Evan

We made camp on a flat bench above a dry wash.

Close enough to a cattle tank that we wouldn't have to haul water for washing, but far enough that we weren't sleeping right on top of the herd.

Dale didn't stay.

He said he had to get home, check his wife, and he didn't like being out after dark lately.

He left Wes with me because Wes knew the gates and the land and could ride out if something went wrong.

He gave Wes a rifle from behind his seat, an older bolt action that looked maintained.

He didn't hand me one.

That wasn't an insult."

It was a boundary.

People down there are careful about who they arm.

He nodded at my satellite messenger and said, If you have to use that, use it early.

Then he drove away, his taillights swallowed by dust and distance.

That first night, nothing happened in a way you could put on a police report.

That's part of why it took me so long to take it seriously.

The desert night came down clean and cold.

The wind died.

The sky went black and crowded with stars.

Wes made a small fire, not for warmth, more for a sense of shape in the dark.

We ate canned food and drank water and talked about practical things.

He told me where the worst cattle losses were.