Free The Weather and Women Treat Me Fair by Percival Everett

legs. A glimmer like that of metal. He swung the jeep off the road and across the flat. His lights found the small form, a boy, still running. The boy darted quickly to the left and Cole turned the wheel crisply to stay with him, but he was gone. Cole circled tightly, letting his high beams illuminate the desert floor. There was no place to hide, but the boy was gone. Cole stopped and searched with a hand-held spotlight. A chilly wind kicked up and blew sand through the light.
    The next morning Cole entered the station to find Bernard standing at his desk.
    “You’re in early,” Bernard said.
    “What are you doin’ here?” Cole asked.
    “A little bullet can’t keep me home.”
    “Viv ain’t come in yet,” Bernard said. “State police called. They want your report on that van soon as possible.”
    “What’d they say?”
    “I guess one of the dead guys was a local.”
    “Huh.”
    “What is it?”
    Cole pulled out a cigarette. “I knew something was funny out there.” He lit up. “How big was the kid that shot you?”
    “Hmmm.” Bernard studied the top of his desk. “I can’t really say. I was rollin’ on the ground when I saw him.”
    Cole sat at his desk.
    “Why?”
    “I chased a kid with a rifle across the desert last night. I lost him.”
    “How big?”
    “Twelve, maybe.”
    “Could have been him.”
    Cole picked up the phone and dialed the number of the state police. He was put through to a lieutenant.
    “…and that’s all we found.” Cole told him the story. “It was weird about the stove and nothing to cook and all. And there was something else.”
    “What’s that?”
    “There weren’t any tracks. I mean, no tracks at all. Not even the van’s.”
    “Okay. Thanks.”
    “I was told one of the dead was a local.”
    “The kid. He lived over in Hachita. One of our men recognized him. His mother says his younger brother is missing, too. The two left on horseback day before yesterday to camp and hunt. Esteban Hireles.”
    “Well, I’ll keep an eye out.” He hung up, leaned back and looked out at the street.
    Vivian came in, her hair not unlike the sun pouring through the window. She put her lunch in the small refrigerator and her bag in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet.
    “Hey, Viv,” Cole said.
    “Cole.”
    Bernard came out of the men’s room.
    “I thought you were shot,” the woman said.
    “I was.”
    “Where?”
    “Norm of Mimbres.”
    “No. Where on your body?”
    “Look at the way he’s walkin,”’ Cole said.
    A big grin came over Vivian’s face. “You got shot in your fanny?” She laughed.
    “Christ,” muttered Bernard and he tried to go about his work.
    “Keeler’s callin’ him Butt-wound Bernard,” Cole said.
    “I like that,” she said. “Butt-wound.”
    Bernard ignored her.
    Cole stood and put on his hat. “I’m gonna go out and ride the corner. Tell Keeler for me.”
    “Will do,” Vivian said.
    Cole went west and south and patrolled the area where the border of New Mexico made a ninety-degree turn down into old Mexico. Then he went north, up to where the van had been.
    Someplace out in the desert was Esteban Hireles, lost, tired, afraid. Cole figured that he must have seen what happened to his brother. The boy must have seen all four killed and probably who did the killing. It crossed Cole’s mind that he might not be the only one looking for the kid.
    Most of the morning was gone and the day was growing hot. He stood near where the van had been and looked around. He spotted a place far off that seemed green. He got into his jeep and drove to it. It was a little water hole. In a wash nearby he found the tracks of horses. They were partially blown over and certainly didn’t lead anywhere, but he knew that both boys had been there.
    He drove back to the road. The place where he had seen the boy the previous night was not far from where Bernard had been shot. There were rocks near there, places to hide, and a couple of water holes. He gulped