Next day, we ride to the Boyer place, which is downtrodden at best. The few cattle scattered nearby are thin, the two horses looking much the same. The barn we are to use appears ready to fall down, as does the house, which was likely not much in the first place. Wade says Boyer’s wife died last year and he’s not done well. He has a son attempting to keep things together, and he’s the one who welcomes us.
He couldn’t be even twenty, yet to fill out, but his eyes are ringed dark, and he’s unwashed. When I shake his hand, I find it bony.
“I’m Ethan,” he says. He’s a sad case, yet when we speak, he smiles and there are good teeth. I can see he’s excited by our presence. “Coffee’s on, if you want some. Pa’s in the house.”
“Thanks for the hospitality,” I tell him.
While Dewey and Leland her
