The horses gasped and seemed to go nowhere but did indeed rise in the end, then rise then rise, growing smaller above the mules that dropped away and away, growing smaller with horses’ efforts.