Riding fences

(This is the opening chapter for something; I'm not sure exactly what. I have a total of two chapters.)

Jasper Taylor sat his buckskin – appropriately named Buck – on the southwest edge of a low hill, eyeing the fence line that stretched across the grassland, seemingly forever.

“One little hill after another,” Jasper said. He took a short swig from a round canteen, then recorked the canteen and wound the strap around his saddle horn. “Let’s go,” he said. Buck started his long-legged walk down the hill. Farmer, the pack mule attached to Buck’s saddle by a long leather strap, followed.

Unlike some other ranch hands, Jasper didn’t mind riding fences. He enjoyed the solitude, the opportunity to let his mind clear, on lookout only for storms, rattlesnakes and broken fences. For the latter, Jasper had a roll of wire in a pack Farmer carried, a pair of wire cutters, plus the leather gloves he wore as part of a cowboy’s normal equipment. Breaks in fences were not all that common, but did happen and needed fixing before any Double Bar D cattle strayed onto Flying M land, or vice versa. Any cattle that had strayed, but were not seen by Jasper or by Flying M hands, would be returned at the next roundup.

As for the other two problems, with storms Jasper could only hunker inside his slicker and avoid dry washes, which could flood with almost no notice; and as for rattlesnakes, well, they gave warning before they struck.

“Lots of land here,” Jasper said as Buck made his way across the grass. “A man could get to like this place.” He smiled. “With the right woman, a house tight against winter and a few cattle … Yep, a man could get to like this place.”

He spotted a big cottonwood tree about two kilometers away. Cottonwood usually meant water nearby, either a natural pool or a stream. A good place to camp, Jasper figured. He could refill canteens, let Farmer get his fill, make coffee and not use canteen water.

“Hang on just a minute,” he said. Buck stopped. Jasper reached back to his right, opening a saddle bag and taking out a topographical map. The map was folded to the place Jasper camped the night before. He traced a finger along the printed property/fence line. “We’re about here … It’s a stream. Good. I’d rather have running water than standing water. Course it doesn’t really matter when you boil it, but …” He put the map back in the saddle bag and had just turned forward when Buck announced:

“Bear.”

“Where?”

“Do you see where my head’s pointed?”

“Oh.” Jasper saw a brown shape two hundred meters right of the cottonwood. “Do you have a read on it?”

“Big,” Buck said. “Big bear.”

“I meant what kind.”

“Grizzly.”

“Aw, shoot.”

“Brown bear’ll kill you just as dead.”

“Yeah, but …”

“I know. Grizzly has the reputation.”

Jasper said, “Can you tell if it’s male or female?”

“Female.”

“Shoot. Cubs?”

“I don’t sense any. If she had any, they’d be in range.”

“You got a recommendation?”

“Shoot it.”

Jasper snorted. “For what, being a grizzly?”

“She’s dangerous.”

“Maybe, but …”

“If Farmer gets a whiff of her, he’ll be gone before you can say ‘What?’”

“I can’t shoot her just because Farmer might run off.”

“I guarantee he’ll run. If I was a real horse I’d be gone already. We wouldn’t be having this conversation. You would be sitting on your ass on the ground.”

“Nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” Buck said. “Let me tell you what a horse thinks. A horse thinks its only purpose in life is to be eaten. Cowboy goes out every morning, gets his horse, the horse wonders if that’s the day he gets eaten. So when a horse senses a bear, it’s Katy bar the door, cause that horse is gone.”

“If the horse is gone, it’s too late to bar the door.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“How do you know what a horse thinks, anyway? You are a Burlington-Chance Mark 44 AI, temporarily in horse configuration.”

“I know what I am, and I’ll tell you how I know what horses think. Back at the ranch, I spend a lot of barn time and corral time with the dumb animals. I listen to what they say. They all wonder when they’ll be eaten. Not ‘if,’ but ‘when.’’ He scraped a hoof on the ground. “I’ll be glad when this so-called vacation is over. Why I let you talk me into leaving the ship … You’ll like the wide open spaces, you said. You won’t have to monitor engines or life-support or weapons, you said. You won’t have to do any thinking, you said. Well, I can sum up my part of this vacation with one word: Horseshit. Since we got here, that’s what I’ve been surrounded by, that’s the level of conversation I’ve heard day and night, and that’s what I’ve had to artificially produce after eating grain and/or grass so other human types will think I am a horse. And now I am looking at a rather large grizzly bear that would like nothing more than to chase me down and make a few meals out of me. And one or two out of you.”

Jasper studied the bear. “Can you outrun it?”

Buck snorted. “I can outrun a cheetah. Can you hang on?”

“I’d rather not have to.”

“Yeah? And I’d rather be back on the ship. There’s no telling what those so-called mechanics are doing. ‘Joe’s Shade Tree Repair.’ What were you thinking? Did you check the fine print on the contract? I bet you didn’t. I bet you’ll be surprised when you see it says, ‘We don’t know a whole hell of a lot, but we don’t overcharge too much for our stupid.’ If you had read the contract …”

“Is that what it says?”

“What?”

“You’ve got it stored. Does it say … Whatever you just said?”

“Well, no. But …”

“Concentrate on the bear. She’s moving.”

“I see that,” Buck said. “I am a BUCH-44, and I see everything, I hear everything, I can even smell everything. Which reminds me – I am growing tired of days and nights in the barn and in the corral. Have you been there? Do you know what it smells like?”

“Horses,” Jasper said. “The barn and the corral smell like horses.”

“Exactly. And horses …”

“Don’t smell all that bad.”

“If I may repeat myself – Horseshit. Horses … She’s coming this way.”

“Yep. But she’s a long way off.”

“That’s what Farmer’ll be, too, if he gets a whiff of bear.”

“I’m not going to shoot her unless she charges.”

“If she charges, you won’t have time to shoot. Farmer will use all his mule muscles pulling on the strap and either he’ll break it or he’ll pull the saddle down and you will be on your ass with a grizzly charging and a mule bucking and doing its best to get out of Dodge and trying to drag me with it. So shoot the bear now.”

“She’s almost two kliks away.”

“You’ve made longer shots.”

“Yeah, but those were at humans who were already shooting at me.”

“All of them weren’t humans.”

“No, but they were shooting at me.”

Buck gave another snort. “Yeah, and if mama grizzly there had a rifle, she’d already have put a round or two our way.”

“Well, she doesn’t have a rifle.”

“No, but she is fleet of foot. If we have to run, make sure you cut Farmer loose.”

Jasper said, “I am surprised.”

“At what?”

“Usually you only think of your own welfare. And mine. I’m surprised that you want Farmer to have a chance at survival, since he can’t run very fast if he’s attached.”

“I don’t care how fast he can run. I just want to make sure he doesn’t hold me back. I might be all fake horse, but that doesn’t mean I want a grizzly sinking its claws into my ass, either. I’m faster than Farmer; therefore the grizzly gets him first. If at all.” Buck nodded his head at the bear. “She ain’t slowing down.”

Jasper watched the grizzly climb the near bank. The bear stood to its full height. For a moment, Jasper believed he could feel the bear’s eyes. He was reaching for the Winchester .300 when the phone rang in the holster tied to the saddle horn.

Buck said, “You get the rifle, I’ll get the phone.” He activated a channel. “You have reached the number for JT Flight Services. JT is busy now. Please leave …”

“Buck?” a woman’s voice said. “Let me speak with Jasper.”

“Well, Marianne, we’ve got a grizzly headed our way and Jasper is in the process of …”

“Uncle Simon is on the loose.”

“Jasper,” Buck said. “It’s for you.”

(That’s it for now. And this: After you have shot the bear is the wrong time to realize you have not enough gun.)