Chapter Text
The slow rattle of the cattle truck shook the dirt as it trundled on down the road. Dawn sunlight poured down, twinkling in the drivers eyes, making him squint. There’s been nothing for miles and Warren suspected there’ll be nothing up ahead either. The pair didn’t talk much as the journey wore on. They spoke once or twice, making remarks about the weather but nothing deeper than the persistent sun. The air had that feeling of peace surrounding it; warm and hazy, readying for harvest.
However summertime was no time for relaxing, it was a time for work. To spend the days labouring in the heat, out in nature. Warren had spent a lot of his time under the hot sun and the sharp blades of grass. Despite his tenacious independence, and the way in which he held himself, he was not yet twenty. The hardening of his brows; his posture had aged him but there was something in his eyes which rang of youth.
A high-school drop out country boy with no prospects, brought up to hard work and privation, rough-spoken, inured to the stoic life. Warren sat with his arms crossed; the obviously-too-small shirt tugging on his skin, his wrists sticking out far beyond the sleeves. He lowered his hat slightly, as the truck made a turn and the sun caught him in the eyes.
“That’s Signal ain’t it?”
His voice was low and rough, echoing of masculinity. Warren nodded his head towards the dirt expanse before him, gradually getting greener.
“Was the last time I come this way.”
His words came out gravelly after so much silence, not wanting to speak nor thinking he would have to. After a few more hours of strange yet comfortable silence, they passed a sign; SIGNAL, WYOMING.
Pulling up to the side of the road, the truck halted and the steady vibrations disappeared, causing Warren to be still. He paused for a moment, nodded to the driver in thanks and got out, his feet finally touching solid ground. The dirt crunched underfoot and a cool breeze whistled past, mitigating the effects of the sun.
Although they’d been on the road a few hours, it was still early and the town he landed in was deserted. Signal seemed a strange name for a place which appeared to have none. Everyone’s probably inside due to the heat. Warren slowly made his way to the employment office.
A large stretch of green ran parallel to the road, a railway on the other side of it. Planted in the middle of the grass, an abandoned car sat, rusted and definitely out of service. He reached the dingy trailer house; a crooked sign above the door read: FARM AND RACH EMPLOYMENT AGENCY. He looked around but no sign of life appeared, and resigned himself to lean on the side of the trailer, smoking.
A train whipped past, sending pebbles flying and disrupting the summer peace that permeated through this small nowhere town. The silence didn’t resume, however, as a car pulled up, backfiring a few times before pulling into a parking space. Warren watched the car with a distant intrigue but as the figure stepped out, looked away.
The man was a similar age and size to Warren, and, staring at his busted vehicle, swore under his breath. The wind flowed through as Warren stared at the ground, avoiding his gaze. Even as the man walked a few paces towards him, he kept a laser focus on the dirt.
Warren was not one for ample conversation and didn’t want to get involved with this newcomer if he didn’t have to. Presumably, they were both looking for a job, and if this was the man he was going to work with, perhaps they could both learn to do their labour in silence. He imagined every future scene like this one, with nothing but the wind to converse for them. This, he thought, would be preferable to whatever idea he may have cooked up in his head. If he just kept staring at the ground, maybe this guy would get off his back.
He was at such an angle that his hat covered his eyes, obscuring most of his face. With his fists shoved in his jacket pockets, every inch of Warren's body language screamed closed off.
As the man turned toward his car, Warren glanced up a second to take this stranger in. In a strange and unexplainable way, his breath caught in his throat.
The summer heat.
The guy was wearing a similar getup to his own; blue denim jeans, a blue button down and a black Stetson. It was hard to be annoyed by someone who looked so approachable. Despite the prospect of his good natured-ness, they both stood there in silence, ignoring the other, but both painfully aware of their presence.
The man in blue leant on his truck, staring in Warren’s direction, then looked down as well, the atmosphere awkward. Frustrated by the absence of anyone in charge, they waited in the breeze and the shade for anyone to appear. Neither Warren nor this newcomer made any attempts at conversation.
Warren moved to sit on the steps of the trailer and found another patch of dirt to lock onto. He was never good around people, especially first impressions. He didn’t want to seem overly keen or optimistic, so he opted for a cool stoicism, a choice which never failed him in the past.
The man began to shave his face in his cars wing mirror, taking infrequent glances at Warren in the reflection, who was still hell-bent on keeping his head down. Balancing a tea-cup on his window frame for water, he alleviated his boredom at least. He didn’t have time to finish however, for as soon as he dipped the razor in the cup, the dirt crackled, signalling a new arrival.
A white Buick pulled up and an older man in a gilet got out; this was Aguirre, the man he’d been told about prior to arriving in Signal. It was a sleek car, in a much better state than the other guys.
Aguirre’s hair was the colour of cigarette ash, stiffly parted down the middle. He put on a white hat, and the pair just stared at him, with his sunglasses and moustache, as he opened the door to the trailer and shut the door behind him. Warren stared at it, unsure of what to make of this behaviour, and stepped back down the steps.
After a few strange moments of silence, Aguirre stuck his head out of the trailer door,
“If you two pair of deuces are lookin’ for work, I suggest you get your scrawny asses in here pronto.”
They filed inside behind him swiftly as this man was clearly not someone you wanted to aggravate. The trailer wasn't particularly small yet the abundance of furniture created a cluttered, trapped feeling. The two men took off their hats and stood to face Aguirre, who started to speak, sat behind his desk.
“Up on Beinn Bagg, the Forest Service got designated campsites on the allotments. Them camps can be 3, 4 miles from where we pasture the woollies. Bad predator loss if there’s nobody lookin’ after them at night. Now what I want is the camp tender to stay in the main camp where the Forest Service says, but the herder, he’s gonna pitch a pup tent on the Q.T. with the sheep, and he’s gonna sleep there. You eat your supper and breakfast in camp, but you sleep with the sheep, hundred percent, no fire, don’t leave no sign. You roll up that tent every mornin’ case Forest Service snoops around.”
This surprised Warren; he’d assumed Aguirre would be strictly against anything off board. But maybe that board only extended to himself and not the Forest Service, who he clearly had contempt for.
“When you’re down in Red Valley, you stay away from the buildings. It’s abandoned and been locked up for as long as I can remember. Now, you’ll go to the farmhouse at the base of the mountain for a day or two. Gather supplies. And then bring the sheep up. Don’t stay down too long and don’t get too comfortable.”
Warren didn’t know too much about the area. Red Valley? Is that what the province was called? The mention of abandoned buildings was strange though. He didn’t expect any of the area to be built up.
Aguirre got a phone call and abruptly answered, seemingly in a disagreement with someone on the end of the line. Warren recreated his past time of staring at the floor and the man next to him swayed on his feet, staring out the window. He slammed the phone down and continued his exposition, somewhat exasperatingly.
“You got your dogs, your 30/30, you sleep there. Last year I had goddamn near 25% loss. I don’t want that again.”
Aguirre paused, looking both of the men in their eyes, as if sussing them out. He pointed to Warren and stood up, adjusting a watch to the correct time.
“You… Fridays at noon be down at the bridge with your grocery list and mules. Somebody with supplies will be there at the pickup,” he tossed the watch to Warren, who caught it, “Tomorrow mornin’ we’ll truck you up to the jump-off.”
He then lit a cigarette, sat back down, picked up the phone and glanced towards the men to leave, appearing annoyed by their presence. They took this hint and left the trailer. Warren knew he was cut out for this job. He wouldn’t rest until everything was done properly and correctly. The only thing he couldn’t count on was his “working buddy”, someone which he was still trying to gauge his motivations and work ethic.
Opening the door to the outside, the sun blared down once again, coupled with the sweet breeze brushing against their necks. Warren shut the door behind him as the man lit a cigarette. Warren wasn’t a big smoker, in the sense that he didn’t particularly enjoy it, but felt it was the right thing to do, the right way to act in most cases.
It was just a thing men do.
As he continued to smoke, Warren examined the watch. It was no luxury item, but with its small metal frame and leather straps, it was something of a symbol. With the gift of this watch, a new sense of responsibility fell upon him. This was his task, his job. Mid-cigarette, the man in blue, reached out his hand and introduced himself, finally breaking off their stand-off-ish silence.
“Gordon Twist.”
“Uh, Warren.” He finally made direct eye contact with him.
“Your folks just stop at Warren?”
“Del Mar.”
“Well, nice to know you Warren Del Mar.” It's polite conversation. “Reckon this place must have a bar around.”
Warren made a murmur of agreement and without any more words, the pair found themselves heading towards the local bar. The building was industrial and old, much like everything else. A grey square concrete building with three black letters on the front: B.A.R. Warren was sure the walls would be scolding to the touch under the hot sun.
On theme with the rest of this town, the bar was practically empty, save a couple seats. They sat together, smoking, drinking, and doing more socialising than Warren had done in a long time. A TV droned on in the background as they chatted here and there. Warren’s immediate distaste of Gordon was waning slightly, but he still kept his guard up. Luckily for him, Gordon did all the talking and more for the both of them.
“My second year up here. Last year, one storm the lightning killed 42 sheep. Thought I’d asphyxiate from the smell. Aguirre got all over my ass like I was supposed to control the weather. But, beats working for my old man. Can’t please my old man no way. So I took to rodeo. Do you ever rodeo?” Warren was slightly dumbfounded at Gordon’s ability to rattle on and speak with seemingly no inhibitions.
“You know, uh, I mean, once in a while, when I got the entry fee in my pocket.”
“What, you from ranch people?”
“Yeah, I was.”
The last word caught in his throat, as he verbalised something that was too great for just one.
“Your folks run you off?”
He paused, thinking on how to answer. Warren didn’t want to bare his soul in front of this man who was practically a stranger. His plan of spending the summer in silence was slowly fading away by the second.
“Well, they run themselves off. There was, uh, one curve in the road in 43 miles, and they miss it. That took my Ma. My father was in prison long before that. She was all we had left so, uh, the bank took the ranch, and my sister, she raised me mostly.”
Speaking aloud his trauma in a dive bar with someone he couldn’t quite figure out was neither glamorous, nor desirable. However, he said it matter of factly, as if this information had no effect on him. His masculinity remained intact and his stoic glare on the engraved wood of the bar burned into his eyes. He took another swig of his beer and let the familiar drink wipe away the lump in his throat at the mention of his family.
“Shit. That’s hard.”
A silence spread between them, the previous tension only building. Reflexively, Warren took out a cigarette.
“Can I?”
He gestured towards Gordon’s lighter and he handed it to him, both of them back to avoiding each others eyeline. The flame of the lighter reflected in Warren’s eyes, which divulged more than he could or would ever put into words.