Chapter 7
Marta had been asleep in Aaron's arms most of the morning. They'd finally left the wooded slopes and were now cutting across BLM open range in the general direction of Tube Peak. His watch said it was 8 a.m., the weather was gloriously clear and the temperature moderate, maybe 65 degrees.
It had been a long time since Aaron had ridden a horse, before beautician school, before the Army, before Outcome. Berwin had hired out some of its older boys to drive cattle during fall roundups. Although Kenny had loved the horses, he hadn't really liked the work. The other boys pulled pranks on him daily – like cowsh*t in his boots and dead snakes in his sleeping bag.
His stint as cowboy was probably what drove him to the beautician school, where for the most part kind little old lady customers had flirted with him. He'd enjoyed making them beautiful. And they'd liked being touched by a good looking young man.
Deputy Whirligig was an easy going soul who tolerated his double load with barely a snort. Aaron would have to dispose of him, of course. The Sheriff's office would not like being robbed, and he and Marta had enough people after them.
Miles passed. Morning became early afternoon. Then he caught the smell he'd been hoping for - the overwhelming stink of grain fed cowsh*t and urine. The feed lot/slaughterhouse five miles down the road from his destination. When they reached the feeding pens, however, they were empty. Aaron stared in disbelief. High Grade Pack had been a thriving operation just two months ago when he'd last been this way, the last time he'd been off grid, on the four day jaunt that had earned him the disciplinary trip to Alaska. His tentative plan of turning Whirligig in with the steers evaporated.
Marta stirred against his chest. "Where are we?" she managed to croak. Her throat must be dry. She'd been sleeping with her mouth open, snoring quietly. He'd gained strength just from having her close.
He took a fresh grip around Marta's waist. They could parallel the Sweet Spot Ranch's access road until they reached that ravine two miles southwest of the fence line. Then Whirligig would have to go.
But at the ravine he just couldn't do it. It felt too much like murder. Together they stripped the horse. Aaron returned the heroin to the duffle bag and slung it on one shoulder, adding it to the back pack. He tossed the saddle down a side ravine and held the Sheriff's canteen while Marta took a long drink. He finished it off and tossed it into the ravine with the rest. Taking off Whirligig's bridle, he gave him a solid slap on the rump. Whirly knew what that meant. "Go boy. Have some fun." Off he ran, snorting and tossing his head in the beautiful desert afternoon. With any luck he'd run free for a week before the sheriff caught him again.
"Two more miles," Aaron told Marta. "Can you make it?" He held out an energy bar from his back pack.
Marta shrugged. "Guess we'll find out, huh?"