Chapter Nine: The Hillside Ascent

  
    Slim thought of the changing world. He was proud that no change had found his hilltop, except that of fall to winter. He laughed, at himself, for being such a philosopher in the saddle. His mind soon wandered, from the profound thoughts of life to his mama’s pumpkin patch, just ten days ago it was the pride of the county. He spied it last night as he headed out; it had lost its thick foliage and was crowned with one lone pumpkin. For a Thanksgiving pie, he told himself.
 
     His dog Cowboy was on his heels and kept the calves in a tight bunch. His winter coat had come in thick and just maybe, a little less red than the year before. He was eight-years-old and still a pup at roundup time, springing around and nipping heels. Sleeping alongside Slim, keeping him from freezing many a cold night out on the trail. Not only that, but just last night after the fire waned Cowboy set to foot a feral dog.
 
     Slim removed his hat from off his face, shook loss a layer of dust and stoked the fire. Slim heard one desperate yelp then silence. Soon Cowboy was back at Slim’s feet. They rested till the moon sat the sky then saddled up. The moon-hung heavy on the black velvet canvas that no one but God could paint. It hung low and full, it was so bright that not a single star could be viewed over its glow. Slim and Cowboy gathered and sorted calves till daybreak. Leading the strays to the ridge-top ascent.
 
     Crisp was the air dancing off his lips, his breath drifting to meet the morning sun. As he began his ascent up the ridge, the sun easily passed him, taking the lead. The low red haze of twilight waxed away the night sky revealing a heavy frost in the valley below.
 
     The boys at camp had the coals glowing bright, and the first wave of calves marked, clipped and bobbed, with a pot of coffee awaiting Slim. He topped the ridge bring in the remaining strays. Ready for a biscuit and a cup of Peyton’s coffee. It was a stiff bubbling cup, of awareness, to warm his hands and take the chill off his soul.
 
     Slim stepped down off his mount as he reached Peyton’s outstretched hand. Giving his boots a little tap on the ground below. Stirring a slight pulse in his ten toes. Work was completed, data for the calf crop compiled. Ranch hands saddled up in hopes for a roaring fire and a hot meal. The ride down the ridge was slow, and footing trued, bellies were rumbling, fingers froze. No one complained as downward they road. When lights from the home front quickened their pace.
 
     All could see that the pumpkin patch stood bare and hopes of a crusted finish to supper danced in everyone’s thoughts. Horses were rubbed down and fed, hands washed, hats hung, grace floated up from each lip. Fried potatoes and a slab of beef inhaled. Smiles grew wider still as empty plates were blessed with a little slice of crusted pumpkin heaven.

Author's Note

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