Winter Moon

Paul Youngblood said. He pointed to vent grilles set in the suspended

tongue-and-groove ceiling. "Seldom smelled like a stable, either,

because he vented it continuously, pumped fresh air in. And all the

ductwork is heavily insulated, so the sound of the fans is too low to

bother horses."

On the left, beyond the final stall, was a large tackroom, where

saddles, bridles, and other equipment had been kept. It was empty

except for a built-in sink as - long and deep as a trough. To the

right, opposite the tackroom, were top-access bins where oats, apples,

and other feed had been stored, but they were now all empty as well.

On the wall near the bins, several tools were racked business end up: a

pitchfork, two shovels, and a rake.

"Smoke alarm," Paul said, pointing to a device attached to the header

above the big door that was opposite the one by which they had

entered.

"Wired into the electrical system. You can't make the mistake of

letting batteries go dead. It sounds in the house, so Stan wouldn't

have to worry about not hearing it."

"The guy sure loved his horses," Jack said. "Oh, he sure did, and he

had more Hollywood money than he knew what to do with. After Stan

died, Ed took special pains to be sure the people who bought all the

animals would treat them well.

Stan was a nice man. Seemed only right." the lights. "Name's Lester

Steer, and he owns the Main itreet Diner in town."

"He's a man!"

"Well, of course he's a man," Paul said, rolling the door shut.

"Never said he wasn't." The attorney winked at Heather, and she

realized how much she had come to like him in such a short time. "Oh,

you're tricky," Toby told Paul. "Dad, he's tricky"

"Not me," Paul

said. "I only told you the truth, Scout. You tricked yourself."

-"Paul is an attorney, son," Jack said.

"You've always of to be careful of attorneys, or you'll end up with no

ponies or cows." Paul laughed. "Listen to your dad. He's wise. Very

wise."

Only an orange rind of sun remained in view, and in seconds, the

irregular blade of mountain peaks peeled it away. Shadows spread

toward one another. The somber twilight, all deep blues and funereal

purples, hinted at

"I could have ten ponies," Toby said. "Wrong,"

Heather said. "Whatever business we decide to get into, it won't be a

manure factory."

"Well, I just mean, there's room," the boy said. "A dog, ten ponies,"

Jack said. "You're turning into a real farm boy.

What's next? Chickens?"

"A cow," Toby said. "I been thinking what you said about cows, and you

talked me into it."

"Wiseass," Jack said, taking a playful swipe at the boy. Dodging

successfully, laughing, Toby said, "Like father, like son.

Mr. Youngblood, did you know my dad says cows can do any tricks dogs

can do--roll over and play dead and all that?"

"Well," the attorney replied, leading them back through the stable

toward the door by which they'd entered, "I know a steer that can walk

on his hind feet."

"Really?"

"More than that. He can do math as well as you or me." The claim was

made with such calm conviction that the boy looked up wide-eyed at

Youngblood. "You mean, like you ask him a problem, he can pound out

the answer with his hoof?"

"He could do that, sure. Or just tell you the answer."

"Huh?"

"This steer, he can talk."

"No way," Toby said, following Jack and Heather outside. "Sure. He

can talk, dance, drive a car, and he goes to church every Sunday," Paul

said, switching off the stae unrelenting darkness of night in that

largely unplowed vastness. Looking directly upslope from the stable,

toward a knoll at the terminus of the western woods, Paul said, "No

point showing you the cemetery in this poor light. Not that much to

see even at noon."

"Cemetery?" Jack said, frowning. "You've got a state-certified

private cemetery on your grounds," the attorney said. "Twelve plots,

though only four have been used." Staring toward the knoll, where she

could vaguely see part of what might have been a low stone wall and a

pair of gateposts in the plum-dark light, Heather said, "Who's buried

there?"

"Stan Quartermass, Ed Fernandez, Margaret, and Tommy."

"Tommy, my old partner, he's buried up there?" Jack asked. "Private

cemetery," Heather said. She told herself that the only reason she

shivered was because the air was growing colder by the minute. "That's

a little macabre."

"Not so strange around here," Paul assured her. "A lot of these

ranches, the same family has been on the land for generations. It's

not only their home, it's their hometown, the only place they love.

Eagle's Roost is JUST somewhere to shop. When it comes to being put to

eternal rest, they want to be part of the land they've given their

lives to."

"Wow," Toby said. "How cool can you get? We live in a graveyard."

"Hardly that," Paul said. "My grandfolks and my parents are buried

over to our place, and there's really nothing creepy about it.

Comforting. Gives you a sense of hentage, continuity. Carolyn and I

figure to be put to rest there too, though I can't say what our kids

want to do, now they're off in medical school and law school making new