THE RANCH

the sun was a red ball sliding behind the date creek hills in the west. it bathed the ranch yard in a reddish weird light. the yard between the old frame house and the sheet iron saddle room was whipped with a cold wind that made the dust dance in little swirls. in front of that saddle room a tired , sweat caked brown horse had his head down in a pan of oats eating in a  slow deliberate manner. squatted in the door was a man, a tired man. his blue denim wrangler pants and shirt were faded, his denim jacket was frayed at the cuffs and brush scared. his hair was a dark brown, almost black that matched his eyes .he leaned against the door jam watching the horse eat. his black hat was dusty and sweat stained but still held a crisp Arizona style  cowboy shape.  when the horse had finished his oats the man rose and taking the lead rope led the horse to a gate and let him in to a corral that opened into a pasture. latching the gate the man trudged across the yard toward the house, dark and lonely. no light showed there, no warm welcome. he had left there in the dark that morning. no one waited for him. the yard was encircled by a sagging net wire fence, the wooden gate sagged on its hinges and lightly dragged the ground with a scrapping noise when opened. stepping into the kitchen the man fished a match from his jacket pocket and lit a kerosene lamp on the kitchen table. he turned to the cabinet and taking down a chipped coffee mug he reached above the propane fired refrigerater and grabbed a bottle of jim beam. taking a look at the bottle he saw it was almost empty. he poured the remaining liquid into the cup and set the empty bottle down with a clump. taking a long gulp of the bourbon he reveled in the warm streak it made down his throat and felt it hit the bottom of his empty belly. as the whiskey warmed him inwardly he turned on the oven in the stove to warm the kitchen while he fixed himself supper. another day passed. altho he was lonely he was content. . when finished eating he dropped the dirty plate into the sink and taking the lamp walked into his bedroom. taking a long look at his rumpled bed he shook inwardly and returned to the living room and fell into a old chair with a stack of magazines next to it.tomorrow he would have to go back up the mountain to where he had tied the wild steer and try to lead him to the headquarter corrals . that steer was to be the Christmas for this puncher. when sold the money would mean a few days in town , rest and a Christmas dinner and presents for his sisters family. one last sip of the bourbon and he rested his head back on the back of the chair. he closed his eyes, tomorrow he thought.