Caliente, Nevada couldn’t help itself. The town never stopped shining, never retreated from the nameless forces that made it glisten.
Light glimmered like the silvery tint of brass on an old trombone.
Late one afternoon, when the town flickered in the day’s final sun, aglow and thankful for the arrival of a cool evening, a few bighorn sheep made their plans.
West of town in the Delamar Mountains, bighorns surveyed their sleeping options.
They liked the tops of rocky rims and notches set into steep slopes, preferably a slope wedged between two bluffs.
The sheep didn’t pay much attention to the wild horses and the horses didn’t pay much attention to them. Some of the wild horses were descendants of ranch horses. Others the offspring of horses from the mines or the cavalry.
There were palominos and roans, bays and sorrels. A sprawling collection of bloodlines, with a few descendants of thoroughbreds and Arabians.
The wild horses and the bighorns each sipped from small springs. Each endured the harsh weather throughout the year. Late in the fall, when temperatures could still hit ninety, they would rest in the shade of pinyon and juniper.
When the bronze light faded, the big horn sheep lay down. Sleep came on slowly.
The bighorns were cautious, concerned with predators, especially cougars. Coyotes could be a problem and eagles could take their lambs. Their constant vigilance was as precisely tuned as a linear accelerator.
Then when the night was deep and the stars came down to earth as close as they dared, the sheep fell into their procession of dreams. Every night, the same dream unspooled in a different sequence. Their ancestors escaped harm, welcomed newborns or mourned their dead.
If the wind changed direction during the night the bighorns would stir. They would crack open an eye, check for cougars, and if none were around fall back asleep.
When the moon shining down on Caliente, Nevada was full, their dreams took them down from their rocky rim into a golden labyrinth. In a delicate meadow with a gentle roll, they would feast on wheat grass and fescues.
Then, just before dawn, done with their dreams, the bighorns stirred.
