Free Wounded by Percival Everett

with Morgan. Felony tightened. All I could do was shake my head. I had to train this horse to tolerate the troubling thoughts of his rider. This was too much.
    I took Felony back out into the field and thought through as many scary things as I could find. I thought about Gus getting sick, about getting thrown, about sex, about lunch with David and Robert, about bad snowstorms. I was confusing the hell out of the poor horse, but that was what I wanted. I’d clear my mind and he’d relax. I’d have to do this everyday for a while. My fear was, however, that all these things would cease to bother me. I gave Felony a rub on the neck, got off, loosened his girth, and walked him back to the barn.

FIVE
    WEATHER WALLY on the radio called for periods of heavy rain, but it was the stiffness in Gus’s knees that had me believing it was coming. The breeze was bracing out of the northwest and I remembered seeing snow this early. I spent the morning getting the barns and paddocks ready for wet weather, digging trenches along the perimeters of shelters, filling in low spots, pretty much trying to forestall anything that nature was going to do anyway. The mule had gotten out again and spent the wee hours munching at the alfalfa bales. I put him in a stall in the barn and gave him a half feeding.
    Back in the house, I found Gus sitting at the kitchen table, sewing a ripped shirt pocket. I absently studied the project over the old man’s shoulder. “You sew like I weld,” I said.
    “Yeah, but I’m old.”
    “Are you sure you don’t want to ride into town?” I asked. “I don’t plan to be there very long.”
    “I’m sure. I’m gonna stay here and crank up the heat. Maybe that will make my knees feel better.”
    “Sounds good,” I said. “Well, I’d better make myself presentable if I’m going to pick up a young lady.”
    “Good luck,” Gus said. “With the getting-presentable part.”
    The sky teased as I drove to Morgan’s. Emily was standing in her garden, surveying. She wore an apron that read
Born to Be Old
.
    “Morning, Emily.”
    Emily nodded.
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “Saying good-bye to everybody, my flowers,” she said. She looked at the sky. “Because as sure as dogs are smarter than people, it’s gonna snow.”
    “Why do you think that?”
    “It ain’t because of Weather Wally, I can tell you that. That idiot is calling for rain. That sky is full of snow.” She pointed up. “The hawks tell me. They’ve been circling all morning.”
    Morgan came from the house and down the porch steps. “Don’t listen to her,” Morgan said. “Those hawks are always up there.”
    “Yes and no,” Emily said. “So, where are you two off to?”
    “We’re going to a rally in town,” I told her.
    “What rally?”
    “A gay and lesbian rally.”
    Emily frowned. “What will they think up next? Well, have fun. Of course, that’s my general advice about everything.” She turned back to her garden. “Good-bye, gaillardia.”
    In town, I parked my rig on a street off the main drag and we walked a short block to the square. Only a few people had begun to assemble. There were some blankets laid out on the lawn where box lunches waited. A couple of deputies stood near the entrance to the Town Hall, but they didn’t give the appearance of guarding the place. Deputy Hanks was strolling the sidewalk. The air had turned cold and most were wearing jackets. A podium was set on the landing halfway up the Hall steps. A television news crew from Casper was lazily putting together equipment, laying out cables and setting up tripods. Morgan and I were the first to sit on the thirty or so chairs that had been set up in uneven rows at the bottom of the steps.
    “We’re early,” I said.
    “We’re not that early,” Morgan said.
    I shrugged. “This is really sad, isn’t it? For someone to get killed like that. To kill somebody any way is sad.”
    Morgan looked around. “There are just few enough people to