We ain’t been at the new ranch for more than a day and already the other ranch hands are giving you hell. For what, I don’t know. You won’t talk about it. But I know that, the way they look at you and treat you out in the field, it’s something dirty.

I’m sitting in the bunkhouse one evening, having finished my work for the day, when you come in, shaking, and bleeding from your face, arms, and torso. I immediately stand up from my bed.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you?” I ask. In a blink I am rushing over to you, grabbing your face in my hands.