“I ain’t for sure, but I think that dang bull’s out again,” said Daddy. “I been watchin’ out the window and I ain’t seen ‘im in a half-hour.”

Great, I thought. It’s 25 degrees outside, cold enough to freeze a ditch digger’s butt and I’m gonna have to go run Big Boy back in.

“Go look.” Daddy poured himself another cup of coffee, turning back to the window.

“Yes sir.” I shoved the rest of the oatmeal in my mouth and went to get my coat and hat.

Shoving my feet into my boots, I hustled out the kitchen door.

My breath froze in the air and I coughed a little. My nose together froze when I breathed and my eyes watered as I headed out toward the field. Winter made for hard living.

As I climbed under the fence, I noticed how the ground looked all frozen and hard. It made sharp little points no matter how soft it had been in the spring.

I stood and took off up the hill, listening for any sound of Big Boy. The bull usually stayed around the top of the hill, scratching himself on a big ol’ walnut that had been there forever it seemed.

As I topped the hill, I looked down at the valley. No bull in sight.

I picked my way down the slope. The hard ground made going slow. Scanning the area, I still couldn’t see that bull.

At the bottom, I started across the field over to where the waterhole lay. It’d be frozen over, but the cows usually found a way to get at the water. You’d find them lost in a cloud of their own frozen breath. It was eerie the way they’d stand there, snorting and stomping. You couldn’t hardly see ‘em, but you could always hear ‘em.

Today, there was nothing. No cows, no bulls, nothing.

I took my hat off, smoothing down my hair. I inhaled and noticed that the air had a tangy smell that caused me to feel a little uneasy.

The fencing all around the place looked OK. I couldn’t see any obvious signs of damage.

Overhead, I heard the cawing of a murder of crows. They circled over the woods and back down to where I stood.

“What’chall seeing down there?” I asked.

I went off toward the place where them crows were circling. It was cold and quiet and any little sound echoed loud as a gunshot. I heard limbs break off now and then, cracking loud as lightning.

I stood at the edge of the woods not sure if I really wanted to go into ‘em or not.

“You got a job, get to it,” I said out loud.

The trees were black looking and sorrowful. I felt sad by them. Leafless and bent, they straggled up toward the cold sun like dead fingers reaching for the light. The wind would blow through and they’d creak and moan, bumping into each other with a screechy, haunted sound.

I could have shivered and thought better of it.

“I shoulda brought my gun,” I thought.

Ray Barnhill lived across the valley and last year, he was out looking for a cow and fell into a sinkhole and broke his leg. He had lay there for hours, firing his shotgun ’til he ran outta shells. They found him an hour after that. His wife had gotten upset when he hadn’t returned after sunset and she called his brothers who’d found him. He was still walking with a limp.

The woods were a little darker now. I pulled my collar up more and hunched down into the warmth escaping my body with every step.

I swatted at a limb poking at my face. It scratched my cheek. Placing my hand on the cut, I brought back blood. Not too much; I’d live.

I started around the rear bottom of the lower valley. My feet were getting cold and it hurt to walk.

I heard a dog barking somewhere off a ways and it sounded lonesome.

“I feel it too boy,” I said.

I noticed a break in the brush up ahead of me. I approached it, pulling a piece of black cow hair off a stem.

Looking down at the ground, I saw fresh gouges in the hard mud from a cow or a bull.

I pushed through and saw where he’d lunged through to the other side.

“Mr. Johnson’s,” I said. Turning, I hurried back to the house.

“You find ‘im?” Daddy asked as I came into the kitchen, reaching into the cabinet for a coffee mug.

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly? What do you mean not exactly? You did or you didn’t. Which is it boy?”

Daddy leaned up against the counter, crossing his arms in front of him, staring bullets through me.

Pouring coffee, I added some sugar, a lot of sugar.

“I found where he got through. He’s at Johnson’s. Has to be.”

Daddy grunted.

“Hot damn, that’s great, just great.”

I sipped the coffee, burning my tongue as usual.

“Yeah.”

“Ain’t but one thing we gotta do. We gotta go get him.”

Drinking the rest of the brew, I rinsed the cup out and placed it in the drainer.

“Daddy, you know how Johnson is. Let’s call ‘im. See what he says about it.”

“Don’t care what he says about it. He has the bull he shoulda called me. He knows.”

Daddy squared off like he was itching for a fight.

“He has a durn phone. West Virginia’s got phones dammit. Johnson has a phone. He used to call over here every damn day.” Daddy was red with the anger rising up in ‘im. He bounded off the counter over to the door like a shot.

“You comin’?”

“Yeah.”

The air in the truck was cold and the old heater took awhiles to heat up these days.

Daddy pulled out and the truck fishtailed as he gunned it.

“By God, he’s gonna pay this time. I mean it. We’re both of us company men, but he’s been shitty ’bout everything since I been knowing him.”

Daddy and Mr. Johnson and almost every other man around were coal miners. Company men who dug out the coal, emerging at the end of their shift, blinking in the harsh light of morning to drive down the mountains to home.

Mining was what we did around here. Wasn’t nothing else to do for a living. We had cows, a few chickens and some had horses. But horses were too expensive Daddy always said.

Daddy took a corner too fast and the truck fishtailed again.

“By God, I’m getting’ real tired of Johnson. He goes from hey-how-ya-doin’ to screw you in a flash.

“Yeah, he does at that.” I really didn’t want to get into this but I was born into it I guess.

“He’s gonna pay this time.”

Daddy pulled up to the curb outside the Sheriff’s. Throwing open the door, he got out and stomped the mud off his boots.

I followed behind him, checking my boots for mud.

Daddy opened the door, lumbering up to the counter.

“I need to see the Sheriff,” he stated.

“OK, and who do I tell him is asking for ‘im?” the girl behind the counter asked, looking at Daddy like roadkill.

“Ben Holcham.”

“OK, be right back.”

She bounded off behind the wall, coming back a few seconds later.

“Right this way Mr. Holcham,” she said gesturing toward the wall she had just disappeared behind.

Me and Daddy clomped down the hall and entered the Sheriff’s office. The man himself sat behind a desk covered in papers.

The Sheriff stood, extending his hand to Daddy.

“Hello Mr. Holcham. What can I do for ‘ya?”

“Howdy Sheriff. I gotta problem with a bull and a bull-headed neighbor name of Johnson.”

The Sheriff took his hand back unshaken.

“I see. I think I remember a Johnson from years back. Had a bit of trouble up at the mines. He any kin?”

“Any kin? Hell, he is the trouble up at the mines. Me and him had a go at it that day and y’all came up there threatening to bust heads and all. Remember that?” Daddy stood and I sat down heavily in the chair facing the Sheriff’s desk.

“Yeah, I remember. Was over some girl wasn’t it? What was that, 10, 15 years ago? I remember almost everything that happens ’round here. Didn’t you marry that girl?”

“That’s right. I did. It was 17 years ago.”

I looked at Daddy. 17 years ago? I was 17-years-old. Shit, what was this? Was he talking about Mama? I felt a chill cross over me again. I stared at Daddy. Glancing over at me, he turned back to the Sheriff.

“‘Nough about that. See, now, here’s the problem. I got a bull and he seems to have wandered off onto Johnson’s property. Now, I ain’t heard from him and he coulda’ called me, told me to come get my bull. Ain’t heard a peep outta him. I want my bull.”

“I see. Well, let’s call him.”

The Sheriff walked out from behind his desk and went off to make his phone call.

“Daddy,” I said.

“Not now. Later.”

I shrunk back inside myself, left to my own terrible thoughts.

As I sat and thought, Daddy stared. He stared straight ahead, never moving, just breathing through his nostrils like a bull looking for a reason to charge.

The Sheriff came back and sat down. He clasped his hands under his chin and sat looking at Daddy.

“No answer. No one answered the phone.”

“Figures,” Daddy said. “We worked last night and got off a little later’n usual. He’s probably asleepin’.”

“I see. Well, I’ll try him later and if he don’t answer, I go over that way and see if he’s home. I’ll get there before he leaves for work. Y’all workin’ tonight, right?”

“Yeah,” Daddy said getting to his feet. “C’mon boy, let’s go.”

I followed Daddy out of the office and down the hall.

Outside, it was still cold. I guess I thought it’d warm up some while we were in there or something.

Cranking the truck, Daddy reached over and opened my door.

“Get in,” he said.

We headed home and Daddy sat stewing in his anger. He lit a Marlboro, blowing the smoke out the window.

“It’s like this,” he said. “I’m only telling this once and then I don’t wanna ever hear about it again. Understand?”

“Yes Sir,” I answered.

“Johnson and your Mom were shacked up in that place where he’s at now. I came along and met her once in a bar over in Beckley. They was there for a Christmas thing when I met her. Johnson introduced us.”

He blew some more smoke out the window, flicking ashes out the side. A few flew back in, settling on my coat. I brushed them off and waited.

“So, anyway, one thing led to another and me and your Mom hit it off, don’t know why, didn’t care why. I liked her, she liked me, Johnson hated us both. She packed up and I went and got her, brought her to the house where we at now. We married a few months later and you come along.”

I did the math in my head. No way, no way in hell. He said “a few months,” how many months was a few?

I sneaked a glance at Daddy. He was looking at the road and smoking like his life depended on it.

“That’s it, end of story.”

Approaching the house, I looked over and saw Big Boy standing at the gate of his pen.

“I’ll be damned,” Daddy said. “I’ll be damned.”

I looked at him.

“Yeah. Me too.”