snapped, "and I don't want no lip from you about who I buy my insurance from. I already had a belly full from your Aunt Daisy. She thinks I should go up to Durango and buy insurance at one of them
matu-kach
agencies. Arlo ain't no saint, but," Gorman added in a virtuous tone, "he's one of the People and I try to give the People as much business as I can." Arlo was cheap.
Moon held his hands up in mock defense. "Hey, you want to deal with Arlo, it makes me no never mind."
"I'll take care of my ranchin' business," Gorman pointed at Moon's chest, "you take care of police business."
"I'll go up to Spirit Canyon and check things out." Moon stole a quick look at Benita over Gorman's battered hat. "Then," the policeman said, "I'll write up a report." He waited for the predictable response.
"Well, that's just dandy! A report. That'll do me a helluva lot of good." Benita offered Moon an apologetic look; Gorman slammed the pickup door and roared off in low gear, the tail pipe dangling on a single rusty hanger.
Moon watched the pickup disappear. "You're welcome." He waved. "We're here to serve!" Sooner or later, Benita would show up in town without her cranky father. Then, Moon promised himself, he'd manage to be where she was. Then—he kicked at a pebble—then he'd probably choke again.
At Benita's insistence, Gorman Sweetwater kicked some of the dried mud off his boots before he pushed the plate glass door under the sign that announced: nightbird insurance agency. Herb Ecker was sitting behind a battered desk, carefully inking words into a bound notebook. Gorman waited impatiently as the young man closed his eyes and repeated the words aloud: "I dance the dance of the old ones."
Gorman shuffled his feet to announce his presence, but
Herb, blissfully alone with his imagination, continued: "I dance the dance of remembering."
Gorman cleared his throat. "You'd best forget the dance, kid, and tend to your business."
The insurance salesman jumped to his feet as if launched by coiled springs. "Good day, Mr. Sweetwater, how may I be of service to you?" Herb looked hopefully at Benita, who flashed a lovely smile in return. The young man looked at the floor, his blond hair flopping over his forehead like a mop.
Benita stifled a giggle. She adored his blue eyes. "How are you, Herbie?"
Ecker blushed. "I am quite well." He glanced uncertainly at the old rancher, then at the daughter. "Thank you."
"Your hair," she said, "looks a lot nicer since you let it grow out. You writing poetry?"
The exchange student had been nearly bald when he arrived in Ignacio. Ecker started to reply, then hesitated when he saw the dark expression spreading over Gorman Sweet-water's face.
Gorman glared at the young man, then turned his harsh stare on his daughter. "You two know each other?" It had the unmistakable tone of accusation.
"Sure, Daddy. Herbie was in two of my classes last year. He's one of the smartest students at Fort Lewis College." She beamed at the young man. "Next semester, Herbie's enrolled in graduate school at the University of New Mexico."
Ecker's blush deepened. He looked as if he was about to apologize for sharing a class with Benita.
Gorman snorted. "New Mexico, huh?" Were Colorado schools not good enough?
"Yes, sir," Ecker replied with a spark of confidence. "Anthropology major."
The rancher scowled suspiciously at the distraught young man. Gorman decided that Herb was entirely too pretty to be a boy, and this made the rancher nervous. He wondered if this kid really liked girls. Rumor was, Herb took an un-healthy interest in his boss. Some Utes jokingly referred to Herb Ecker as "Nightbird's shadow." But it was time to get down to business. "My bull," he cleared his throat, "… he died."
Herb raised his eyebrows in a puzzled expression. "Your bull—you say it died?" His peculiar Germanic accent annoyed Gorman, who was suspicious of almost everyone. Especially foreigners.
"Yeah, died." Gorman leaned forward menacingly.
matu-kach
agencies. Arlo ain't no saint, but," Gorman added in a virtuous tone, "he's one of the People and I try to give the People as much business as I can." Arlo was cheap.
Moon held his hands up in mock defense. "Hey, you want to deal with Arlo, it makes me no never mind."
"I'll take care of my ranchin' business," Gorman pointed at Moon's chest, "you take care of police business."
"I'll go up to Spirit Canyon and check things out." Moon stole a quick look at Benita over Gorman's battered hat. "Then," the policeman said, "I'll write up a report." He waited for the predictable response.
"Well, that's just dandy! A report. That'll do me a helluva lot of good." Benita offered Moon an apologetic look; Gorman slammed the pickup door and roared off in low gear, the tail pipe dangling on a single rusty hanger.
Moon watched the pickup disappear. "You're welcome." He waved. "We're here to serve!" Sooner or later, Benita would show up in town without her cranky father. Then, Moon promised himself, he'd manage to be where she was. Then—he kicked at a pebble—then he'd probably choke again.
At Benita's insistence, Gorman Sweetwater kicked some of the dried mud off his boots before he pushed the plate glass door under the sign that announced: nightbird insurance agency. Herb Ecker was sitting behind a battered desk, carefully inking words into a bound notebook. Gorman waited impatiently as the young man closed his eyes and repeated the words aloud: "I dance the dance of the old ones."
Gorman shuffled his feet to announce his presence, but
Herb, blissfully alone with his imagination, continued: "I dance the dance of remembering."
Gorman cleared his throat. "You'd best forget the dance, kid, and tend to your business."
The insurance salesman jumped to his feet as if launched by coiled springs. "Good day, Mr. Sweetwater, how may I be of service to you?" Herb looked hopefully at Benita, who flashed a lovely smile in return. The young man looked at the floor, his blond hair flopping over his forehead like a mop.
Benita stifled a giggle. She adored his blue eyes. "How are you, Herbie?"
Ecker blushed. "I am quite well." He glanced uncertainly at the old rancher, then at the daughter. "Thank you."
"Your hair," she said, "looks a lot nicer since you let it grow out. You writing poetry?"
The exchange student had been nearly bald when he arrived in Ignacio. Ecker started to reply, then hesitated when he saw the dark expression spreading over Gorman Sweet-water's face.
Gorman glared at the young man, then turned his harsh stare on his daughter. "You two know each other?" It had the unmistakable tone of accusation.
"Sure, Daddy. Herbie was in two of my classes last year. He's one of the smartest students at Fort Lewis College." She beamed at the young man. "Next semester, Herbie's enrolled in graduate school at the University of New Mexico."
Ecker's blush deepened. He looked as if he was about to apologize for sharing a class with Benita.
Gorman snorted. "New Mexico, huh?" Were Colorado schools not good enough?
"Yes, sir," Ecker replied with a spark of confidence. "Anthropology major."
The rancher scowled suspiciously at the distraught young man. Gorman decided that Herb was entirely too pretty to be a boy, and this made the rancher nervous. He wondered if this kid really liked girls. Rumor was, Herb took an un-healthy interest in his boss. Some Utes jokingly referred to Herb Ecker as "Nightbird's shadow." But it was time to get down to business. "My bull," he cleared his throat, "… he died."
Herb raised his eyebrows in a puzzled expression. "Your bull—you say it died?" His peculiar Germanic accent annoyed Gorman, who was suspicious of almost everyone. Especially foreigners.
"Yeah, died." Gorman leaned forward menacingly.
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