Free Cool Water by Dianne Warren Page B

historical committee got wind of the defacement, he’d printed a letter of protest in the paper and suggested that those responsible undertake a fundraising effort in order to invite an art restorer from Regina to come and give advice on how to remove the paint. Hank saw the letter in the paper and didn’t want to have to deal with any so-called art restorer from the city, so he took a tin of paint remover and a wire brush and a half-dozen rags out to his pasture after dark and did his own restoration, or at least that’s what he told Lee. After he was done the stone looked like the same old hunk of granite it had always been, Hank said, only cleaner, at least on the one side. When Hank was asked by the historical committee if he was responsible—apparently he’d done something wrong in removing the paint without the help of the art restorer—he denied any involvement. He let people think the graduates had had a change of heart.
    The horse snorts when the stone’s dark shadow looms and Lee expects him to shy sideways like Young Rip used to do, but he doesn’t. Lee encourages the horse to walk around the stone and the depression that surrounds it, a reminder of centuries of shedding animals, first buffalo and now cattle, and in the moonlight he sees that it’s been painted with new fluorescent markings—pink and green and yellow handprints. Hank must be getting sick of all this activity in his pasture, Lee thinks. Maybe the fancy art restorer will get a chance to come out after all.
    He walks a wide path around the stone, holding the horse in check as he scans the moonlit ground for holes, and when he’s satisfied that the footing is safe, he looses up on the reins and lets the horse go. The horse snorts and crow-hops a few times, then charges forward like a racehorse out of the gate. There’s a moment when Lee thinks the horse is going to get away on him, but then he gets him going in a good circle around the stone, allowing him to set his own pace as long as he stays in the circle.
    As the horse moves under him, Lee feels himself waking up—not just coming out of a sleepy state because it’s the middle of the night, but truly waking up, as though every cell in his body is tingling. Here he is, out riding a mystery horse when he should be sleeping, in Hank’s same old pasture with the same old buffalo stone, only nothing is quite the same because of the darkness. He loves the way darkness removes time and place. He could be a boy again, with Astrid and Lester asleep in their bed in the house across the road. He feels almost giddy.
    When the horse begins to soften, Lee slows him back to a trot and they change directions and move into a lope again, this time at a more controlled pace. When the horse has relaxed and seems willing to go forward easily, Lee guides him out of the circle and they move off at a trot to the north, away from the stone, following the fence line in Hank’s empty pasture.
    Lee’s plan is to ride the perimeter of the pasture, but it’s hard to see the gopher holes, so when he comes to the north gate, he decides to dismount and open it so he can get into his own field of fresh summer fallow. He and the horse have an agreement now, that Lee is the boss and navigator. The horse stands quietly enough as Lee undoes the gate, and goes through obediently as Lee stands between the horse and the wire. Even though the pasture appears to be empty, he does the gate up again before he steps back into the saddle: leave closed what you find closed.
    There’s a trail to the west along the fence line, leading to a sandy section of Hank’s pasture lease. Lee remembers— he always remembers when he looks down this road—the time he pedalled furiously on his bike with the evidence of a crime in his pocket, a watch that he’d taken from Lester’s drawer and that is now forever buried in sand. To this day he feels bad about taking the