Page 40 of Coyote

"He won't like it," Sierra said. "Two of ours past the fence with him. That was the rule, and it hasn't been a day since the shed."

"I know what the rule is."

"And?"

"And I'll answer for it at the turquoise table when we're back."

More silence.

"When are you coming back?" Sierra asked.

Coyote looked at me.

I shrugged. "Tomorrow?"

He smirked. "Tomorrow," he said into the radio. "Maybe."

"Keep the radio on. And don't let him pull those stitches again."

Coyote clipped the radio to his belt without answering.

He brought two horses from the barn. His mare was a narrow little thing with her ears half back, white broken over brown. Mine could have pulled farm equipment.

"La Pintada," Coyote said. "Rafe calls her something else. I don't use it."

"And this one?"

"Bors." He shrugged. "Rafe reads."

"You ever ride?" Coyote asked.

"No."

"Thought so."

He didn't laugh. He led the gelding beside the fence and showed me how to use the bottom rail as a mounting block. Getting my boot into the stirrup pulled at the puncture in my thigh. Swinging the other leg over the horse dragged fire across my ribs. I sat there breathing through it while the gelding turned his head and looked back at me.

"He's judging you," Coyote said.

"He should mind his business."

"He thinks you're too big."

"He's not alone."

Coyote adjusted the stirrups as far as they would go. My knees still rode higher than they should have.

He loaded the saddlebags next. Two full canteens. Jerky. Dried fruit. A blanket. More food than two men needed for one night.

"How far is this place?"

"Not far."

"How long are you planning to keep me there?"

His hands stopped on the buckle. "As long as you want." He looked up at me when he said it.

"Tomorrow's fine," I said.