The Cadence of Grass Read Online Free PDF

He had long uncut white hair and looked like George Washington. “I guess he was your hero.”
    “He was
a
horseman. Said he got it all in Nevada, had ’em up in a bridle rolling a copper cricket.”
    Evelyn understood the peculiarities of Bill’s language, like calling the accelerator the “foot feed.” When Paul had been in the picture, Bill would scarcely talk to her and certainly not about anything important. Maybe a cow, or farming, but no chance of horses nor their pride and beauty. While Paul may have earned his enmity, it must be said that Bill disliked him the first time he saw him. It was quite unreasonable. But right now it was different; she wasn’t going back to Paul and Bill was at peace.
    “It was the last Mother’s Day before I went to the navy . . .” Here was another of his tantalizations: never a word about the war except vague references to his Cheyenne friend, a chief petty officer named Red Wolf. The only decoration in Bill’s house was an old black-and-white photograph of the light cruiser he’d served on in the Pacific, and references to Red Wolf ran throughout all the years Evelyn had come here. If Bill said he had an appointment with Red Wolf, it meant he was busy and didn’t have time to explain why. If the truck broke down, it was Red Wolf, and sometimes it was Red Wolf who came around disguised as the tax assessor. But evidently there really had been a man named Red Wolf, a strangely unforgotten part of Bill’s life. “You and Nat was just little bitty.” Here was another one. Evelyn couldn’t quite understand why she and her sister kept appearing in these early stories, other than that her father had thought farms and ranches were repositories of basic virtue and had sent his girls out to Bill every chance he got. But still, that was early. “I want to tell you a little story about what a hand Robert Wood was.” Evelyn had a feeling that Bill needed to tell these stories. He’d had a brief marriage and had two kids from that whom he might just as well not have had. All he said about his wife was “Somebody throwed a switch, turned her out on a blind siding and she never got back on the main line.” They almost never visited him, and when they did, it was mostly hoping to stumble on something they could take. About ten years ago, the girl, Karen, came up with some friends and tried to make methamphetamine in the old line shack, but they claimed she’d changed her ways and had a family of her own, living near Powderville with a good cowboy she’d met at the Calgary Stampede. The boy, Clay, sold cars in Glendive and was a gloomy type who hated winters and stayed close to his mother, who had inherited the local Penney’s store; together they were paying on a lot in Mesa, Arizona. All Bill ever said was that no thanks to him, they’d turned out good.
    “We had just got our horses up for the year. They was out all winter and the saddles didn’t fit and them horses would buck all hell west and crooked till we could get ’em rode. I was down in the ranch yard and Leo, the illegal worked for me then, said some old-timer had arrived on a wild horse and rolled out his bedroll under the loading chute, put his head on his saddle and gone to sleep. I had an idea it was Robert Wood, and it was. Course I didn’t find him asleep, just caught his eye and told him I would see him in the morning. I pretty much knew what he was after. He had a band of mares up on the bench behind our ranch, you know, Ev, where that tank went dry, mares that was running out with wild horses there, not real mustangs but just cayuses folks had turned out when they went to war and they’d reverted and was all outright broncs. I’d promised to gather ’em for Robert when we had a full complement of help, because it wasn’t going to be easy in any way, shape or form. Well, Robert lost patience with me . . .”
    By this time, Evelyn had sunk full length into the couch, and the only thing that moved