Rivulets of sweat turn to droplets that seem to freeze
before hitting the hoof held between Burl Branchwater’s knees. He makes the
finishing touches with his rasp, bends his neck up to check the curvature of
the hoof and shoe for proper alignment and fit. Perfect. He drops the hoof and stretches, his
forty-five-year-old back hurting.
He hears the pickup and trailer rattling and knows who it is
without looking. Burl groans. He has already shod six horses since daylight
and is looking forward to a few beers by a warm fire. He is definitely not in the mood for Weldon
Welch. Weldon, sometime cowboy, sometime
gravel-hauler, full time trouble, is probably bringing more horses just when
Burl thinks he is through for the day.
Burl is relieved to see that the trailer is empty and even more relieved
to see best friend Clayton Hall riding shotgun for Weldon. Weldon’s
four-year-old daughter stands in the seat between them.
He can tell they are in a Lone Star mood before they reach
the horse lot. Burl wipes his face with a dirty handkerchief, feeling like a
sober man about to converse with two old boys with a buzz on. Weldon waves his arms in his usual disjointed
manner. “Godamighty, Burl. You the only man I know can sweat when it’s
freezin.”
Burl’s wife Lillie keeps two of Weldon’s hot checks under
the salt and peppershakers on the kitchen table, a constant reminder to Burl of
money his family needs. He thinks of the checks as he ignores Weldon and looks
to Clayton to explain why the two are traveling together and why they stopped
here. They are not exactly running buddies, and Clayton knows about the hot
checks.
Clayton lets Weldon ramble on, enjoying Burl’s curiosity and
aggravation before finally speaking.
“Weldon’s on his way down the other side of Emory to pick up some hogs
from a feller. I thought you might want
to come along. Looks like you done shod
all the horses here.”
It is true. Burl is
done for the day. But he smiles at
Weldon’s pretty young daughter Tess as he shakes his head. “Guess not.
Don’t reckon I need no hogs.”
Clayton eases a little closer to Burl, his back to
Weldon. “Come on, Burl. This boy got two cases of beer iced down in
the back of that pickup. How else you
gonna get any of your money back?”
Burl is not an educated man, but he knows horses and he
knows people. He is like a bartender for
cowboys. People come to him with their
own troubles and their horses’ troubles because he has a knack for getting to
the heart of problems. “How the hell is goin’ off with you boys gonna get any
of my money back? He wantin’ me to take
it out in hogs?”
Clayton lowers his voice as Weldon eases closer, figuring he
is being discussed. “Naw. But he’s got to be carrying a little cash if
he means to buy hogs. Either way, you can at least drink up some of his
beer. Come on. It’ll be like old times.”
Burl recognizes the familiar glint in his old friend’s
eyes. There had been some good times in
the old days. Clayton is a single man
again, and Burl feels a short burst of the type of anticipation he has not felt
in years. “I’ll have to see what Lillie
says.”
Weldon hears and laughs.
“Hell, Burl. You got to ask your
old lady ‘fore you take a little trip down the road?”
Burl shoots him a look that says to leave mention of Lillie
alone. The sainted woman has stood by
him during his and Clayton’s drinking and hell-raising days. Burl has seventy-five pounds on Weldon and
most folks accept that he and Clayton are not to be riled at any time, any
place, by anyone. The only speculation
concerns who is meaner in a fight, Burl or Clayton. Weldon once tried to cover bets on a match
between Burl and Clayton, but he could never get the two friends mad enough to
go at each other, though he had tried more than once.
Clayton
takes the lead rope of the just-shod horse and ties him beside the rest of
Burl’s morning’s handiwork. “Go on in
there and ask her. She can collect for
you when these old boys come back for their horses.”
Burl looks
toward the house, a glimmer of anticipation starting to show in his face. Emory is less than an hour away. Not as if they are heading off to Deep East
Texas. “You boys comin’ right back? Cause if you ain’t, I ain’t goin’.”
Burl is
showered and dressed before Clayton and Weldon can crack more than two
beers. They are half an hour past Emory
when Burl straightens in the back seat.
“Where’d you say them pigs was?”
Weldon
turns away from the steering wheel to look back at Burl. “Aw, just down the road here.”
Burl
points toward the road. “Might want to
turn around and watch where you goin’.”
When they pass through Canton and are an hour and a half away from home,
the girl is asleep and Burl speaks softly. “Where them damn pigs at?”
As Tess
awakes and stands in the seat, Burl sees bubble lights reflect off her blonde
hair. “Shit. We all gonna get throwed in jail.”
Next time: The rest of the trip.