The Prologue

"Home, home on the range,
Where the deer and the antelope play.
Where seldom is heard
A discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day."

The final notes fell upon the sleeping child and Dorothy silently slipped through the shadows to the foot of the narrow wooden bed. The wind howled through the cracks in the tiny log cabin. It often did so early in the spring, but the children were used to its cold caresses, and as Dorothy looked round to make sure all was in place, she noticed tiny puffs of clouds rising with each infant breath. The proud mother sighed faintly and prepared herself for another chilly night alone with her boys.

A mother's work is never done, and before Dorothy retired, she removed a ball of yarn and the beginnings of a scarf from beneath her bed. Norman's birthday was less than two weeks away. If she didn't finish it, he might not get anything from Mom and Dad. Perhaps that is what disturbed her more than anything. The gifts said, "Love Mom and Dad," but Dad was never there. Nevertheless, Dorothy knitted and pearled deep into the night.

* * * *

Dorothy and Kay Jones had moved east to the Colorado mountains three years ago from the small mining town of Blanding, Utah. Kay had received a promising job working for a rancher just north of Pagosa Springs and, at the urging of Dorothy, he decided to move his family there. At first, he thought that it would be a hassle to move, but Dorothy insisted, so he sold two of the sheep he had in his fold, and got the money necessary to move his family to the small community at the base of the mountains. The first year was difficult, but Dorothy fought through it and made a surprisingly comfortable home. The only thing that was missing was the consistent presence of a husband and a father. Kay worked as a sheepherder, and despite the love he felt for his wife and his boys, his job demanded that he spend much of the spring and summer in the sheep camps with the Navajoes and Basques. On this cold night, Kay found himself wrapped in a blanket next to the fire thinking of his beautiful wife and his four precious boys.

"You want some of this stew? grunted the tall, lean ghost of a Navajo they called Joe.

"Nah, you go ahead." Kay whispered in a tone Joe took for disinterest.

"You sure, 'cause I don't want you wasting away 'fore you go see your honey."

Kay chuckled as the big Navajo attacked the stew, but his thoughts soon returned to the little cabin and its inhabitants. Thus occupied he soon fell into a peaceful slumber. The Navajo looked across the flames at the tired shepherd. He smiled knowingly.

Jones was a quiet man, and in Joe's estimation that was just fine. So many of the guys Joe had known over the years talked too much. They'd come in to camp and brag about their experiences down at Lucy's, or they'd boast of the money they'd won playing poker. Joe knew it was just talk but all the same the stories tired him. He had been in the camp for about six years and he'd heard every story, he'd even told a few himself, but the quiet, thoughtful silence of Jones was the best story he'd never heard. Perhaps that's why he smiled as he glanced across the flames. Jones was a tough one to figure out.

Dawn brought with it a bitingly cold wind. The camp was nestled in a thick forest of aspen trees just below a draw on the south side of Wolf Creek Pass, and, as the sun tickled the tips of the mountains, the frost blew off the naked skeletons of the trees like dandelions in a fan. Jones had awakened several hours earlier and prepared some grub and fed and watered the horses. Joe awakened to see him stirring the contents of the blackened tin.

"How'd you sleep old boy?" inquired the Indian, still trying to focus in on the surroundings.

"Slept okay, I suppose. Hoot came in about four and woke me up to go fetch one of his ewes. He says he's about to take off for Blanding. Something about his dream."

Joe sat silently for a few moments. Hoot was another of the guys that used the camp, and his leaving was a big surprise to the Indian. Hoot had talked for a long time about leaving the camp, but no one ever really believed he would go. His pa and his two brothers had run sheep all their lives and for Hoot just to up and leave was pretty incredible.

"When did he say he was going?"

"Day after tomorrow. His pa's gonna be upset, but he ain't one to not go 'cause of his pa. Least that's what he's saying now." Jones chuckled as he spoke. Hoot was a big talker, but his pa was a large, stern man with a demeanor that scared even the toughest of the ranch hands. Soon as he found out Hoot was planning on leaving he would blow up like a smokestack. This thought seemed to humor both of the men as they blew on the embers of the fire.

"You figure his pa'll kill him, or just tar and feather him?" Joe laughed at the mere thought.

"I think Hoot would prefer the tar and feathers. He seems to like that stuff." Both men howled as if they'd discovered the reason Hoot had revealed his intention to leave--he secretly wanted to be tarred and feathered.

Despite the humor these two companions found in Hoot Peterson's dilemma, the dilemma was, in fact, quite humorless to Hoot himself. He was a young man of 23 years, and despite the fact he'd grown up in the mountains all his life, he really longed to leave them behind and do something on his own. His dream was to become an actor like the kind he saw in those films each year when they went to Wichita. He'd learned how to read at an early age and every chance he got, he'd act out the movies he'd seen or he'd make up new characters to play. As he got older, his desire to act increased, and, as it increased, his father became more and more set against him leaving. Not because he didn't want his son to be an actor, but because he had devoted his whole life to developing and building his ranch, and his life's desire was to turn it over to his sons in a few years. If one of his sons left, his dream would be diminished.

As the two men laughed around the fire, Hoot sauntered in to warm up his frozen toes.

Joe saw the young man first and burst into an even greater fit of laughter. "Jones tells me you're to be tarred and feathered this afternoon down at Lucy's."

"Really?" replied Hoot in a tone of concern that only served to fuel the hysteria of the big Indian. Jones, too, nearly fell into the fire when he looked into the frightened eyes of the youngster. Slowly their laughter subsided, and Jones, seeing the gravity of the situation decided to be a little more compassionate.

"You mean you still haven't told your pa?" he offered as a peace sign.

"No, and I need some advice. You fellas know my pa. What should I do? I mean I can't stay here any longer. I got this great opportunity down in Monument Valley with a promoter and if I wait, my chance will pass right by. I know my pa'll kill me, but if I don't go he might as well." As Hoot spoke, Jones withdrew into thoughtful silence, and Joe knew it was his turn to speak.

"Sorry I was laughing, Hoot, but you're right. Your pa's gonna have a cow if he knows you're fixin' to leave. I say if you really want to go you just oughtta go. Me and old Jones here will tell your pa when it comes time. By the way, what kinda job is this promoter gonna give you?"

Before Hoot could respond, Jones jumped to his feet and exclaimed, "No, you don't, Joe. I am not and will not tell Charlie anything of the sort. If Hoot's gonna leave, he ought to be the one to break his daddy's heart, not me!"

Joe paid no attention to the remark and politely asked again, "What's this promoter got waiting for you, Hoot?"

"Well," replied Hoot, looking anxiously at both men, "he offered me an opportunity at being a daredevil. He wants me to go down the rapids of the Colorado River in a barrel. They say it's never been done, but when I make it, I'll be a big celebrity, and I might even get to be in one of them moving picture shows. I know it's kinda dangerous, but I seen the barrel, and it's got lots of padding. I know what you're thinking, but if I don't do this now I might never leave. I'll probably wind up like you two."

Jones still wanted to yell at Joe for offering his assistance, but after hearing Hoot's plan, he decided to remain quiet and be supportive. Jones had known Hoot for about two years, and despite the young man's desire to kill himself on the river, Hoot was a hard working sort, and if he wanted out it wasn't any of Jones' business to prevent him. With these thoughts he sat down again next to the fire and started to stir the ashes.

Joe, too, liked Hoot. If he wanted out, Joe would give him a way. "You'd better get packed before your pa gets back. You understand?"

A big smile fought its way on to Hoot's face, and before he knew it he was racing off to his lean-to to get packed. Both Joe and Jones chuckled once again. The die had been cast. Hoot was really leaving.

* * * *