The Cowboy and Vampire - By Clark Hays & Kathleen McFall Page 0,1

the day to make things right. No matter how hopeless it might have seemed when I bedded down the night before, morning always comes and with it the familiar sense that maybe I can fix an old mistake or two, lay a claim on a parcel of the future.

'Course, oftentimes the sunrise comes way too early and I keep my eyes screwed shut against it, wishing I could sleep right through, especially when the remnants of last night's whiskey are percolating around my bloodstream. Still, I can honestly say that I've seen more sunrises than I ain't, which is more than most folks can claim.

This morning, however, I wouldn't argue with folks calling me loco for being such an early riser. The high-beam lights from my truck was half-blinding me as I tried to herd my neighbor's funny looking goats back through the hole in the fence, cussing and throwing rocks at them in hopes of getting them off my property. The fence wires have a mysterious habit of cutting themselves right next to my water tank and them goats, known to some as alpacas, mistakenly think it's okay to come traipsing through to drink.

The first couple dozen times those damn alpacas trespassed, Rex rounded them up and sent them skittering home like the champion cow dog he is. Eventually, those goats took to spitting on him and so damaged his pride that he now refuses to even get out of the truck when they're around. Cow dogs are touchy about that sort of thing. This morning, he was sitting in the driver's side looking nonchalantly the other way like he was dreaming of a better place, the kind of place where dogs don't get spit on by goats.

All God's creatures must have a purpose and I suspect that holds true for alpacas, but I just can't tell what that might be. Best I can figure, their purpose in life is to act haughty and spit on whatever they can't shit on. But from my point of view, all that really matters is that they ain't cows, and cows was all that was intended to be raised out here. That's why Wyoming is called the Cowboy State and not the Alpacaboy State. Times are changing and you got to go where the money is, but the day Wyoming becomes known for its overpriced goats, well, that's the day I pack my bags.

After finally chasing them goats off, I set about splicing the wires together with numb fingers. Ever since George Harlan moved here from back east, it seemed I'd gotten pretty handy at fixing this particular stretch of fence. A hundred years ago, this sort of activity would have gotten Harlan shot. 'Course, a hundred years ago there wasn't alpacas in these parts, or big city folks looking to get away from it all. Back then, Wyoming was so away they had to pay people to come here. Now we got movie stars strutting around with purple cowboy hats and pointy silver boots trying to blend in with the locals.

Cursing under my breath, I stapled the wire into the posts and threw the wirestretchers in the back of the truck, scooting Rex over from the driver's seat. I gave one last glare at them goats lined up at the fence glaring back at me. "For Christ sakes, Rex, this is your ranch too," I said and turned on the radio. He looked at me with hurt in his eyes as I poured a cup of coffee out of the thermos. It was so bitter I nearly choked, and tossed it, steaming, onto the frosty ground. Rex ignored me all the way back to the trailer.

I stomped inside, pulling off my boots and tossing them in the corner, along with my coat. Rex slunk in and jumped up on the couch, curling up with a sigh. I hadn't had nothing to eat since the last time I ate, so was mighty disappointed to find the fridge woefully empty. Rex was still pretending to ignore me, but watched out of the corner of his eye as I pulled my boots back on. "I ain't gonna apologize," I said, "but you're more'n welcome to ride into town with me for breakfast." He leaped up and scrabbled past me on the linoleum, nosing the trailer door open. By the time I stepped outside into the struggling sunshine, Rex had already loaded up through the driver's window which I always leave open for him 'cept