Her face was calm, her expression unreadable. She stood up. She was a head shorter than him, but she held herself with the dignity of a queen. She walked over to where he had thrown his saddle bags on the ground. She picked them up.
The leather was torn at the buckle, a jagged rip that rendered the bag useless. Your gear is a disgrace, mister. Shorty, she said clearly. Shorty blinked, taken aback. What?
You're losing grain through this tear, and the leather is dry as a bone. If you treat your horse the way you treat your equipment, I pity the animal. She walked back to her crate, sat down, and threaded a new piece of heavy waxed twine. Bring it here. Shorty stared at her.
What? I said, "Bring it here. I can fix the tear with a double stitch, but you will have to oil it yourself. Unless you prefer to ride with gear that looks like it was chewed by a coyote. Gus let out a sharp barking laugh.
Do as she says, "Shorty. " Shorty turned red, his bluster deflating like a punctured lung. He mumbled something under his breath, picked up the saddle bags, and dropped them at her feet. "Thank you," Maggie said, not looking up. It will be ready by supper. From the shadows of the tack room, Eli watched.
He had been about to step out to defend her, but she had not needed him. She had not cowed. She had taken the only weapon she had, her skill, and wielded it like a knife. He felt a strange swell of pride in his chest, followed immediately by that familiar, suffocating guilt. He turned and left through the back door before she could see him.
The sky began to change 2 days later. It started in the west, a bruising of the horizon that looked like a storm front. But there were no clouds. The blue sky simply dissolved into a sickly copper haze. The wind died down and a strange static silence fell over the ranch.
The birds stopped singing. The cattle clustered together near the fences, their heads low. Maggie was in the garden trying to coax life out of a row of wilting beans when the light turned an eerie filtered orange. She stood up wiping her hands on her apron. "Eli came running from the barn.
He was not limping now. He was moving with urgent speed. " "Maggie, get inside. " She looked at him confused. "Is it rain dust? " he shouted. He grabbed her arm, his grip hard enough to bruise. Move.
He dragged her toward the house just as the wall of wind hit. It was not air. It was solid matter. A tidal wave of brown grit slammed into the ranch. The sun vanished instantly.
The world went from afternoon to midnight in the span of a single breath. They tumbled through the front door and Eli slammed it shut. Throwing the heavy iron bolt. The sound of the storm outside was a roar, a screaming, grinding noise as if the earth itself were being sanded down. The house shook, the windows rattled in their frames, the glass singing with the vibration.