Say No More Read Online Free PDF

the bull. Slick slammed his paws into the ground, no more than a few feet from the bull. He went in low, teeth flashing and clicking. Grabbed onto the bull’s nose. Let go. Snapped again.
    The bull threw his head back, nostrils flaring wide. Great sprays of snot flew from his nose. He lifted a hoof, stomped it. Lowered his head once more in challenge.
    While Slick was having a standoff with an angry monster ten times his size, Ray had crawled further away. Cam snatched up the cane and rushed toward his father.
    Slick needed no direction from Ray or Cam. He knew what to do. Like some foreknowledge that had been ingrained into his brain before birth. A genetic map waiting to instantly unfold when duty called for it. Millennia of instinct, shaped by selection, to a distinct purpose.
    To protect. To control. To command.
    Awed, I watched as Slick ducked low, timed his bites to perfection, burst beyond reach, went in again. In snatches, it looked like a stalemate — the bull’s mass and might versus Slick’s blinding speed and deadly accuracy. Gradually, though, Slick was edging the bull back, turning the beast’s line of view away from Ray.
    As the feud raged, Cam helped Ray to his feet. It seemed like hours that it took them to cross to the nearest gate, Ray’s arm slung over Cam’s taller shoulder.
    His chest heaving, Ray grabbed onto the gate post and steadied himself. “Slick, that’ll do!”
    Instantly, Slick froze in his spot. He pulled his lips back, growled fiercely once more, and barked three times. The bull shook his shoulders, stepped back, stilled. Blood dripped from his nose. The battle had been decided.
    Being the obedient cowdog he was, Slick turned to go to Ray.
    The war, however, was not over.
    The bull was right behind him. He came at Slick like a lead ball shot from a cannon.
    “Slick!” Ray shouted. “Look back!”
    At the sound of his name, Slick hesitated, unaware of the danger bearing down on him. It took just the tiniest of moments for the implication to register in Slick’s keen mind. He flipped to his left, spinning with deft speed.
    It was a moment too late. And in the wrong direction.
    Because he had turned directly into the bull’s path.
    A black, muddied hoof smashed down on Slick’s front leg, pulling him beneath the raging beast. Slick’s curdling yelp was cut short as his body crumpled, rolled, disappeared beneath the shadow of the bull.
    The bull circled around, bucking madly, his curved horns twisting through the air. The dappled mess of fur that was Slick lay trampled and defeated in his wake. The murderous beast pawed at the ground, bellowed his intent.
    My heart seized. If there was still life left in old Slick, it wasn’t much. Maybe just enough to yet pump blood through his veins, to draw a final breath. His chest was stone-still, his limbs unmoving.
    I was sure he was dead.
    “Goddamn you, Slick, you old buzzard!” Ray shouted through cupped hands, his voice cracking as he choked back a sob. “Get your lame ass up off the ground and back that sonofabitch steer down like you were taught to!”
    And then ... Slick popped up. Well, not ‘up’ exactly. He was listing to one side, his left front leg dangling low from his shoulder. Ever so slightly, he swayed. Then steadied. Gingerly, he put his paw down. Limped a step. Then another. Until finally, he was trotting. Right at the bull.
    I think the bull was just as shocked as the rest of us were. He stepped back, visibly fazed by Slick’s miraculous resurrection. His tail swished at his rump as he dipped his head briefly. Sort of like a nod. Then he turned his bulk to one side, presenting his massive flank to Slick, and began back toward the barn.
    Which was roughly in my direction.
    It took a moment to sink in. The gate that stood between him and me was shut, but not latched. It was a sticky latch and had been a problem before, until Cam fixed it. But rain and rust had taken their toll. When Ray walked through the gate