Free The Bones of Paradise by Jonis Agee Page A

his attention to the calf choking to death on the end of the rope the horse pulled taut as it had been trained to do but wouldn’t half the time. Now, of course, the damn jughead decided to do as it was told.
    Drum searched for something to use as a crutch, but without trees in the hills, there weren’t any fallen limbs or sticks. He considered the tall dried stems of the soapweed around him, but they wouldn’t hold his weight, and he couldn’t afford another fall.
    The cow pawed the ground like she meant to charge the horse and man again. Drum struggled to drag his pistol from the holster he wore on rides into the hills. He’d shoot her if she tried to pull another stunt like that.
    â€œGet away!” he shouted at her and waved his arms. The horse rolled its eye and tossed its head. “Not you, you damn fool,” he crooned to the horse. He wanted to put a bullet in him, too. “Easeup, now, easy,” he coaxed. The horse miraculously obeyed, and stepped forward to slacken the rope.
    Drum’s next maneuver was the real test. He tucked the shooting pain from his foot in a corner of his jaw, like a plug of stale tobacco, and dragged himself to the horse with a steady stream of words so the animal kept its mind on business. As soon as he was under the stirrup, he pulled himself upright, almost falling down again when his foot accidentally swept the resistance of the grass and new pain roared up his leg and burst in his head. But he fought it, as his grandfather had trained him to do with repeated beatings. “Don’t you show a thing,” he muttered.
    â€œWhoa now, son, steady.” He talked his way around the horse, used the animal’s body, tail, and saddle to stand upright until he was on the far side and could mount using his good foot. He swung the bad foot over the horse’s rump, miscalculated, and grazed it, nearly knocking himself off the saddle. He had little control of the broken foot, and could only rest it near the stirrup, knowing the heavy wood would bang the broken bones with every stride.
    Even though it was a mild day, his shirt was wet and sweat ran into his eyes. He removed his hat, which had miraculously stayed put, and wiped his face on his sleeve.
    Lifting the reins, he backed the horse, tightening the rope and slowly dragging the calf out of the sand bog, but he couldn’t jump down to remove the line. He felt on his belt for his knife. Fortunately, it hadn’t slipped from its sheath. He nudged the horse as close to the calf as he could, and kept an eye on the cow, who again pawed the ground. He was half-inclined to shoot her and be done with it, but then he’d lose two animals instead of one—he was in no shape to carry a motherless calf back to the barn to put it on the bottle. The horse tilted its head and rolled its eyes at the cow and danced lightly in place, ready to launch if she moved.
    â€œHold still, damn it.” Drum gathered as much rope as he could into loops until the calf was just below his stirrup, then he slashed the line, leaving the calf with a collar of about three feet. With anyluck, it would fall off or he could send someone out to fix it. Now, the question was, could he make the three-hour ride to his place? The foot was starting to throb like a son of a bitch. He wished he’d cut his boot before he mounted but a man hated to ruin something still of use. He looked over his shoulder at the thin path he’d just trod between the two ranches. Maybe there was something he could salvage here, he thought, and turned his horse back toward J.B.’s place. He should be there when that damn woman showed up throwing all kinds of fit.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    D ulcinea Bennett closed Grimm’s Fairy Tales and smiled at the boys and girls sitting stiffly at attention at the wooden desks before her. A few wore fearful expressions as the result of one story after another in which mothers and fathers betrayed their