By workday’s end, I’m beat. Even counting cattle is harder work than taking men to bed. I’m dirty and sweaty, which I like, as it comes from honest work. In the bunkhouse, I throw my hat on my cot, which makes me wonder what Jack is doing right then. It hits me that I know nothing of him beyond s*x and his lawman duties. As this settles over me, Bunch grabs my shoulder.
“Meet the men,” he says, pointing to each as he gives a name. “Sisto, Lane, Roe, and Sims. Men, this is Dyer.”
“Howdy,” I say.
They either nod or return the greeting, seeming eager to get on with what’s next. This turns out to be washing up at a trough behind the bunkhouse. I hang back, as a new man should, watching as the others all but dive into the water. Sisto sticks his whole head in and comes up snorting like a hor
