Chapter Three: An Understanding

Kay Jones hated that he was the one to tell old Chuck Peterson about his boy. After all that Joe had promised Hoot, Kay was the one left to break the news. He knew he would be. Joe was notoriously unreliable when it came to promises. He had even gone so far as to take Kay's horse with him on to the mountain to make sure Kay would be the one to talk to Chuck. Kay chuckled when he thought about the payback he would mete out.

He looked slowly around the sheep camp. He missed home. It wasn't just his boys and his wife with her sweet perfume. Of course he missed them, but it was more than that. It was that when he was home he could hang his trousers on an iron hook next to his bed or sit on the porch in an arm chair and whittle. It was that it was his place and he didn't have to share it with six or seven other blokes. He picked up a few of the blankets laying by the fire and shook the dust and pine needles off them. They smelled of smoke and sweat. Dorothy would be horrified, he thought. She would never allow a blanket to smell like that. Really, it was the little conveniences. The clean blankets. The smell of hot cider on the stove. The feel of a warm rug beneath his naked feet. Those things made the difference. It had been three weeks since he'd been down to Pagosa to see Dorothy and the boys. He had sent messages and tried to keep them abreast of his comings and goings, but it was hard on him. Mostly it was hard on Dorothy.

He picked up a twig that had fallen on to one of his blankets and tossed it in to the still-smouldering fire several feet away. Kay figured he had a few more minutes before Chuck was supposed to arrive, so he sat down next to the fire, pulled a large Bowie knife from its holster on his belt, and began to whittle an intricate train whistle out of a small block of Ponderosa pine. He made a few preliminary cuts with the knife before he saw a trail of dust rise from the opposite side of the draw. It wouldn't be long.

* * * *

Chuck entered the camp at a quick canter atop his stunning black gelding. He paused for a moment when he saw Jones stand but then continued right on up to the shed he and his boys had constructed the previous spring. He stepped off the panting animal and eagerly assessed its fitness. It was almost eight miles from Lucy's up to the sheep camp, so Chuck wanted to see just how tired his horse would be. It was awash in sweat but it pawed and snorted as if it could go another several miles without slowing down. A big victorious grin spread across Chuck's long narrow face.

"Jonesy," he shouted as he saw the broad-chested Welshman approaching the shed. "I'm about to be a rich man."

Jones just nodded as if he was distracted. Chuck took it as an invitation to continue.

"You know ol' Jake Sorrentino. Well, he went and bet me five hundred dollars that a horse isn't twice as fast as a human. You believe that?"

Kay didn't and, despite his mission to break the news to his boss, he decided to engage in a little banter.

"Not really, Chuck. I guess it depends on the horse."

"Miguel Lopez' mare. The one that beat Judge Dugan's colt in that match race last fall."

"What's the catch then?" Kay asked with increasing interest.

"Well," continued Chuck with the same wide grin, "he wanted Cus to be the rider, but I talked him into letting Cole McBride do it."

"Cole McBride?" gasped Kay. "He don't ride, Chuck."

"Think about it, Jonesy. All he's gotta do is stay on top of it. A drunken armadillo could do it."

Kay nodded in agreement. It was a silly bet on Jake's part.

"Who's gonna race against it?" Kay asked as an afterthought.

"That's the best part of it, Jonesy. The drunk fool let me go and pick the runner. He's gotta approve it, of course, but I figure I'll just get one of the high school kids down in Pagosa to do it." Chuck winked at Kay like he wanted to let the Welshman in on a big secret. "Might even pass the boy a twenty to try his best and make a race of it."

Kay again nodded his approval and then began to shift his weight back and forth on his worn boots. He didn't want to do it.

"By the way, Jonesy," Chuck began as he shook open the door to the shed, "why aren't you up on the mountain with Joe? I thought you was gonna take those ewes to the meadow up above Black Rock Mesa."

"That's just it, Chuck. I gotta talk to ya." The blood drained from Kay's face as he leaned against the side of the shed. He kicked at a couple of tufts of June grass and tried to imagine just what he should say.

"And?" said Chuck impatiently.

"Joe left me here to talk to you about Hoot." He hated hearing the words. He looked up to see a sneer replace the smile on Chuck's face.

"What about Hoot?" snipped Chuck.

Kay waited a few seconds before choosing his words.

"He's gone," he whispered.

"He's what? Gone?"

Kay noticed Chuck's face turning red and could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. He again kicked at the June grass beneath his feet and tried not to look at the explosion he figured was coming.

"He left a couple of hours ago."

"Tell me he isn't going down to ride that in that barrel. Jonesy, tell me he isn't that stupid."

Kay remained fixated on the dirt at Chuck's feet. His silence told Chuck everything he wanted to know, though, and within seconds, Chuck slammed the door, untied his horse from the hitching post, and threw himself into the saddle. Kay felt the weight of the world descend on him. He kept feeling he should do something to stop the angry rancher.

"Chuck," he yelled, grabbing the reins of the black gelding, "don't do it. You'll only make things worse. Just let him go."

Chuck shot a fierce look at Kay and then in a voice that hinted at some fear, he replied. "If it was you're son, would you?"

Kay relaxed his hold on the reins and then released them completely. He understood. Chuck gave his horse a gentle kick and then headed back along the same path that brought him.