Fletch but away from Heathcliffe. “They’re too big.”
“Not so big.” Fletch climbed onto the horse. “Or you could jog along beside me.”
“Don’t you need a saddle?”
Fletch was riding through the back doorway of the barn into the corral. “Open that gate for me, will you?”
“Hey.” Jack trotted behind the horse. “You’re riding a horse barebacked in shorts.”
“Yeah,” Fletch said. “Just like a Native American.”
F LETCH SAT ON the horse at the lower end of the gully. Water still rushed down it noisily.
Sprawled in the gully, head down and forced into a loose bail of rusted barbed wire, left leg arced over an old washtub, was one of the escapees, the smaller, slimmer one, Moreno. His blank eyes stared at the cloudless sky of the new day. His throat was badly swollen.
Fletch guessed he had been bitten by either a rattlesnake or a copperhead, and then drowned.
Fletch said to himself,
And then there were three
.
F ROM UPHILL CAME a loud, deep guttural noise. To Fletch it sounded like “Ou-row-ouu!”
He looked up to his right.
Charging down the edge of the gully toward him came Leary, all one-sixth of a ton of him. Soaking wet, muddy, he ran head down making this noise.
Fletch twitched Heathcliffe’s rein, circled him around to the left.
As Leary pounded toward Fletch, Fletch rode the horse into him.
Leary fell back into the gully.
Fletch backed the horse off.
“Ow-row-ouu!” came from the gully.
Leary climbed out of the gully.
Again, bellowing, he charged Fletch.
Again Fletch rode the horse into him and sent Leary falling back into the gully.
The third time Leary climbed out of the gully, he stood on its edge a moment.
Fletch sat three meters away, watching him. He wondered if Leary might be thinking of a better way to solve his problems.
No. He was just catching his breath for a new charge.
“Ow-row-ouu!”
The fourth time Heathcliffe pushed Leary back into the gully, there was a god-awful holler.
“ARRRRRRRRR!”
After backing off, Fletch’s feet flicked Heathcliffe forward to the edge.
In the gully, Leary had landed on Moreno’s corpse. Arms and legs flailing, trying to get off the already bloating corpse, splashing in the rushing water, fighting off barbed wire, rotten fence posts, the holey wash tub, Leary thrashed and bellowed until he was standing. Without hesitation he leapt at the side of the gully, flung himself against it. Kicking his legs, pulling with his arms, he scrambled up the gully’s muddy side.
Standing again at the edge of the gully, Leary breathed hard. He looked down at the corpse now undulating deeper in the rushing water.
Fletch said, “‘Mornin’.”
Leary’s close-set eyes near the top of his egg-shaped head looked up at Fletch.
Fletch asked, “Are you hungry?”
Dry-heaving, clutching his stomach, Leary stumbled down the hills a meter in front of Fletch astride Heathcliffe.
F ULL LIT BY THE LOW morning sunlight, Jack sat on the corral’s fence watching them come over and down the last hill. As they approached, he asked, “Where’s Moreno?” Herding Leary into the corral, Fletch answered, “Dead.” As Fletch rode Heathcliffe through the corral gate, Jack quoted, “‘…just the kind that kinsfolk can’t abide…’”
7
I
n the kitchen
, Fletch said to Carrie: “Only three extra for breakfast.” “What happened to the other one?”
“Snakes got him.”
Carrie didn’t even look up from the stove. “Devil knows his own.”
Fletch asked, “Ham? Country ham?”
“That’s right,” Carrie said with fierceness.
“It’s going to be a right hot day,” Fletch said.
“That’s right,” Carrie said in the same tone. “And I mean to give these bastards a case of thirst that’ll make them unable to think of anything but cool, clear water. They’ll just wish they could spit!”
“Well, don’t give me any.”
“Would I do that to you?”
“God knows what you’d do to a Yankee.”
“Ah, Fletch.
“Not so big.” Fletch climbed onto the horse. “Or you could jog along beside me.”
“Don’t you need a saddle?”
Fletch was riding through the back doorway of the barn into the corral. “Open that gate for me, will you?”
“Hey.” Jack trotted behind the horse. “You’re riding a horse barebacked in shorts.”
“Yeah,” Fletch said. “Just like a Native American.”
F LETCH SAT ON the horse at the lower end of the gully. Water still rushed down it noisily.
Sprawled in the gully, head down and forced into a loose bail of rusted barbed wire, left leg arced over an old washtub, was one of the escapees, the smaller, slimmer one, Moreno. His blank eyes stared at the cloudless sky of the new day. His throat was badly swollen.
Fletch guessed he had been bitten by either a rattlesnake or a copperhead, and then drowned.
Fletch said to himself,
And then there were three
.
F ROM UPHILL CAME a loud, deep guttural noise. To Fletch it sounded like “Ou-row-ouu!”
He looked up to his right.
Charging down the edge of the gully toward him came Leary, all one-sixth of a ton of him. Soaking wet, muddy, he ran head down making this noise.
Fletch twitched Heathcliffe’s rein, circled him around to the left.
As Leary pounded toward Fletch, Fletch rode the horse into him.
Leary fell back into the gully.
Fletch backed the horse off.
“Ow-row-ouu!” came from the gully.
Leary climbed out of the gully.
Again, bellowing, he charged Fletch.
Again Fletch rode the horse into him and sent Leary falling back into the gully.
The third time Leary climbed out of the gully, he stood on its edge a moment.
Fletch sat three meters away, watching him. He wondered if Leary might be thinking of a better way to solve his problems.
No. He was just catching his breath for a new charge.
“Ow-row-ouu!”
The fourth time Heathcliffe pushed Leary back into the gully, there was a god-awful holler.
“ARRRRRRRRR!”
After backing off, Fletch’s feet flicked Heathcliffe forward to the edge.
In the gully, Leary had landed on Moreno’s corpse. Arms and legs flailing, trying to get off the already bloating corpse, splashing in the rushing water, fighting off barbed wire, rotten fence posts, the holey wash tub, Leary thrashed and bellowed until he was standing. Without hesitation he leapt at the side of the gully, flung himself against it. Kicking his legs, pulling with his arms, he scrambled up the gully’s muddy side.
Standing again at the edge of the gully, Leary breathed hard. He looked down at the corpse now undulating deeper in the rushing water.
Fletch said, “‘Mornin’.”
Leary’s close-set eyes near the top of his egg-shaped head looked up at Fletch.
Fletch asked, “Are you hungry?”
Dry-heaving, clutching his stomach, Leary stumbled down the hills a meter in front of Fletch astride Heathcliffe.
F ULL LIT BY THE LOW morning sunlight, Jack sat on the corral’s fence watching them come over and down the last hill. As they approached, he asked, “Where’s Moreno?” Herding Leary into the corral, Fletch answered, “Dead.” As Fletch rode Heathcliffe through the corral gate, Jack quoted, “‘…just the kind that kinsfolk can’t abide…’”
7
I
n the kitchen
, Fletch said to Carrie: “Only three extra for breakfast.” “What happened to the other one?”
“Snakes got him.”
Carrie didn’t even look up from the stove. “Devil knows his own.”
Fletch asked, “Ham? Country ham?”
“That’s right,” Carrie said with fierceness.
“It’s going to be a right hot day,” Fletch said.
“That’s right,” Carrie said in the same tone. “And I mean to give these bastards a case of thirst that’ll make them unable to think of anything but cool, clear water. They’ll just wish they could spit!”
“Well, don’t give me any.”
“Would I do that to you?”
“God knows what you’d do to a Yankee.”
“Ah, Fletch.
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