Page 14 of The Cowboy's Close Quarters Claim

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7

CLEMENTINE

Whatever I thought about Gunner when I met him yesterday morning, I take it back. He's not a grump. He's not an asshole. He's just plain, fucking insane.

Last night was good.

Okay-- last night was great.

And yeah, sure, I like giving the man some grief and he likes giving it right back. We obviously make a good team, today was going fine with just the two of us working together and getting things done...until he had to go and bring up last night.

The two Australian shepherds that tagged along with us spot their cattle scattered along the small creek bed at the base of the hill on the far side of our camp. Not far from the property line, but squarely on Flying R land.

The dogs take off, eager to get to work, while I bushwhack my way down the narrow game trail that vaguely shows in the wild grass and chaparral that covers the hills.

Once I'm down to the creek, I get my first real look at the Ralston territory; where the Delta O is spread over fourteen thousand acres of the lower river delta, grasslands, and foothills,the Flying R to the southwest is mostly wide-open space at the bottom of a valley from what I can tell.

It only takes a few whistles, and the dogs are already moving our strays up the trail they trampled into the hillside on their way down to the Ralston's creek. A few of the ladies eyeball me like I'm the cop that's breaking up their party but they amble back to their own yard without much sass.

One of the dogs is barking its head off further down in the valley though, and when I hike down a ways, I see a calf with its head stuck in some old fencing while its mama scolds the barking dog.

Damn. I was hoping this was going to be an easier job.

I haven't met any of the Ralston brothers yet and the rumors I've heard so far don't have me eager to change that. The family burned their bridges in the ranching community generations back and from the sound of it, their reputation hasn't improved much in the last hundred years.

There's a good reason the O'Leary's are keen to get their cattle back on the right side of the fence.

The footing gets iffy along the creekside and my boots slip in the soft scree, getting me to the bottom of the hill a little faster than I'd planned on, but other than a new patch of dirt on the ass of my jeans, I'm no worse for wear when I find my footing again.

The calf causing all the ruckus, however, is another story. Poor baby's managed to get itself wedged into a bit of fencing that looks like it might have once cut off a chunk of land into smaller pastures.

It's not barbed wire, and the little guy could probably pull himself free if he tried, but he seems to have decided he's stuck and content to stay that way.

No problem, I've done this before.

The ground is muddy and my boots sink deep as I trek my way over to the scene.

"Macy! Hush!" The red merle stops barking long enough to turn her pale blue eyes at me before she runs around to my side of the calf, barking the whole way.

Mama cow has found her way around to the other side of the short section of old fencing and I'm glad for that much. I'm not too keen on getting between a stressed cow and her calf.

Macy darts behind me, causing me to misstep so I don't step on the high-strung dog.

All it takes is a good tug on the old wire to free the calf, but I'm not expecting the wire in question to come loose in my hand.

The four of us all move at once; Macy herds mama back around the random section of fencing, baby pulls backward with a burst of energy, and my hand lands firmly on the calf's rump to steady myself, without thinking about it.

Next thing I know, I'm the only one left, but I'm lying on my back in the mud, fighting to pull air into my lungs while I look at the blue sky through the branches of an old cottonwood tree.

It's not the first kick to the chest I've taken or the first time I've had the wind knocked out of me.

Managing to struggle upright without panicking, I wince at the sharp pain that shoots through me when I move and manage to suck in a shallow breath.

Wouldn't be my first cracked rib either.

But it takes me longer to get to my feet than I expect it to, and I still can't get a full breath into my lungs.

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