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Show Warren Three tries to get a worn-out boot into the stirrup, an arthritic heave, he's mounted one more time. He grasps the reins softly, without moving his ruined hands; the mare can find the way home for his milky, blind eyes. Forty-four years back, topping the pass-- a hard young man listening to shod hooves ring on sliderock, loved and hated that high range: frosty dawns, the long valley cloud-covered below, the natural music of his herd. Shied away from town, from marriage, saved his pennies and gave every waking moment to the ranch. "Dinner's on. Where'd the old man go?" Out by the south pasture fence, feeding the bum lambs by feel, humming as the bottle empties. |