Percival Everett
Half an Inch of Water: Stories

For Dorothy and Leo

Little Faith

1

A spring-fed creek ran through the ranch and so even in the harshest summer weeks there was a narrow lane of willows and green grass. Moose and elk browsed and left deep tracks in the muddy banks. Sam Innis had grown up there with his mother, his father having died in the war in Vietnam. The woman had clung to her husband’s dream, leasing out pasture, raising a few beefs, and giving piano lessons to the ranch children in the valley. She turned down many offers on the place, saying that even imagining such a thing would be a betrayal. Love of the spread had been rubbed into him like so much salve, a barrier against whatever was out there in the world, a layer of peace. His mother held him close, not wanting to lose her only remaining family, but let the ranch, the land, shape him. She let him go for his education and died while he was away at vet school. He had the old woman cremated and her ashes were mixed now into the dusty furrows, mud, and deep tracks of life of that place. At dusk, when the owls and bats were whispering about, Sam would sit by the creek and watch the few trout rise to some hatch.

The desert rolled like always, constant, brown, ocher, and especially red in the distance. The pressure of people, the efforts of people had killed off much of the life, but none of the desert. His mother had said it: you can kill everything, you can tear it all up and build, you can pipe water to it, but the desert is the desert, more desert every day. It unfolded itself before him as he crested the ridge and started down the big curve of highway that would take him to the road to his place. The late- morning sun was still behind him, but the shadows of the sage were beginning to shorten.

Sam and his wife were driving home from a memorial service. The oldest resident of the reservation had died at ninety-two. That was old for anyone, but especially for a Native man. Someone had told Sam that the life expectancy of an Indian male was forty-four. The Indian man who offered the statistic did so without the slightest show of bitterness or even fear. It’s just a thing, he said. The service had been at the Episcopal church. Sam didn’t like churches.

Sam didn’t know what the old man’s death had been like. Apparently he was walking one minute and not the next. Sam hadn’t known Old Dave Wednesday very well, for only a few years, but once, while Sam was out examining the horses at the tribal ranch, the two sat together on a hillside.

I am an old man, Dave said.

I suppose, Sam agreed. How old are you exactly?

Ninety.

That’s old. My mother didn’t live to be that old.

They had hiked up the hill to look down at the ranch. Dave was telling him how the tribe planned to bring water down- mountain via an old-fashioned drainage ditch.

Dave pointed at the hills with an open, shaky hand. From over there. Them surveyors came and looked and said it was possible. Said we need some engineers. And all of them want to get paid.

Sam nodded.

Dave rubbed his knees. I’m glad to be sitting. I can’t walk like I used to.

None of us can, Sam said.

I will die soon.

Sam was not so comfortable with this talk, but he said, We all die. He hated this platitude.

So I’m told. And there is nothing wrong with it. If you do it right, then you don’t have to do it again.

They sat silent for a bit. Sam looked at the horses in the pasture below and then over at the hills where the water would come from. Measure twice, cut once, he said.

Dave laughed. Then he laughed again, at something else.

What is it? Sam asked.

Us, the old man said. We are Sam and Dave. We are soul men. He laughed again, louder.

Sam brought the pickup to a stop on the gravel next to the house. He and Sophie sat there for a few seconds and let the ticking of the killed engine settle into silence. They stared ahead at the fenced pasture and the willows far off along the creek. A colt pranced around his mother.

You okay? Sophie asked.

Sam looked at her.

About having been in a church.

Sam chuckled. Yes, I’m okay. Let’s get changed so we can take care of these beasts.

Zip, the border collie, greeted them at the door and followed them into the house through the kitchen. Sophie stopped at the counter to check the phone messages. Sam walked upstairs, peeled off his jacket, and undid the knot of his tie. He sat on the bed and kicked off his shoes.

These shoes hurt my feet, he said as Sophie entered.

You always say that.

It’s always true. You should bury me in them. That way you’ll know I won’t be doing any ghostly walking.

I was looking forward to your ghostly walking.

You are a sweet-talker, aren’t you?

Yes, I am. She unhooked the back of her dress and let it slide down her body to the floor.

All right. And you’re a tease.

Yes, I am.

Come here, Missy. He reached for her hand.

You know I love when you talk cowboy.

Do you now? Come here.

Me?

Yes, you, ma’am.

He stood and held her, kissed her.

The house shifted, it seemed. Then the whole structure shook, swayed as if riding a wave. They clung to each other. There was a crash downstairs. The clock bounced off Sam’s nightstand. And it was over and everything was quiet for a brief moment and then the mules were braying and the horses were calling out. Then Zip started barking.

Wow. Sophie dropped to a knee and comforted the dog. Earthquake?

I’m guessing so.

Sam slipped back into his dress shoes and headed for the stairs. Sophie grabbed her robe and pulled it on. She followed him down. Sam wondered if there would be another tremor. At the bottom he could see that the framed picture of his mother had fallen, but only the glass had cracked. Other pictures were askew, but nothing seemed to be broken. They stepped into the mudroom and changed into their boots, then walked out the kitchen door. The world didn’t appear any different. The sky was cloudless. The hills were still standing in the distance. Zip ran in circles. The horses were stirred up. The skittish mare was kicking her stall wall in the near barn. A loose barn door that Sam had been meaning to repair for weeks now lay flat in the dust.

You go settle the horses, Sam said. I’ll check the propane.

Sam watched Sophie move off. She stopped to say something soft to the little donkey in the paddock just outside the barn. Zip stayed with Sam. She always stayed with Sam. He went to the cabinet on the exterior wall next to the back door and grabbed a pipe wrench and a spray bottle filled with soapy water. The large green propane tank was thirty yards from the house. It looked fine. He listened as he looked at the gauge and felt around the joins. He sprayed the connections and saw no bubbles. The line to the house was underground; there was no checking that. He walked back to the house and into the kitchen. He pushed the stove away from the wall and bit and sprayed the line, all good. In the cellar he checked the furnace. The pilot was surprisingly still lit. No leaks. Same with the water heater. Sophie was in the kitchen when he came back up.

Everything all right? she asked.

All good.

I can’t believe we had an earthquake. She sat at the table. I didn’t even know we had a fault.

You don’t, Sam said.

Who’s the sweet-talker?

The barns?

Just that door. Horses are scared.

Horses are always scared. They’ll be fine in ten minutes. Sam set the spray bottle on the table. I guess we should turn on the radio.

They sat in the kitchen, drank tea, and listened to the local station. There had been a quake, the magnitude of which had not been determined, a surprise to everyone and a source of incessant chatter. There was little to report in the way of damage and they quickly grew tired of people calling in to repeat the experience of the previous caller. Broken canned goods, cracked washer drums, ruined china sets. One woman called to say that in the minutes right before the quake her chickens, to a hen, had laid an egg.

And how does she know that? Sophie, said laughing.

The rooster told her, Sam said. He looked out the window. I figure the office phone will start ringing soon. Now that everybody has figured out they’re all right, they’ll start seeing stuff wrong with their animals.

The phone rang.

Sam picked up.

It was Terry Busch from north of town. She was a new transplant, from California to live the quiet life. I want to buy a horse and I need a vet check, she said.

What’d you think of the quake? Sam asked.

That was hardly a quake, the woman said.

I guess not for you.

There’s this beautiful leopard Appaloosa down near Randy Gap. Can you meet there this afternoon? Two?

Sam looked at the clock. It was twelve thirty. Two thirty?

That’s good.

I’ll meet you at the flashing light at two thirty.

He hung up.

Didn’t sound like an emergency, Sophie said.

City woman wants a horse, Sam said. Everybody ought to have a horse. And the lucky ones of us can have mules.

You and your mules.

I’m supposed to look at Watson’s mare at one. That won’t take long and that’s on the way to the Gap.

What about lunch?

I’ll take an apple with me.

Sophie made a disapproving face.

Two apples.

Just make sure you don’t feed one to a horse.

Yes ma’am.

Sam walked out of the house and to his work truck, where he inspected his vet pack. It was his habit. He restocked every time he returned home and always checked his supplies before setting out. The sky remained clear, if a little cool, but heat was on the way. Zip hopped into the truck before him.

He drove the unused back roads to the ranch of Wes Watson. The back way was actually faster, but rough on the suspension, the truck’s and his. He looked at Zip as they bounced along. Probably not the best thing for my prostate, he said to her. The mare he was seeing he’d seen before for vaccinations and once for a hoof problem. Now Wes wanted to breed her.

Wes met him at his truck. Greetings.

Greetings to you, Sam said, laughing.

I thought it seemed like a pleasant way to, to—

Greet someone? Sam offered.

More or less.

So, you want to breed the Paint. She in season?

You’re here to tell me.

Going to use live cover?

Nope. Sperm’s on the way.

Sam nodded. He followed Wes into the barn. The quarter horse was standing calmly, already cross- tied in a washstand and backed up against a rail. Sam looked at her while he pulled on his glove. Well, her tail’s up, isn’t it?

Her tail’s always up, Wes said.

Sam gave the horse’s neck a stroke and moved down to her flank. He inserted his gloved hand into the animal’s vagina. She took a step but stayed calm. He could see she was in estrus before he was inside. He felt around, shook his head.

What is it? Wes asked.

We might have a problem, Sam said. He felt around more. I think she’s got a hematoma.

Is that bad?

Sam slowly removed his arm and hand. No, not bad. But she won’t be getting knocked up for a while. She’s going to have to cycle a few times before this resolves itself. Won’t affect her fertility. We’ll keep an eye on her.

How do you know it’s not a tumor?

The other ovary feels normal. If it were a tumor, the other would probably be smaller than normal. Plus, she’s not acting all crazy with hormones. I’m going to take some blood to be sure.

All right. That’s disappointing.

Sam flexed his hand, rolled down his shirtsleeve. She sure is a pretty horse, I’ll give you that. I see why you want to breed her.

She’s a looker. Even tempered, too.

They walked back to Sam’s truck. Zip lay in the vehicle’s shadow.

So, did you feel the shaker? Wes asked.

Oh yeah.

We hardly did. The wind chimes on the porch shook. That was about it. So, where you headed from here?

Down to Randy Gap. Vet check.

Wes nodded. So, I just leave her alone? Wes asked about the horse.

Leave her alone. Treat her like a horse. Sam opened a cabinet in the pack in the back of his pickup, pulled out a syringe kit and some vials. I’ll get me a little bit of blood and I’ll be on my way.

You know, you’re okay, Wes said.

Sam looked at him. How’s that?

You know, being a black vet out here. I have to admit, I had my doubts.

About what exactly?

Whether you’d make it.

You mean fit in?

I guess that’s what I mean, yeah.

Wes, I grew up here. Grade school. High school. I’ve never fit in. I probably will never fit in. I accept that.

Wes’s face was now blank. He didn’t understand. He was just a degree away from cocking his head like a confused hound.

Sam said, Thanks, Wes. I’m glad you think I’m okay.

That’s all I was saying.

I know, Wes.

Randy Gap, eh? Bad medicine down there.

That what folks in the tribe say?

No, that’s what I say. You don’t have to be no Indian to spot it.

I suppose that’s right.

Sam left Wes there in the sun, walked back into the barn to collect blood from the Paint mare.

Randy Gap was the confluence of two draws and two roads and had nothing to do with anyone named Randy or Randolph. It had been so named because supposedly whenever old-timers drove cattle through there the bulls would get crazy horny and slow everything down. Now it was the weather in the gap that slowed everything down; snow and rain and wind seemed to concentrate on the area. It was windy when Sam found Terry Busch waiting there, leaning against her Subaru. He crunched to a halt on the gravel roadside.

Hey, Terry.

Doc.

So, you want to buy yourself a new horse.

It’s not far, she said. Couple of miles.

I’ll follow you. He watched the woman walk back to her car. She was his age, but she looked younger. Or maybe it was that he looked older. What was forty-four supposed to look like?

He trailed her to a dirt road and then a half mile in to a trailer home surrounded by pipe corrals and paddocks. Horses stood in most of the enclosures, some clean, some not. He’d seen places like this before and there was little good about them. He parked behind Terry and got out. He left Zip in the truck.

A teenage boy came from the trailer. He wore a tight T-shirt that said One in the Oven with an downward-pointing arrow. He tossed his cigarette into the dirt.

Well, here I am, Terry said.

I’ll get him, the kid said without expression.

Warm, Sam said, referring to the boy’s greeting.

The teenager came back with a fifteen-hand Appaloosa gelding with a nicely defined blanket on his rump. The horse was clean and freshly shod.

Isn’t he beautiful? Terry was not playing the role of the cool buyer. She stepped back and looked at the horse.

Sam circled the animal. Nice markings, all right, he said. But that’s not why I’m here, is it? He reached out to shake the kid’s hand. I’m Sam Innis, the vet.

The boy shook his hand. Jake.

Sam let go of the boy’s limp mitt. Let’s take a look at him. Anything you want to tell us?

The boy shook his head. I don’t know anything. They come in, we sell them. This one eats everything we put down, I can tell you that.

You mind trotting him over there about twenty yards and then back to me? Sam watched as the kid led the horse away. They kicked up dust. Sam studied the animal. As they were coming back he said, He’s a little wide in the chest. See how he paddles? Like he’s swimming.

Is that bad? Terry asked.

Better than being too narrow and knocking his feet together. He won’t be much good at jumping anything. He asked the boy to repeat the trot away and back. He’s loose in the caboose. Terry, his legs are everywhere. What do you want to do with him?

Ride trails, that’s all.

Sam nodded. He might be okay. I can see why you like him. He’s pretty. Being wide is a good thing for your comfort. Well, let’s take a closer look. He’s not exactly wide through the stifles. Sam caught himself. He didn’t want to be too negative. After all, Terry liked the horse.

The winded boy came back with the horse and stood quietly. Sam measured the circumference of the leg just below the knee. Good bone. He grabbed the knee. He’s just a little buck-kneed.

Terry came close and looked with Sam.

Sam looked at Terry. He’s got a beautiful coat. Flies don’t seem to bother him. Sam looked at the horse’s eyes and then at the boy. Just how much bute did you give him?

A little, the boy admitted, caught off guard.

What is it? Terry asked.

Will he lunge? Sam asked.

Yeah, Jake said.

Sam took the lead rope from the boy and got the horse trotting counterclockwise around him. He stopped him and picked up his left forefoot.

What is it? Terry asked.

They gave the horse a drug for pain. He’s got some navicular issues. I mean, Terry, you can live with all the problems I’m finding, I’m sure. Corrective shoes will help his heels, but he won’t be much good for long or strenuous rides. What are they asking for him?

Three grand, Jake said.

Sam smiled. I wouldn’t pay more than eight hundred.

You’re crazy, the kid said. He was red in the face.

I’ve been told that, Sam said. Terry, I can keep checking him, but it won’t get better.

This horse is sound, the kid snapped.

Sam nodded.

I guess I’ll pass, Terry said to Jake.

So that’s it? The boy grunted.

Thanks for showing him to me, Terry said.

Yeah, right. He muttered something to himself as he walked the horse away.

Sam walked with Terry back to her car.

I think he’s pissed, she said.

He was trying to rip you off. Maybe not the kid, but the guy he works for. Healthy horses are expensive enough to take care of.

Thanks, Doc.

Sam felt bad. Terry had had high hopes for the animal, was a little bit in love with him. He watched her fall in behind the wheel of her car, start it, and have a bit of trouble getting turned around.

Sam climbed into his own truck and laughed when he had the same diffcult time getting himself about-faced. He drove home.

2

Sophie answered the ringing phone as Sam stepped into the kitchen.

We’re fine, she said. What about you? That’s good. Oh, I see. He just walked in. She handed the phone to Sam. It’s the sheriff.

Dale, Sam said.

You okay over there? Any damage? the sheriff asked.

Nothing. What’s up?

I’d like you to come out here and give us a hand. We’ve got a lost little girl next to the reservation. Up in the Creeks.

How long has she been lost?

About six hours. I’m down at the little store at the flashing light. Only place I can get a signal on my damn phone.

Can you get in touch with Eddie over there?

Yes.

Have Eddie get me a horse ready. That way I won’t have to waste time getting one loaded into a trailer.

All right, you got it. I’ve got six men out now, four on horseback, two on foot. Of course the only thing the quake damaged was the helicopter. We’re waiting on one to come from Casper. Duncan’s flying his Beechcraft around.

Where are you exactly?

You’ll see us. Just take the road on through to the far side of the reservation. Just past the dip.

Oh, and Sam.

Yes.

The girl is deaf.

I’m on my way. Be there in less than an hour. He hung up.

Sophie was standing close. What?

Little deaf girl is lost out in the Owl Creeks.

That’s got to be Sadie White Feather’s girl.

Dale didn’t tell me her name.

She’s so tiny.

When Sam came back from the washroom, Sophie handed him a pack.

Water, she said. Some fruit and some cookies. The cookies are for the child.

Yes ma’am. I’m going to grab my chaps from the tack shed. Might have to pop some brush.

He gave her a kiss and stepped outside, called for Zip.

The sheriff had set up a staging area at the head of a little-used trail. It was a hundred square miles of barren, desolate, arid hills, full of worthless ore and seasonal creeks that could flood in a blink. The county/reservation line was somewhere around there, but no one knew for sure and no one cared. Sam and Zip got out of the truck and walked to the sheriff. He was trying to talk with someone on a hand-held radio. Sadie White Feather was sitting on a metal folding chair a few yards away. She did not look up at the sound of Sam’s approach.

Dale, Sam said.

I’m glad you’re here. These damn radios work for shit in these hills. I don’t know where the fuck anybody is.

Sam looked at the hills. Old Dave Wednesday would never set foot in them, called them haunted. Sam had actually liked the place, had ridden there once.

The tribal police put me in charge. Mainly because I’m supposed to have a helicopter. But I don’t. Anyway, the whole tribal force, all three of them, are out there looking.

Okay.

Along with my two deputies and that new ranger, Epps.

What exactly is the situation?

Dale glanced over at Sadie White Feather. He motioned for Sam to follow him away a few paces. Girl’s name is Penny. She went and wandered off away from the family’s camp and just never came back. She was here with her mother, aunt, uncle, and grandmother. Her uncle’s a tribal cop; he’s out looking. The aunt and grandma went to find the father.

Sam nodded. They see anybody else around?

No. Did I mention that the radio reception is crappy in these damn hills? Cell phones are worse.

Any sign yet?

Nothing reported.

Sam stepped over to look at the map the sheriff had spread out on the hood of his rig. It was held down from the wind by rocks. Circles had been drawn and Xs were placed in spots.

She’s only nine, Sam. How much ground could she have covered?

A lot, Sam said. And these canyons are just crazy. You could pass by the same wash three times and never know it. Mind if I talk to Sadie?

Be my guest.

Zip had already made it over to the woman and pushed up under her hand. Sadie was absently patting the dog’s head.

Sadie, Sam said.

The woman looked up.

It’s me, Sam Innis. You know my wife, Sophie.

Sadie nodded.

I’m going to go out and help look for Penny. Sam dropped to one knee, faced the direction she faced, and studied the same empty space. But I need to ask you a few questions. You’ve been asked a bunch, I know, but a couple more, okay? They tell me Penny’s nine.

Nine and a half.

Exactly where and when did you last see her?

She was playing over by those yellow mounds. She pointed with an open hand. She was throwing rocks. She glanced over at me and I signed for her to stop throwing rocks, but she pretended not to see and kept on throwing. My sister said to just let her throw rocks, she wasn’t hurting nothing. I started cooking. I was making chokecherry gravy. When I looked back over there, I didn’t see her. I didn’t think anything of it and I went back to cooking. Then I got to thinking about how she can’t hear snakes and so I went over and looked for her. I looked all over and then my sister and her husband started looking and we couldn’t find her. I guess that was about eight thirty, maybe nine.

Is she completely deaf?

Yes.

Can you show me how to sign her name?

You just put one finger to your forehead and move it out. Like this. It’s kind of a joke. We call her “one cent.” You know, a penny is one cent.

Like this? Sam repeated the motion.

The woman nodded. She might laugh at you.

How do I say friend?

Sadie showed him. Crossed fingers this way and that.

Got it. And that’s about all my old head can hold. And is Penny left- or right-handed?

Right. She does some things with her left. She brushes her teeth with her left hand. I’ve tried and I can’t do it.

I know you were making breakfast, but did she eat anything this morning?

Nothing.

Did she drink water?

She always drinks a lot of water. Oh, she had a juice box, too.

Good, that’s a good thing. What about her shoes? What kind of shoes is she wearing?

Sneakers, Sadie said. You know, those kind the kids love with the heels that light up. They’re a little small on her. I guess that doesn’t matter.

It matters, Sam said. Everything matters. Tell me, is Penny a smart girl?

All As. She’s very, very smart. She knows the capitals of all the states.

How much does she weigh?

Not much. I don’t know. She’s little. Fifty pounds? Not even.

Thanks, Sadie. We’re going to find her, okay? That was what Sam said, because that’s was what one always said in these situations. He’d been a tracker for a long time and he’d never once set out believing he would find anyone.

Sam walked back to the sheriff.

You need an article of clothing for your dog? Dale asked.

She’s not a scent dog. She can’t smell bacon cooking. But any dog is better than three men.

The roan over there is what Eddie drove over for you. He’s driving the highway, just in case. And here’s a radio, for all the good it will do you. Just try it periodically. It might work.

Dale’s radio awoke with static and he stepped away, trying to find a stronger signal. Sam looked at the map again, then walked over to where Sadie had last seen the child throwing rocks. He picked up a few stones and hurled them at a boulder. Not far from the yellow formation was a narrow wash between waist-high walls. Not so intriguing for an adult, Sam thought, but probably irresistible for a child. The ground there had been pretty well trampled by men’s boots and shod horses, and then it became rocky. He decided he’d follow the wash.

He walked back to the roan, gave him a rub on the neck. He knew the horse, had treated him a couple of times. He of course knew the horse did not remember him. He tightened the cinch of the synthetic saddle. The horse was a short, sturdy, big-butted quarter horse, good for breaking through growth. He mounted, whistled for Zip, and rode on.

Into the ravine. The walls were saddle high until they opened up, spread away from the wash as it widened, and joined another drainage. He saw where a couple of riders had gone on north. He veered down and around a steep hill and rode on a mile or so. He checked his radio and already it was useless. These hills were full of something magnetic, he figured, or it was just spirits and Old Dave had been right. He messed with the squelch on the radio and was able to hear Dale swearing at the other end.

He rode on slowly, looking ahead and scouting the distance and casting a glance down to study the ground and brush. He looked for something, anything, the tiniest thing out of the ordinary, a drag, a broken stick, even an animal acting strangely. The ground was baked hard with a fine layer of loose sand that the wind played with. He dismounted and looked closely at the surface, moved his sight up slowly, squinted. He stared and stared. A lopsided creosote bush caught his eye. He led the horse to it. It was broken about a foot off the ground. It was a fairly fresh break. Anything could have caused the damage; he knew that. Still it was something. He combed the ground around and near the bush. Then, in a spot protected from the wind, he thought he saw some transfer of soil over pebbles. Hardly a definite sign, but he decided to view it as transfer and that gave him a direction. He observed the clouds and sky to the east. Back in the saddle, he watched Zip sniff around some coyote scat. She left it in short order and heeled to the roan.

Sam rode up to a bit of high ground and looked over the terrain. He had come to an expanse of flat ground. Far off to the north he could make out a couple of riders. Above him a hawk circled high. There was an outcropping to the east, the direction he’d chosen. There was nothing between him and the rocks and so he rode toward the formation, the light sinking behind him.

The sun was a couple of hours from setting and was already giving the west-facing rocks an eerie bronze shimmer. The wind picked up and blew sand in sheets. There would be no trail, human or otherwise. He stopped and examined a couple of odd spots, thought one might have been where a small person had stopped to rest. He recalled how easy it was for a man to see what he wanted to see.

The outcropping was surprisingly larger than it had seemed from a distance. There was plenty of space between boulders for a person to wander into and get lost. The wind was whipping now and in these rocks it was bouncing and twisting in all directions. The temperature was dropping. He considered letting the horse stand on a dropped rein, but tied up to some sage instead. He tried the radio. Nothing. He looked at the sky for a plane or helicopter. Nothing.

Sam left the horse and with Zip wended his way into the formation. They came out into a bowl, the floor of which was an expanse of flat rock. On the table of rock were a considerable number of rattlesnakes basking in the last rays of the day’s sun, trying to collect all the warmth they could from the stone. In the middle of the flat area, in the middle of the snakes, was a washtub-shaped rock and on it sat a little girl. Sam called out and immediately realized the futility in that. He told Zip to stay, said it twice. His actions now were very important. If he startled the child she might panic and move into the snakes. He didn’t know if she was aware of the snakes. His back was to the west and so he would be in silhouette. Also, with his back to the west he couldn’t use his watch face or anything else to reflect the sun to get the girl’s attention. He moved left, moved to put the sun someplace else. He could see that her eyes were open, but she stared blankly at the rocks thirty or so feet in front of her. He was losing the day. It was colder still. He reached down and collected a handful of pebbles. He repeated his command to Zip to stay. He walked into the snakes, wishing he were wearing taller boots. His Wellingtons came up only to midcalf.

He pitched a pebble at the girl. It landed without effect near her heels. He tossed another and it skittered across the plane of rock in front of her and she saw it. She turned and looked at Sam. He froze. Stepping as he was through the snakes, he was certain that his posture, his body language would be difficult for her to read. He must have looked strange. He could see fear coming over her face. He put his hands up and signed friend to her. Whether he was doing it correctly, he didn’t know. The fact that he was signing at all at least let her know that he knew something about her. He put his hands out, palms down, as if to tell her to relax. He then pointed to the snakes. It was unclear whether she was seeing them for the first time, but she pulled her feet up onto the rock and held her knees. Good, Sam said, but didn’t know how to sign that, so he nodded. Perhaps she could read lips and then he wondered how much lip he showed under his bush of a mustache. He signed friend again. He looked back to see if Zip was obeying his last command and she was. Penny was wearing only a T-shirt and sweatpants. She was no doubt feeling the cold or would be soon. A snake rattled near Sam. He looked around and tried to locate the agitated animal. Zip barked. Sam again gestured to the child to remain calm. He took another step, watched as his boot landed between two rattlers, both just inches away. He was about twelve feet from Penny when a three-foot-long snake uncoiled and struck his boot. If the animal had rattled first he might not have been so startled, but he was and so took an awkward step and lost his balance. He put out a hand and stopped himself from falling. A small snake found his hand and bit. He stood up and the snake fell off. He looked at the bite, not believing it. He looked back at Zip and reminded her to stay. He looked at the girl, at the snakes, at his hand. Fuck, he said, fuck, fuck, fuck. He was glad the girl was deaf. He told himself to calm down. The bite pushed him on and in two steps he was on the little island with Penny.

They sat there staring straight ahead. Neither cast a glance at the other. Well, young lady, Sam said, obviously to himself. What we have here is two gallons of shit in a one-gallon bucket. He looked at his hand; there was little blood. I’ll bet you’re glad the big man has come to rescue you. He let out a nervous laugh, then sighed a long breath, trying to slow his panic, his heart rate. He tapped the child on the shoulder and gestured that he wanted her to get on his back. He pointed at her and then at his back. He held out his unbitten hand and smiled. She leaned over and looked at his injured hand. He showed it to her. Yeah, he got me. I wish the fact that he was little meant something good, but it doesn’t. She reached out and touched the hand, her fingers cool against his skin, small, light.

Sam turned his back slightly to her and patted his shoulder. The girl understood, put her arms around his neck, and climbed on. He stood, found her remarkably light, weightless. His hand hurt and he thought he could feel it swelling. So much for any hope that it was a dry bite. He walked less gingerly on the way back, feeling a new sense of urgency, both for the girl and for himself, also recognizing that his too-careful pace was the reason for his bite. He also harbored the notion that like lightning the snakes would not strike twice. That notion turned out to be wrong. After successfully kicking away a couple of snakes, a large one that he did not see struck and latched onto his calf just below his knee. He reached down, grabbed the snake, and hurled it away. The bite hurt like hell. Zip was barking and bouncing, but still she stayed.

Clear of the snakes, Sam gently put down the child and collapsed, mainly in disbelief. He was swelling at both bites and either felt or imagined some tingling in his mouth. He felt weak. He was dizzy. He stood and guided the girl back through the maze of boulders to his horse. He tried the radio. Static. Dusk was on now and everything was indistinct. An owl hooted somewhere. The air was much colder. Or was it chills?

By his reckoning he was six or seven miles from where he had left the sheriff. A voice scratched through the radio. He pressed the talk button. Say again. This is Innis. Nothing. In case you can hear me, I have little Penny with me. I repeat, the child is safe, unharmed and with me. However, I have managed to get myself bitten twice by rattlers. I’m about six miles southeast of the staging area. Be advised, need help. Do you read? Static. Maybe they heard me, he said to the girl. He pointed to his ear.

He opened his knapsack, which he’d tied to the saddle, and pulled out his first-aid kit. Never leave home without a snakebite kit, kid. In fact, he’d never used a kit or treated a human for a bite. Bites to horses were rare and horses were so big that they usually just got sick and got better. Considering how long it had taken him to get to the kit, it seemed a lot like closing the barn door after whatever was already out.

If only he’d been bitten only once, he’d probably be okay because of his size. But two bites, that was a different matter. He addressed the bite on his leg since it was more recent and because the snake had been bigger. He cut his pant leg with his pocket knife and ripped it up to his knee. He then swabbed the area of the bite with an antiseptic pad. He fumbled with the sterile blade, nearly dropped it when he pulled it from the plastic sleeve. He sliced through the two fang holes and used the extractor to draw out what poison he could. He hurt while he did it. For some reason, swearing helped and so he did, pleased at least that the child could not hear him. He wondered if she could swear in sign language. He finished, looked at his hand. He had reservations about using the same blade again. He decided not to. Penny watched. He stopped and listened. The world seemed quieter with her there.

Sam studied the darkening landscape. He wished he had a flare gun, then laughed at himself. He could also wish that he could teleport them back in time. If we had some ham we could have ham and eggs if we had some eggs, he said. He tried the radio again. Dale’s voice scratched through.

Dale, he said.

Sam? Night air seems to help the signal.

Dale, I found her. I have her here with me.

He found her, Dale said to the others. There was cheering in the background.

She’s okay, unhurt. I’m about six or so miles east and a little south of you. I wish I could be more precise.

Copy that.

Dale, I’ve been bitten twice by rattlers.

Jesus, Sam. How bad?

I don’t know. We’re going to start back. I have a flashlight burning. I’ll be sticking to flat ground. Come out and try to meet us.

Roger that. We’ll find you.

Leaving now.

We’ll find you, Dale repeated.

Sam took off his jacket and put it around Penny. He mounted and then pulled her up into the saddle in front of him. He cantered for a while, but the horse felt uneven. The girl didn’t add enough weight to be a problem. He stopped, got down, and looked at the horse’s feet. The animal had a quarter crack on his left forefoot. He was hurting. If the animal came up lame, they’d be in a real fix, he thought. He left Penny in the saddle and led the horse, walking as briskly as he could. His mouth was surely tingling now. The swelling at both sites was now undeniable. He was sweating and his mouth was wet with saliva. The sweating made him cold and then there were the chills. He did not yet feel nauseated, but he knew that was coming. He wished the girl could hear and speak, because he needed the distraction of conversation to keep himself together. Zip stayed extra-close, sensing trouble. I’ll be all right, girl, he said to the dog. You just keep me awake.

It was dark now. The nausea was beginning. The dizziness was more profound. He was glad he wasn’t in the saddle. He’d probably slide right off. He was worried about a lot of things now. Walking in a straight line is hard to do, he remembered, and without a distant point of reference it is impossible. Given his disorientation there would be no reckoning by the stars, even if he could do it. The last thing he needed was to lead them off into the wilderness away from where they were expected to be. He stopped the horse and brought the girl down. He pushed down in the air with his palms, trying to say that they would wait there. He pulled some sagebrush together into a pile and in short order she was helping. He broke off some creosote branches and started a fire. There was a lot of smoke at first. It stung his eyes. He then imagined that the burning sage might cleanse him. He fanned it over his body as he’d seen Old Dave do on many occasions. He laughed at himself. He looked to find the child doing the same thing. He pushed at the fire and watched it catch better.

He put on more branches. The fire was large now, he thought, easy to spot from the sky or a distance. It warmed them, but it did nothing to stop his chills. He heard a plane someplace. Penny took his hand, his bitten hand. He looked at her, felt himself drifting. He watched the flames, advancing, retreating, dancing, hypnotic the way flames always are. There was Dave Wednesday, younger than he had ever been while Sam knew him, sitting in front of a fireplace in a cabin.

You’re thinking you’re having a vision, aren’t you? Dave said.

Pretty much. As offensive as that must be to you.

Snakebit?

Afraid so.

Dave offered Sam a mug of coffee. It’s real strong, will keep you awake for days and days. You’re not a spiritual person.

That’s an understatement.

Yet here you are, hallucinating stereotypes.

Pretty much. Sam drank some coffee. It was actually rather weak, though it was too hot even to sip. So, how do I handle these bites?

You’re the doctor.

I forgot. The earthquake sort of scared me. You were dead, so you didn’t feel it. It was the surprise more than anything.

I felt it. Where are the bites? Dave asked.

Back of my leg and on this hand. Little snake bit me here. He held up his hand. This is the one I’m worried about. I didn’t cut into it.

Okay.

Dave held his hand and looked closely at it.

When Sam opened his eyes, he was sitting in front of the sage fire with Penny. The fire had not died down at all. He pushed some more fuel onto it. He felt the warmth of it and realized that his chills were gone. He looked at his hand. The bite marks were there, but the swelling was not. He wiggled his fingers. He looked at the girl. She was staring at the fire. He considered that he might be dreaming still. He looked through the smoke at the sky. It was a clear night, deep, black. He spotted a shooting star. He glanced to see if the child had seen it also and she had.

She made a sign that Sam assumed meant star or shooting star. He repeated it back to her.

She nodded, smiled.

Sam felt good. He pulled away the flap of his ripped trouser leg and tried to observe that bite, but couldn’t see it. He put his fingers to the site of the bite and it did not feel swollen. It was not tender to his touch.

He stood and offered his hand to help Penny to her feet. Let’s move, he said, and pointed west. He kicked out the fire and stood in the middle of the smoke for a few seconds. He walked over and put the girl on the horse and they walked on. After about a quarter mile, the headlights of a vehicle appeared. Sam took the flashlight he had strapped to the saddle horn and waved it back and forth.

The 4x4 stopped and three men got out. Sam couldn’t make them out, but he recognized the sheriff’s voice calling out to him.

When their faces were clear, Penny went running to one of the men. Sam knew it was her father. The third man was a county paramedic. Sam had seen him before, but didn’t know his name.

How you doing? Dale asked.

Sam knew he looked confused, out of it, but strangely that was only because he felt perfectly fine. I think I’m okay, he said.

Let me see the bites, the paramedic said.

Sam held out his hand. The symptoms went away, he said. Just like that. No chills, no swelling, nothing.

The medic shone his light on the wound. Well, there is a bite here, all right. But there’s no swelling. I don’t have to tell you that’s a good thing. Must have been a dry bite.

Sam nodded. He didn’t mention that it had been swollen. And on the back of my leg, here. He pulled away the pant leg.

The paramedic whistled. Yep, another one. I see you cut yourself. No swelling here either. Two dry bites. I’d play the lottery tonight, if I were you. You up-to-date with your tetanus shot?

Sam said he was.

The medic had Sam sit on the ground and took his blood pressure. He whistled again. One twenty over eighty.

Dale looked at Sam’s face. You all right?

Sam nodded. Apparently. He stood.

The girl’s father came and hugged Sam. Thank you, he said. Thank you for finding my Penny.

You’re welcome, Sam said, unsure. The fact that he felt perfectly well was unsettling and disorienting. He looked down at Penny and signed friend.

She signed back, but Sam didn’t understand.

What did she say? Sam asked her father.

She said you will be fine now.

Sam looked at her eyes. She hugged his legs and he put his hand against her back. He dropped to a knee and hugged her back. He was so confused. He didn’t know why he was not light-headed and nauseated and sweaty. Feeling healthy had never felt so strange. He looked at the father.

She’s special, the man said.

Yes, she is, Sam said.

The sheriff put his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam looked at the stars.

I know you’re exhausted.

Sam nodded but said nothing. On the contrary, he felt remarkably rested. Except for his profound confusion he felt very well. You call Sophie?

She’s on her way.

The paramedic shook his head again. I ain’t never seen two dry bites. The wounds don’t look a bit angry.

Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth, the sheriff said. I reckon I’ll ride the horse on back.

No, Dale, he’s got a cracked hoof. I’ll walk him back. You go back with the girl. The man moved to protest. Really, Sam said. I need to be alone with my thoughts for a short while.

Okay, Doc, you got it.

I’ll stay with you, the paramedic said.

Thanks, but I want you to ride back with them.

The young man looked at the sheriff and the sheriff nodded for him to get into the vehicle.

Penny left her father and stood again in front of Sam. She signed friend. The one word, as if she were speaking to a child. Then she signed what Sam understood to be thank you.

Thank you, he said. He signed her name.

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