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“You’re doing it now,” he said plainly.
“I’m supposed to do it always.”
“Even when I’m a man like you?” he questioned. I gave him a nod.
Until I’m six feet under, son. I will always protect you.
A few minutes later, we were coming into pasture three, which came up to one of roads that lead directly to the city of Denver. There was a black Ram truck parked on the side of it, close to my fence. My body went on alert, my eyes scanning the field in front of me. When they landed on two bison on the far side of the field, near the trees, my stomach tightened. My eyes swung back to the truck and to the man leaning against it, his head turned in the direction of the animals.
“What the fuck?” I growled, reaching into my saddle bag to pull out my walkie-talkie. Switching to the right channel, I pressed the button and said, “Barn one, this is Kings. Got a truck parked outside pasture three. Over.”
“Who’s that, Dad?” Caleb asked, looking back and forth between us. The man hadn’t noticed us yet.
It wasn’t Moonie. Tim Moonie had blonde hair. The man before us had a shaved head. He was wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and shades were on his face. He hadn’t looked in our direction yet.
But I knew that he knew we were here.
“This is Jigs. Mags and Beau are heading to you. Over.”
I kept the device on but put it back into the saddle bag. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the barn,” I rumbled, turning Ranger around. Snapping the reigns, Ranger started running. “Hold on, Caleb.”
Three minutes later, Ranger’s hooves were pounding against the Earth, Caleb was holding onto his hat, leaning over the horn, and I leaned over him as he we came around the bend. The herd came into view, and I reduced our speed. Mags and Beau were charging towards us.
“Beau, take Caleb back to the barn. Tell Jigs to keep an eye on him,” I called. The cowboys reached us, and I helped Caleb off Ranger. My son turned to me, his cheeks tinted red from the wind, his eyes wide with concern.
“Who’s that, Dad?” he asked in a panic.
I adjusted my hat before grabbing the reigns again. Beau was swinging Caleb up on his horse when I said, “Son, this your land. You have to protect your land and the animals on it, whether they belong to you or not.”
He nodded. “He’s a bison hunter, isn’t he?”
The men and I shared a look. The torment of history was creeping up on me, but I would do everything in my power to stop it from repeating itself. “I don’t know, bud. I’m going to talk to him.”
He nodded. “Okay, Dad”
I lifted my chin to Beau. “Go. Hurry.”
As soon as they were off, I turned Ranger back in the direction of pasture three and looked at Mags.
He shook his head, bringing his horse up to mine. “Don’t feel like burning anyone today.”
“Then let’s hope that he’s just a fucking tourist.”
Once back in pasture three, I didn’t slow down until I was about twenty feet from the stranger. The bison had moved closer to the trees, in the shade.
“You lost?” I yelled to the man, easing Ranger to a stop. Mags guided Midnight, his black mare, to a stop beside me. He leaned forward crossing his forearms on the saddle horn, appearing laid back.
We both knew he could blow a fuse at a moment’s notice.
The stranger turned to us, the lenses of his shades shining under the high afternoon sun. A smile spread across his face, and I knew instantly that he was a threat. Whatever came out of his mouth was a lie.
“Holy hell, real cowboys!” he exclaimed, appearing to be excited. He jerked his thumb back to his truck. “I was just driving through, trying to get to California for my niece’s birthday party. Saw the bison over there and just had to stop to take a look.”
Mags grunted.
“This is private property,” I replied, not buying a single word of his story.
He held up his hands in surrender, and under his right arm, across his bicep there was a tattoo a rifle and a skull. Mags sat up, pretending to stretch.
