Cattle die,
Kindred die,
We ourselves also die;
But the fair fame
Never dies
Of him who has earned it.
Cattle die,
Kindred die,
We ourselves also die;
But I know one thing
That never dies,
Judgment on each one dead.
--"Havamal," The Codex Regius
To my eyes the stranger didn’t look much like a gunslinger, but Pa seemed glad to have another hand. Guess it didn’t matter any, so long as I didn’t have to share my food. Beans and biscuits weren’t much but they were MY beans and biscuits. Manwel’d say nothing in life’s ours—it all belongs to Haysoos. He says it funny, Mexico-style. Manwel’s pa’s hired hand.
Pa and the stranger were riding point, with Manwel at t’back. I rode circuit, keeping the cattle from straying. Almost a hundred head, all dumb instinct and nerves. Riding circuit’s important, so Pa trusting me stiffened up my backbone with pride. This’d be my first cattle drive and I didn’t intend to let Pa down. He’d given me a rifle an’ everything. This trip meant a lot to him. Meant a lot to us all. We didn’t turn a profit, we lost the ranch.
