We arrive at a dust ranch in the middle of nowhere. A title card informs us that the owner of this place is “stone crazy.” Since our horses are tired and in need of hay, we decide to try our luck and ask for help. So Pearl and I knock on the door and draw our knives. Since nobody answers, we kick down the door with our boots. Immediately the ranch’s owner shouts, “I’m too old for this,” as if he had been expecting and dreading our visit; then he hastens into the kitchen and prepares us a dinner of chicken and beans. My sister and I sit by the fire and observe the atmosphere. Hens and roosters are flying all over; in the yard, there’s a dead tree with a noose hanging from its branch, and several skeletons of horses. Everything is covered in dust or sand. The place smells of rot. Since all the water is mud-colored, we drink brandy instead. And it turns out that there aren’t any cots or hammocks, so we end up sleeping on the floor.
No comments:
Post a Comment