A few people milled around inside, including some with whom he had ridden on the return trip from Denver. A skinny, bald-headed man, who appeared to be in his seventies, stood behind the ticket counter, beneath a chalk board with handwritten notes on arrival and departure times. He wore glasses which, as he looked down and read a newspaper, had slipped precariously close to the tip of his nose. He seemed oblivious to the low-level commotion in the lobby. An old heavyset black man worked with no particular gusto, emptying the contents of ash trays into a small waste container he carried. Jake noticed an old woman with whom he had spoken briefly on the bus being met by a young man whom he assumed to be a grandson. A young man in a Navy uniform lay asleep on a long wooden bench, and near him an elderly woman sat with two small children – grand-kids? – with her aims draped protectively around each, eyeing the scene with apparent uneasiness. Nowhere, however, did Jake see Tory.
There was a large, institutional clock hanging on a far wall – a "Gable" that read 11:00 p.m., telling Jake that Greyhound was running right on time. He popped a Lucky Strike out of a cigarette pack he produced from his shirt pocket and lit up. "Grandma – I've got to go to the bathroom," he heard one of the children seated with the nervous old lady say. Then he watched as the old woman managed to gather up both kids and the bags she carried, herding the whole bunch toward a sign reading "Lavatory." The smoke from Jake's Lucky rose in a blue cloud that lingered around his head. He exhaled long and deep, sending another full column of smoke into the air. No Tory, he thought. He pulled his jacket up tight around his neck and shoulders and shivered a bit as the door to the lobby was opened, allowing in cold night air as a young couple left arm-in-arm. He noticed how happy they looked to be back in each other's company, figuring one of them must've ridden in with him from Denver, though he hadn't noticed either. The janitor held the door open for another old couple, as very quickly the commotion that had come with the new arrivals subsided. Jake took another hit, glanced again at the sleeping swabby, and saw the old woman re-emerging from the toilet, grand-kids in tow. He sighed deeply, momentarily overcome with ennui.
"You look sad and lonely, cowboy. Need a friend?"
Jake turned to see Tory, leaning against a door frame, looking out from a small anteroom. "Yeah, I could use a friend," he said.
"Come here, then," she said, motioning him toward her as she backed into the room
"Where you going?" Jake asked, looking around, nervous that they were going someplace they weren't supposed to be. But as he drew close, Tory took his hand and pulled him ahead into the room, then closed the door behind them.
In the dim light of the little room, Jake had just enough time to see that they were surrounded by baggage of various kinds – suitcases, duffel bags and shipping boxes.
But before he had time to wonder what was happening, Tory was wrapping herself around him, kissing him fully on the mouth and tugging at his shirt. Jake answered hotly, taking her in his arms and pulling her tight up against him. "I missed you," Tory said, pulling away for only a moment, resealing her lips on Jake's before he could respond.
Tory fell back flat on a sturdy wooden table in the middle of the room, partially laden with carrying bags, which Jake batted to the floor as he fell across her. She undid his belt buckle and wrenched open his jeans as Jake pushed her dress up over her hips, finding that she was wearing nothing underneath. The discovery sent a surge of desire through him that he transferred to her, grabbing her hair so that her necked craned backwards, exposing her throat, which he consumed with passionate kisses.
Neither Jake nor Tory noticed that the janitor, having heard the bags falling to the wooden floor, had come to see what was going on and now stood watching them through the glass in the door, pebbled all but for a single section.
Jake opened the front of her dress, revealing her breast, which he ravaged with his mouth. Slipping one hand beneath her, he arched her upward from the small of her back and covered her belly with wet kisses. With a single quick movement he produced his erection from his pants, and with a single thrust he impaled her. Tory inhaled deeply, seemingly sucking him deep within her as the two of them locked in a rhythmic pulse, moving their hips in erotic counterpoint, gasping for breath as they worked, uttering exhortations they couldn't finish.
* * * * *
It was nearly midnight when Jake and Tory returned from the bus station, driving into the yard to find lights still on in the house and Py asleep on the living room sofa. "Py. Wake up, Py." Tory gently nudged him, waking him so he could go on to sleep in his bed, rather than on the lumpy old couch.
Py could hardly bring himself to consciousness. He looked defenselessly up at Tory, appearing to barely recognize her. "Py, why don't you get up and go on to bed?" she said, to which Py mumbled a barely coherent agreement. "Okay..."
Jake had been standing on the front porch, looking out into the night at what he could see of the disaster Cooksin had made of the picket fence. He walked back in through the front door and said, "Man, it looks like a tornado hit this place."
"Tornado?" Py said, eyes widening.
"It's okay," Tory said. "Jake was just looking at the yard."
Py braced himself up on one elbow and shook his head, trying to clear the fog. "Where is Dad?" Tory asked. Py yawned deep and long and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Py, where is my Father?"
"He's across the road, keeping an eye on the bull," Py said, yawning again as he spoke.
"Oh God – you mean you couldn't catch him?" asked Tory.
Py sat up straight on the couch, resting his feet flat on the floor while he stretched his arms and torso. "We been chasing him around that field all night," he said. "Finally just got too dark to see what we were doin'." Py was still not more than half awake. "I told Pete he ought to just come to bed – that animal'll still be out there tomorrow."
"Where is he?" Jake asked, standing over the two.
"Cooksin’s out in the field – he's way out there," Py said, trying unsuccessfully to suppress another yawn. "Pete's at the end of the road. Or at least that's where I left him. You can probably see him out there."
Jake wondered back over to the front porch and looked out into the night. "Do you see him?" Tory asked. The full moon was just a few days away. A light cloud cover softened the light which mingled with the moisture in the air to give all objects a pallid glow. "I don't see him," Jake said, "but I'll go have a look."
"He's right at the end of the road," reconfirmed Py, collecting himself enough that he could at least stumble on to bed.
Jake left the house and walked through the darkness out to where Py had said Pete could be found. The night had turned all objects black or deep blue, save for the stars, which twinkled in patches overhead, partially obstructed by cloud cover. All was stillness, broken only occasionally by the nervous warbling of a thrush.
"Pete! You out here?" Jake said, loud as he dared, given the hour. Even with the nearest neighbor a mile away, he felt obliged to respect the imposing quiet.
"Over here, Jake."
Pete's voice was sparse and flat, too tired to whisper. Jake turned in the direction from which it came and could see nothing other than a dim silhouette on the horizon, an indistinct outline that looked rather like a large boulder. "Is that you, Pete?" Jake asked, still a little whispery. "Where are you?"
"Over here," Pete said, raising one arm and waving Jake toward him.
Jake walked cautiously toward the dark lump which he believed to be Pete, stumbling through a field of large clods that turned his ankles with each step. "What are you doin' out here, Pete? Do you know it's after midnight? And it's getting cold!"
Sitting on the ground, with a blanket draped over his head and shoulders, Pete held out a hand as Jake approached, offering him a drink from a fifth of whiskey. "This helps," he said. It took Jake a moment to see what Pete was giving him, but then Jake took the bottle and tipped it up.
"I guess they told you what happened?" Pete said, the bright wh
ites of his eyes reflecting the moon as he looked up at Jake.
"Yeah – and I saw the yard. What a mess," Jake said. "What are you doing out here?"
"Keeping an eye on my future," Pete said.
In the darkness, standing out like a ghostly white ship on a black sea, Jake could see the bull in the distance. "How long's he been out there?" he asked, to which Pete replied – "Since about four o'clock this afternoon." "Hell, he ain't goin' anywhere tonight," Jake said. "Why don't you come on back to the house and get some sleep."
"I'm stayin' right here," Pete said. "I plan on watching him all night. I'll out-last him, if that's what it takes. Come morning he'll be too tired to run and I'll get a rope on him."
Jake laughed. "You think you're gonna rope that thing? He only weighs ten times what you do! Besides, Tory says he knocked the corral fence down flat – so what are you gonna do with him if you do lasso him?"
"I 'spect I'll figure that out when the time comes," Pete said.
Jake could tell there was no sense arguing, so he sat down on the ground next to Pete and handed him back his bottle. Pete took a swig and for a while the two of them sat there looking out at the white animal, looking spectral, almost an apparition in the crisp September night.
"Everything ...everything I've got in this life is out there," Pete said after a bit, his voice trailing. "Everything..."
Jake stared out at the faint white form, glowing in eerie incandescence in the distance. Occasionally it would seem to disappear altogether, and then reappear in a spot slightly removed from the previous.
CHAPTER 13 – Runaway
Jake was quiet the next day as he and Py set about the task of righting the timbers that comprised the main corral, repairing Cooksin’s playground. Tory took coffee and toast out to Pete almost as soon as the sun arose in the morning sky, finding him sprawled flat on his back in the dirt, covered completely by the single blanket that had kept him company throughout the night. "Dad, are you okay?" she asked as she nudged him awake. Pete sat up quickly and looked around for his animal. Seeing the bull lying upright on the ground in the distance, he relaxed. "Thanks, honey," he said, taking the mug of hot coffee. "Why don't you come in for a while," Tory said, but Pete was stubborn in his vigil. "I'm gonna try to run him back toward the house," he said. "I'll just drink this coffee down then get right after it."
"How was your trip to Denver?" Py asked Jake, as the two of them reseated the posts that formed the basis for the corral. They had started the day unusually early, knowing that Pete wouldn't relax until his bull was back behind a fence. Jake replied that the trip had gone well, but he didn't elaborate, choosing instead to concentrate his efforts on the repairs. Occasionally he glanced up in Pete's direction, half expecting to see the big Charolais rumbling into the yard, but at first all he could see was Pete, sitting out in the neighbor's summer fallow. Then after a while he noticed that Pete was up and walking a wide arc around Cooksin, working his way around behind him so he could coax him back toward the confinement. "Man, that animal sure tore things up around here," Py said with a sense of genuine wonder. "I hope he don't get no more ideas to go wild. He must've set us back a week with just what he did yesterday."
"Are you guys gonna be ready when he gets that bull back into the yard?" Tory hollered out the question from where she stood in the yard. Jake gave her a nagged look and hollered back – "We might if you'd get your butt over here and pick up this fence!" Tory looked nervously toward the dust cloud rising in the east, knowing that somewhere within it her father was herding destruction on a massive scale – and he was herding it her way. "I don't want that bull coming up here by the yard, now. Are you going to be ready?"
Py looked at Jake. "I don't think so, do you?"
Jake stopped his spade work and straightened up, taking a good look toward the field where the drama was being played out. He was surprised at the amount of dust in the air, so thick that he caught only glimpses of the combatants. "Damn – I wonder if Pete's havin' any trouble?" And at just that moment the huge Charolais emerged from the cloud, coming toward the house on a dead run with Pete right behind him, yelling "Whoa! Whoa!"
"Oh shit!" Jake said. "Don't run him, Pete!" he yelled, not realizing that Pete had already lost control of the situation and now was just trying to head the animal off so he didn't once again steamroller the yard.
Tory's eyes got big when she saw Cooksin rumbling toward her and she began to bounce with undirected excitement, knowing she must do something to stop the beast but having no idea what. She began flapping her arms, half-committed to warning him off and half to flight. "No! No! Go away! Go away!" she scolded.
Pete saw Tory, motioning wildly and standing directly in Cooksin's path. "Go in the house! Go in the house!" he yelled out to her. "Get outta there."
The bull's hoofs beat like a drum as they pounded against the hard-packed dirt of the road into Parker Ranch, beating hollow and loud. Cooksin was in his prime, running wild with his head held high, feinting one way and another as he entered the yard at a gait.
Jake and Py were surprised by the speed with which he approached. They watched in horror as the bull mowed down a string of rose bushes and a trellis before thundering into the yard. Seeing the chunks of sod that flew up behind him as he veered across the lawn, Tory gave up her post and ran into the house, slamming the door shut behind her as Cooksin passed near the front step.
"Get around north of him Py!" Jake yelled, but they had no time to strategize before Cooksin was rumbling up upon them.
The bull headed straight for Py, ironically blocking the animal's path back into the pen from which he escaped. For a moment it looked to Jake that Py might be in trouble, as the animal bore down on him, but suddenly Pete emerged from the other side of the house, screaming like an Apache as he came to Py's rescue.
Cooksin turned sharply to his left, more or less in Jake's direction. Thinking fast, he blocked the animal's path in a way that directed him back toward the open corral. For a moment the confused Charolais seemed to be headed back into confinement, but then he took a sharp left tum and tried to pass between Jake and the barn.
Jake tried to move close enough to the wall to cut off the bull's retreat, but he wasn't fast enough. Instead of cutting him off, he found himself running alongside the bull, parallel to the barn. Then, suddenly, Cooksin did something so unexpected that he surprised even himself. When he reached the open barn door, he veered right and went inside.
"He went into the barn!" Py yelled, as if the likelihood of such a thing happening was beyond comprehension.
"Close the door, Jake!" Pete hollered, running up on the scene, drenched in sweat and out of breath. "Close the door!"
Cooksin trotted into the barn and then came to a dead stop as he realized where he was. He looked left and right, seemingly alarmed to find walls in all directions. He spun in his tracks but only in time to see Jake pull shut the huge sliding wooden door, sending the interior into darkness.
"He went into the barn!" repeated Py, still amazed at having witnessed such a bizarre, and unfortunate, behavior on the part of the bull. "Did you get him?" yelled Tory from across the yard, standing safely on the porch of the house. "We got him!" yelled Pete, happy as a schoolboy, greatly relieved at having to run no more and having his prized possession back in custody.
Jake stepped cautiously back from the barn door, an uncertain expression on his face. He was looking at the wall of the barn, his doubts about the efficacy of the construction – its suitability to the task of restraining a one ton delinquent – written all over his face. "What's wrong?" Pete asked, as he reached the front of the building. Py came running up too, red-cheeked and flush with excitement. "I can't believe he run right into the barn!" he said. Jake continued to slowly step back, away from the structure, looking worried. "You don't think he'll tear it up in there, do you?" Pete asked, wondering now himself. "You don't think..." Before he could get the question out there came a huge snapping, splintering sound – the
sound of major timbers being shattered.
"Oh no..." Jake said.
Pete looked up to the heavens. "Don't tell me, Lord. He ain't gonna tear down my barn, is he?"
Py seemed to be in the pull of his own curiosity as he moved quickly to see around the corner of the barn. There stood Cooksin, comfortable as he pleased out in the middle of the corral from which he had originally come. There was a large section of the wall missing from the north side of the barn. "He's over here!" yelled Py.
Jake and Pete came running, joined by Tory, who now seemed confident that the beast was finally re-incarcerated. The four of them stood looking at the huge baby, standing nonchalantly, casting regardant looks as he chewed on loose hay from a feeder provided just for him.
"So this is how you're gonna get ahead, huh Pete?" Jake said wearily. "Well, at least he broke back into the jail he got out off," Py said, cheerily. "Come on," Pete said. "Let's get a fence back up around him."
CHAPTER 14 – Rough Play
"Okay, are we ready? Jarvis? Billy? Are you two ready to go?" Loren Minnie asked the question as a preface to announcing this featured event.
"I'm ready," said Jarvis, and Billy Stevens nodded that he, too, was prepared for the bout.
"Okay, if I could have your attention," Minnie shouted. "Here's the one you've been waiting for. We've got the foreman of the Walker Ranch, Jarvis Lang here, going against Billy Stevens, the foreman of the Lazy S Ranch." A shout went up from the cowboys, sitting around the makeshift ring on bales of hay and railings. A few watched from the loft overhead, their legs hanging over the fighting area. "We're going to fight..." Minnie leaned over to Lang and asked – "How many rounds?" Jarvis just shook his head, like the question had no meaning to him. "We're going to fight an unspecified number of one minute rounds. Is that fine by you, Billy?" he asked Billy Stevens, and he cared about as much as Jarvis did. The two of them just wanted to strap the gloves on and horse around a little, that's all. Even if cowboys from each ranch hadn't placed wagers of them, they'd have been willing to mix it up anyway. Jarvis and Billy had known each other since grade school and long ago fought through whatever animosity there might have been. Now it was play.
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