Half an Inch of Water: Stories

by Percival Everett

  Sam circled the animal. Nice markings, all right, he said. But that’s not why I’m here, is it? He reached out to shake the kid’s hand. I’m Sam Innis, the vet.

  The boy shook his hand. Jake.

  Sam let go of the boy’s limp mitt. Let’s take a look at him. Anything you want to tell us?

  The boy shook his head. I don’t know anything. They come in, we sell them. This one eats everything we put down, I can tell you that.

  You mind trotting him over there about twenty yards and then back to me? Sam watched as the kid led the horse away. They kicked up dust. Sam studied the animal. As they were coming back he said, He’s a little wide in the chest. See how he paddles? Like he’s swimming.

  Is that bad? Terry asked.

  Better than being too narrow and knocking his feet together. He won’t be much good at jumping anything. He asked the boy to repeat the trot away and back. He’s loose in the caboose. Terry, his legs are everywhere. What do you want to do with him?

  Ride trails, that’s all.

  Sam nodded. He might be okay. I can see why you like him. He’s pretty. Being wide is a good thing for your comfort. Well, let’s take a closer look. He’s not exactly wide through the stifles. Sam caught himself. He didn’t want to be too negative. After all, Terry liked the horse.

  The winded boy came back with the horse and stood quietly. Sam measured the circumference of the leg just below the knee. Good bone. He grabbed the knee. He’s just a little buck-kneed.

  Terry came close and looked with Sam.

  Sam looked at Terry. He’s got a beautiful coat. Flies don’t seem to bother him. Sam looked at the horse’s eyes and then at the boy. Just how much bute did you give him?

  A little, the boy admitted, caught off guard.

  What is it? Terry asked.

  Will he lunge? Sam asked.

  Yeah, Jake said.

  Sam took the lead rope from the boy and got the horse trotting counterclockwise around him. He stopped him and picked up his left forefoot.

  What is it? Terry asked.

  They gave the horse a drug for pain. He’s got some navicular issues. I mean, Terry, you can live with all the problems I’m finding, I’m sure. Corrective shoes will help his heels, but he won’t be much good for long or strenuous rides. What are they asking for him?

  Three grand, Jake said.

  Sam smiled. I wouldn’t pay more than eight hundred.

  You’re crazy, the kid said. He was red in the face.

  I’ve been told that, Sam said. Terry, I can keep checking him, but it won’t get better.

  This horse is sound, the kid snapped.

  Sam nodded.

  I guess I’ll pass, Terry said to Jake.

  So that’s it? The boy grunted.

  Thanks for showing him to me, Terry said.

  Yeah, right. He muttered something to himself as he walked the horse away.

  Sam walked with Terry back to her car.

  I think he’s pissed, she said.

  He was trying to rip you off. Maybe not the kid, but the guy he works for. Healthy horses are expensive enough to take care of.

  Thanks, Doc.

  Sam felt bad. Terry had had high hopes for the animal, was a little bit in love with him. He watched her fall in behind the wheel of her car, start it, and have a bit of trouble getting turned around.

  Sam climbed into his own truck and laughed when he had the same diffcult time getting himself about-faced. He drove home.

  2

  Sophie answered the ringing phone as Sam stepped into the kitchen.

  We’re fine, she said. What about you? That’s good. Oh, I see. He just walked in. She handed the phone to Sam. It’s the sheriff.

  Dale, Sam said.

  You okay over there? Any damage? the sheriff asked.

  Nothing. What’s up?

  I’d like you to come out here and give us a hand. We’ve got a lost little girl next to the reservation. Up in the Creeks.

  How long has she been lost?

  About six hours. I’m down at the little store at the flashing light. Only place I can get a signal on my damn phone.

  Can you get in touch with Eddie over there?

  Yes.

  Have Eddie get me a horse ready. That way I won’t have to waste time getting one loaded into a trailer.

  All right, you got it. I’ve got six men out now, four on horseback, two on foot. Of course the only thing the quake damaged was the helicopter. We’re waiting on one to come from Casper. Duncan’s flying his Beechcraft around.

  Where are you exactly?

  You’ll see us. Just take the road on through to the far side of the reservation. Just past the dip.

  Oh, and Sam.

  Yes.

  The girl is deaf.

  I’m on my way. Be there in less than an hour. He hung up.

  Sophie was standing close. What?

  Little deaf girl is lost out in the Owl Creeks.

  That’s got to be Sadie White Feather’s girl.

  Dale didn’t tell me her name.

  She’s so tiny.

  When Sam came back from the washroom, Sophie handed him a pack.

  Water, she said. Some fruit and some cookies. The cookies are for the child.

  Yes ma’am. I’m going to grab my chaps from the tack shed. Might have to pop some brush.

  He gave her a kiss and stepped outside, called for Zip.

  The sheriff had set up a staging area at the head of a little-used trail. It was a hundred square miles of barren, desolate, arid hills, full of worthless ore and seasonal creeks that could flood in a blink. The county/reservation line was somewhere around there, but no one knew for sure and no one cared. Sam and Zip got out of the truck and walked to the sheriff. He was trying to talk with someone on a hand-held radio. Sadie White Feather was sitting on a metal folding chair a few yards away. She did not look up at the sound of Sam’s approach.

  Dale, Sam said.

  I’m glad you’re here. These damn radios work for shit in these hills. I don’t know where the fuck anybody is.

  Sam looked at the hills. Old Dave Wednesday would never set foot in them, called them haunted. Sam had actually liked the place, had ridden there once.

  The tribal police put me in charge. Mainly because I’m supposed to have a helicopter. But I don’t. Anyway, the whole tribal force, all three of them, are out there looking.

  Okay.

  Along with my two deputies and that new ranger, Epps.

  What exactly is the situation?

  Dale glanced over at Sadie White Feather. He motioned for Sam to follow him away a few paces. Girl’s name is Penny. She went and wandered off away from the family’s camp and just never came back. She was here with her mother, aunt, uncle, and grandmother. Her uncle’s a tribal cop; he’s out looking. The aunt and grandma went to find the father.

  Sam nodded. They see anybody else around?

  No. Did I mention that the radio reception is crappy in these damn hills? Cell phones are worse.

  Any sign yet?

  Nothing reported.

  Sam stepped over to look at the map the sheriff had spread out on the hood of his rig. It was held down from the wind by rocks. Circles had been drawn and Xs were placed in spots.

  She’s only nine, Sam. How much ground could she have covered?

  A lot, Sam said. And these canyons are just crazy. You could pass by the same wash three times and never know it. Mind if I talk to Sadie?

  Be my guest.

  Zip had already made it over to the woman and pushed up under her hand. Sadie was absently patting the dog’s head.

  Sadie, Sam said.

  The woman looked up.

  It’s me, Sam Innis. You know my wife, Sophie.

  Sadie nodded.

  I’m going to go out and help look for Penny. Sam dropped to one knee, faced the direction she faced, and studied the same empty space. But I need to ask you a few questions. You’ve been asked a bunch, I know, but a couple more, okay
? They tell me Penny’s nine.

  Nine and a half.

  Exactly where and when did you last see her?

  She was playing over by those yellow mounds. She pointed with an open hand. She was throwing rocks. She glanced over at me and I signed for her to stop throwing rocks, but she pretended not to see and kept on throwing. My sister said to just let her throw rocks, she wasn’t hurting nothing. I started cooking. I was making chokecherry gravy. When I looked back over there, I didn’t see her. I didn’t think anything of it and I went back to cooking. Then I got to thinking about how she can’t hear snakes and so I went over and looked for her. I looked all over and then my sister and her husband started looking and we couldn’t find her. I guess that was about eight thirty, maybe nine.

  Is she completely deaf?

  Yes.

  Can you show me how to sign her name?

  You just put one finger to your forehead and move it out. Like this. It’s kind of a joke. We call her “one cent.” You know, a penny is one cent.

  Like this? Sam repeated the motion.

  The woman nodded. She might laugh at you.

  How do I say friend?

  Sadie showed him. Crossed fingers this way and that.

  Got it. And that’s about all my old head can hold. And is Penny left- or right-handed?

  Right. She does some things with her left. She brushes her teeth with her left hand. I’ve tried and I can’t do it.

  I know you were making breakfast, but did she eat anything this morning?

  Nothing.

  Did she drink water?

  She always drinks a lot of water. Oh, she had a juice box, too.

  Good, that’s a good thing. What about her shoes? What kind of shoes is she wearing?

  Sneakers, Sadie said. You know, those kind the kids love with the heels that light up. They’re a little small on her. I guess that doesn’t matter.

  It matters, Sam said. Everything matters. Tell me, is Penny a smart girl?

  All As. She’s very, very smart. She knows the capitals of all the states.

  How much does she weigh?

  Not much. I don’t know. She’s little. Fifty pounds? Not even.

  Thanks, Sadie. We’re going to find her, okay? That was what Sam said, because that’s was what one always said in these situations. He’d been a tracker for a long time and he’d never once set out believing he would find anyone.

  Sam walked back to the sheriff.

  You need an article of clothing for your dog? Dale asked.

  She’s not a scent dog. She can’t smell bacon cooking. But any dog is better than three men.

  The roan over there is what Eddie drove over for you. He’s driving the highway, just in case. And here’s a radio, for all the good it will do you. Just try it periodically. It might work.

  Dale’s radio awoke with static and he stepped away, trying to find a stronger signal. Sam looked at the map again, then walked over to where Sadie had last seen the child throwing rocks. He picked up a few stones and hurled them at a boulder. Not far from the yellow formation was a narrow wash between waist-high walls. Not so intriguing for an adult, Sam thought, but probably irresistible for a child. The ground there had been pretty well trampled by men’s boots and shod horses, and then it became rocky. He decided he’d follow the wash.

  He walked back to the roan, gave him a rub on the neck. He knew the horse, had treated him a couple of times. He of course knew the horse did not remember him. He tightened the cinch of the synthetic saddle. The horse was a short, sturdy, big-butted quarter horse, good for breaking through growth. He mounted, whistled for Zip, and rode on.

  Into the ravine. The walls were saddle high until they opened up, spread away from the wash as it widened, and joined another drainage. He saw where a couple of riders had gone on north. He veered down and around a steep hill and rode on a mile or so. He checked his radio and already it was useless. These hills were full of something magnetic, he figured, or it was just spirits and Old Dave had been right. He messed with the squelch on the radio and was able to hear Dale swearing at the other end.

  He rode on slowly, looking ahead and scouting the distance and casting a glance down to study the ground and brush. He looked for something, anything, the tiniest thing out of the ordinary, a drag, a broken stick, even an animal acting strangely. The ground was baked hard with a fine layer of loose sand that the wind played with. He dismounted and looked closely at the surface, moved his sight up slowly, squinted. He stared and stared. A lopsided creosote bush caught his eye. He led the horse to it. It was broken about a foot off the ground. It was a fairly fresh break. Anything could have caused the damage; he knew that. Still it was something. He combed the ground around and near the bush. Then, in a spot protected from the wind, he thought he saw some transfer of soil over pebbles. Hardly a definite sign, but he decided to view it as transfer and that gave him a direction. He observed the clouds and sky to the east. Back in the saddle, he watched Zip sniff around some coyote scat. She left it in short order and heeled to the roan.

  Sam rode up to a bit of high ground and looked over the terrain. He had come to an expanse of flat ground. Far off to the north he could make out a couple of riders. Above him a hawk circled high. There was an outcropping to the east, the direction he’d chosen. There was nothing between him and the rocks and so he rode toward the formation, the light sinking behind him.

  The sun was a couple of hours from setting and was already giving the west-facing rocks an eerie bronze shimmer. The wind picked up and blew sand in sheets. There would be no trail, human or otherwise. He stopped and examined a couple of odd spots, thought one might have been where a small person had stopped to rest. He recalled how easy it was for a man to see what he wanted to see.

  The outcropping was surprisingly larger than it had seemed from a distance. There was plenty of space between boulders for a person to wander into and get lost. The wind was whipping now and in these rocks it was bouncing and twisting in all directions. The temperature was dropping. He considered letting the horse stand on a dropped rein, but tied up to some sage instead. He tried the radio. Nothing. He looked at the sky for a plane or helicopter. Nothing.

  Sam left the horse and with Zip wended his way into the formation. They came out into a bowl, the floor of which was an expanse of flat rock. On the table of rock were a considerable number of rattlesnakes basking in the last rays of the day’s sun, trying to collect all the warmth they could from the stone. In the middle of the flat area, in the middle of the snakes, was a washtub-shaped rock and on it sat a little girl. Sam called out and immediately realized the futility in that. He told Zip to stay, said it twice. His actions now were very important. If he startled the child she might panic and move into the snakes. He didn’t know if she was aware of the snakes. His back was to the west and so he would be in silhouette. Also, with his back to the west he couldn’t use his watch face or anything else to reflect the sun to get the girl’s attention. He moved left, moved to put the sun someplace else. He could see that her eyes were open, but she stared blankly at the rocks thirty or so feet in front of her. He was losing the day. It was colder still. He reached down and collected a handful of pebbles. He repeated his command to Zip to stay. He walked into the snakes, wishing he were wearing taller boots. His Wellingtons came up only to midcalf.

  He pitched a pebble at the girl. It landed without effect near her heels. He tossed another and it skittered across the plane of rock in front of her and she saw it. She turned and looked at Sam. He froze. Stepping as he was through the snakes, he was certain that his posture, his body language would be difficult for her to read. He must have looked strange. He could see fear coming over her face. He put his hands up and signed friend to her. Whether he was doing it correctly, he didn’t know. The fact that he was signing at all at least let her know that he knew something about her. He put his hands out, palms down, as if to tell her to relax. He then pointed to the snakes. It was unclear whether she was seeing them for
the first time, but she pulled her feet up onto the rock and held her knees. Good, Sam said, but didn’t know how to sign that, so he nodded. Perhaps she could read lips and then he wondered how much lip he showed under his bush of a mustache. He signed friend again. He looked back to see if Zip was obeying his last command and she was. Penny was wearing only a T-shirt and sweatpants. She was no doubt feeling the cold or would be soon. A snake rattled near Sam. He looked around and tried to locate the agitated animal. Zip barked. Sam again gestured to the child to remain calm. He took another step, watched as his boot landed between two rattlers, both just inches away. He was about twelve feet from Penny when a three-foot-long snake uncoiled and struck his boot. If the animal had rattled first he might not have been so startled, but he was and so took an awkward step and lost his balance. He put out a hand and stopped himself from falling. A small snake found his hand and bit. He stood up and the snake fell off. He looked at the bite, not believing it. He looked back at Zip and reminded her to stay. He looked at the girl, at the snakes, at his hand. Fuck, he said, fuck, fuck, fuck. He was glad the girl was deaf. He told himself to calm down. The bite pushed him on and in two steps he was on the little island with Penny.

  They sat there staring straight ahead. Neither cast a glance at the other. Well, young lady, Sam said, obviously to himself. What we have here is two gallons of shit in a one-gallon bucket. He looked at his hand; there was little blood. I’ll bet you’re glad the big man has come to rescue you. He let out a nervous laugh, then sighed a long breath, trying to slow his panic, his heart rate. He tapped the child on the shoulder and gestured that he wanted her to get on his back. He pointed at her and then at his back. He held out his unbitten hand and smiled. She leaned over and looked at his injured hand. He showed it to her. Yeah, he got me. I wish the fact that he was little meant something good, but it doesn’t. She reached out and touched the hand, her fingers cool against his skin, small, light.

  Sam turned his back slightly to her and patted his shoulder. The girl understood, put her arms around his neck, and climbed on. He stood, found her remarkably light, weightless. His hand hurt and he thought he could feel it swelling. So much for any hope that it was a dry bite. He walked less gingerly on the way back, feeling a new sense of urgency, both for the girl and for himself, also recognizing that his too-careful pace was the reason for his bite. He also harbored the notion that like lightning the snakes would not strike twice. That notion turned out to be wrong. After successfully kicking away a couple of snakes, a large one that he did not see struck and latched onto his calf just below his knee. He reached down, grabbed the snake, and hurled it away. The bite hurt like hell. Zip was barking and bouncing, but still she stayed.