“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
Holden was quiet for a while. “Do you think he forgives me?”
Silas looked at him then.
Nabid stood in the distance, calm in the gold edge of evening light. He was not watching them. He was watching the mountains.
“I don’t know that animals think about forgiveness the way we do,” Silas said. “But he’s not living in what happened to him anymore.”
Holden nodded slowly. “Maybe that’s better.”
“Maybe.”
When Holden left, Silas remained by the fence until the first stars appeared.
Buck joined him after a while, carrying two tin mugs of coffee.
“You ever think about how close he came?” Buck asked.
“To slaughter?”
“Yeah.”
Silas accepted the mug. “I try not to.”
“I think about it,” Buck said. “All because somebody typed two numbers wrong.”
“All because a lot of things went wrong,” Silas said. “And then a few people decided not to make them worse.”
This story touched a part of me that has hurt underneath several careers and 65 years of life. I'm 71 now. My family is a long established name there. My memories of ranching, accidents, rodeo stock, flash floods and family loss are different than the way life is lived today. This story is magnificent, thank you for sharing it. And maybe there's hope for some of us humans that just need space and understanding. It's been 40 years since I became a civilian after 11 years as a
U.S. Marine. This story and that bull have more meaning than some will ever know. Thank you once again. Job well done.