Copyright © 2008 Anthony Owens
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
"Morris, we gotta get the rest of these cattle ready or Mr. Orren is gonna fire us or worse." Weston kicked at the dirt, buried his hands in his pockets, and stared at the ground, slowly turning his shoulders back and forth. "I can't afford that, and neither can you."
"But you ain't got to get all bent up outta shape about it, Wes. I'm tellin' you, boy, there's plenty a time left in the night to get those filthy animals ready, an' I'm right in the middle of my break."
Morris brought his extended leg up into a bent knee, and a bit of dirt swirled around his fluid motion. He tipped his hat back, and the silver reflection of his narrow eyes glinted with the moonlight. Weston's jaw clenched. His fingers curled up into vicious fists, and thick sweat formed on his brow, under his arms, and in the middle of his chest. His already moist shirt now stuck to him with perspiration and the relentless dust of the ranch.