Gyroscope Review 16-1 - Page 46

Wyoming 1949 by Patricia Frolander Five hours ride into the storm, Old Joe thrashes through drifts, slows, head down and back humped. His thousand pounds of horseflesh stop, quiver, collapse, almost buried in the whiteout. I pull myself from the saddle, flounder, fall against the dead body. Throat constricts as my knife cuts the cinch, razor-edge separates the sorrel hide. Crimson spreads, melts the snow beneath. Tears freeze as I empty Joe’s cavity, crawl into the steaming breach hope I’m found in time to give Old Joe a righteous burial. Gyroscope Review !38