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The moon was already high when Hank finally turned his horse toward Roaring Rapids Ranch. He had started riding fence right after breakfast. He ate a sandwich for lunch, and had spent most of the day finding nothing worse than loose wire and a few leaning posts he easily fixed. Then, in the north pasture, he discovered a section of fence that had nearly collapsed. Several posts leaned from their rottenness, and a stretch of wire had fallen. What should have been a quick repair turned into a long, lonely job. He didn’t have new posts with him. He’d need to come back next day. He couldn’t do it perfectly, but he had to make what remained strong enough to hold back a stray steer or two overnight. He’d need Eli with him most of the day tomorrow, and a wagon of posts and new wire to do it right and make it last.
He worked by moonlight until the job was done with what he had. As he rode home, his horse suddenly stumbled. “Easy, girl,” Hank said. He dismounted and checked her hoof. “Well now, that's our trouble. You've thrown a shoe.”
The ranch was still five miles away. Hank sighed. He started walking, leading his horse by the reins. His back hurt. His legs felt stiff. Every step seemed harder than the last. But he didn't complain. Fixing fences, mending tack, and walking a lame horse home was simply part of ranch life.
Near four in the morning, the ranch buildings finally appeared. A familiar bark greeted him. Boone came trotting out of the darkness, tail wagging furiously. “Well, look at you,” Hank chuckled. “What are you doing awake at this hour?” Boone barked again. “I suppose Jake heard you bark and sent you out to check things out.”
After settling his horse in the barn, rubbing her down, giving her water and grain, and making certain she was comfortable, Hank headed toward the cookhouse. Boone followed close behind. “I'm so tired I can barely walk,” Hank told him. “Maybe we can find a couple leftover biscuits and save Tiny the trouble of waking up and cooking for us.”
Inside the cookhouse they searched everywhere. Nothing. No biscuits. No pie. No cold beans. No bacon left over. Nothing. Hank scratched his chin. “I've made biscuits on cattle drives before. We can make our own. And if I find some bacon, I’ll fry that up for us too, Boone” Boone seemed pleased with the idea and beat his tail on the floor.
Hank opened the flour bin. Empty. “Well, that won't help,” half talking to himself. Then he spotted a fresh fifty-pound sack of flour leaning against the wall. “There we go. I'll fill the bin while I'm at it. Tiny will appreciate that.” He dragged the heavy sack across the floor. Normally it wouldn't have been difficult. Tonight was different. His arms felt weak. His eyes burned. He lifted the sack and tried to pour. The weight shifted. His tired hands slipped. The sack poured on Boone and then fell on the floor.
WHUM
A white cloud exploded across the cookhouse. Flour flew everywhere. Across the floor. Across the table. Across Hank, covering his boots. But, especially, that flour covered Boone from nose to tail.
The startled cowdog stood frozen like a statue carved from snow. Hank stared at the empty sack hanging from his hands. The entire fifty pounds lay on the floor and all over the kitchen.
“Oh no,” Hank groaned. Boone sneezed and a white puff of flour shot from his nose. Hank had to laugh. Then he heard footsteps. The cookhouse door opened. Tiny stepped inside. He stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened. “What happened here?”
For a moment Hank panicked. He was exhausted. Embarrassed. Ashamed. And before he could think, the words just came out. “I was pouring flour and Boone jumped up on me. Knocked the sack right out of my hands.”
Tiny looked at the flour-covered dog. “Oh, Boone! Bad dog!” Boone tilted his head. Tiny groaned. “Now I've got no flour for breakfast. What am I supposed to feed the hands?” Before Hank could answer, more footsteps sounded outside.
Jake entered. “I've been looking for Boone… ” Then he saw the disaster. “What happened?” Tiny pointed at Boone. “According to Hank, Boone caused all this mess”
Jake folded his arms and gave Boone the look. Boone's ears drooped. “Did he now?” Jake said. “Maybe it's time somebody put that dog on a chain. He can sleep outside for a while.”
Boone looked from Jake to Hank. The cowdog didn't understand every word. But he understood enough. And for some reason, seeing Boone blamed for something he didn't do hurt worse than walking five miles with aching legs.
Hank lowered his head. The room grew quiet. Finally he sighed. “Jake... Tiny... Boone didn't do it.” Both men looked at him. “I did.” Jake raised an eyebrow. Hank nodded. “I was so tired I could barely stand. I dropped the sack. Boone never touched it. And then I got scared and I lied.”
Nobody spoke.
“I worked fence all day. Walked five miles home after my horse lost a shoe. I was exhausted. But that's no excuse. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to do better, and then I go and tell a lie that has hurt Boone and me.” He knelt beside Boone and brushed flour from the dog's head. “I'm sorry, partner. You are a good dog and I did wrong.” Boone immediately licked his face.
Jake's expression softened. Tiny rested his hand on the table. Hank continued. “I can't replace the flour before breakfast, but I can try to make things right. I'll buy breakfast for every hand on the ranch at the Silver Spur this morning and some bacon for Boone. On the way out of town, I’ll buy 50 pounds of flour at Joslin’s and bring it home in the wagon.”
Tiny blinked. “Every hand?” “Every hand.” Jake smiled, “That's mighty generous.” Hank shrugged, “I figure if I caused the loss, I ought to help cover it.” Laughing for the first time, Hank added, “Jake, would you invite Caldwell and Mary, too.”
Jake nodded slowly. “That sounds right, more than right after the day and night you’ve had.” Then he looked at Boone. “Guess you won't be sleeping in a chain after all.” Boone barked happily. A few minutes later the three men and one very white cowdog began cleaning flour from the floor. As they worked, Jake finally spoke. “You know, Hank, the spill wasn't your biggest problem tonight, but you made it right, and that’s what counts. None of us is perfect around here, and we are all trying to do better. I’ve watched you doing better as the weeks go by. I think you can tell that nobody on this ranch holds a grudge for long. We help each other do better.”
Hank looked at Boone. And somehow, after confessing the truth and doing things right, Hank felt lighter than he had all night. His back still hurt. His legs were still tired. But his conscience was at peace. Just as the first light of dawn began to touch the eastern sky.
