Written by Olin Thompson
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Copyright © 2008 by Olin Thompson
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339 Eighth Ave., Studio 1
San Diego, CA 92103
Gil heard the horses ride up; it wasn’t unusual after a day off for the men of the ranch to arrive late. He tugged up the two blankets, noted the blare of orange from the pot bellied stove, grabbed his pillow a little tighter, and rolled over to go back to sleep.
The men would, he knew, stomp in and make all sorts of racket as the last drunk before the round-up caught up with them. Their normally sedentary nights were spent sewing rips, darning socks, and mending tack. This night, however, they would return from a riot of town treeing. Tomorrow they would pay for all the liquor, the second time, and not with money.