Death on the High Lonesome by Frank Hayes

couple of horses in a nearby corral. The house was a long, low adobe, looking so much a part of the landscape that with a quick glance it could have blended in with the sandstone ridge that met the far horizon.
    As she pulled up to the corral fence, she could see that Velma Thompson was sitting on the covered porch that ran across the front of the house. There was no sign of anybody else around, although Velma had mentioned to Rosita in their last face-to-face, which had taken place in town six months earlier, that Manuel and Lorenzo, two of their long-term hands, were still on the ranch. She explained that Charlie wanted to keepthem on the payroll to help with general maintenance. He also kept a small herd of Red Angus, as a nucleus, in case one of the children decided on a midlife career change.
    â€œCharlie always was a wishful thinker,” Velma said.
    As she stepped out of the cruiser, Rosie looked around again for a sign of either Manuel or Lorenzo. She got a whinny of acknowledgement for her efforts from an old bay gelding standing with his head over the corral fence, near where she parked the car. He called again. She gave a quick wave to Velma, then moved toward him.
    â€œOkay, I guess we all need some attention from time to time.” She took the few steps to the fence, then reached out to him. She stroked his muzzle lightly, then ran her fingers down his neck, picking a strand of hay out of his mane as she did. He gave a soft nicker in response. “My, my, you men are all alike. Just never get enough attention, no matter how old you are.”
    Looking him over, she concluded he was of great age. “My guess is you’re on the yonder side of thirty.”
    His eyes closed under her stroking. He shifted his weight. She saw his hip bones stick out. The sway in his back was deep. He was thin throughout.
    â€œI’m thinking this is probably going to be your last winter, old-timer, but it was a pleasure to meet you before you go.”
    She pressed her face against him, gave him a light kiss on his nose, then stepped back.
    â€œVelma probably thinks I’m getting ready to become a horse thief, I spent so much time with you and haven’t even said howdy to her.”
    Rosita turned toward the house. The sun had warmed her. She could smell the horse scent on her hands. It was not unpleasant.She waved again to Velma as she stepped onto the first flagstone on the long walk, amid abundant sprays of flowers on either side of her.
    â€œThe flowers are still beautiful, Velma,” she shouted. “It’ll be a pure shame when the first cold breath of winter gets them. But you haven’t lost that green thumb of yours.”
    Velma didn’t respond. Her chair sat in the shade of the porch overhang. Rosita bent down to admire some lupine. She continued to admire the flourishing gardens up to the point when she stepped up onto the porch.
    â€œSo has Charlie come back from rambling?”
    Rosita felt the light breeze that eddied across the porch. She saw it whisper through Velma’s white hair. Then Rosie put her hand to her mouth.
    â€œOh, no, Velma. Oh, no.”
    *   *   *
    When the phone rang on his desk, Virgil figured it was Kyle Harrison telling him he was running late. He was surprised to hear Rosie’s voice.
    â€œWhere are you? I know you’re not in the cruiser.”
    â€œI’m in Velma’s living room on the home phone.”
    â€œWhat’s up?” Virgil asked. “Isn’t Velma there?”
    â€œVirgil, she’s here, sitting on her chair on the front porch. But Virgil, she’s dead. Velma’s dead.”

7

    V irgil had barely hung up the phone when Kyle Harrison walked through the door.
    â€œHey, Virgil. You look like a man who needs someone to throw him a lifesaver.”
    â€œYeah, well, it hasn’t reached critical mass yet, but this day that started off gangbusters doesn’t look like it’s