Eventide by Kent Haruf Page A

heads. Their faces were chafed red, their eyes bleary with the dust, and their noses had begun to run a little in the cold.
    Well, Raymond said, he looks all right.
    He’ll do for another year, Harold said. He’s taken a little gaunt in the flank there. But he’s all right.
    While they were talking about him the bull eyed them steadily. He turned to face them head-on as they walked around him.
    He don’t look like he wants to quit.
    Not today, Raymond said. He looks like he could go on for another five years. He’ll probably outlast the both of us.
    All right then, Harold said.
    He walked past the bull over to the heavy pipe-iron gate to throw it open so the bull could pass in with the others. Nervous from being kept back by himself, the bull moved up snorting and pawing to go through, but the gate was open only a little when he rushed the narrow opening, and all his weight was carried forward, slamming into the end-post of the gate as he hit it with his shoulder, and he was knocked backward, his feet slid in the dirt, and he went down as the gate clanged shut. He rose up massively and lunged forward, bellowing and snorting, his great head swinging back and forth, his eyes fixing on Harold. He dropped his head and smashed Harold in the chest, knocking him off his feet against the closed gate. You son of a bitch! Harold hollered. He slapped at him, tried to kick at him. But the bull smashed him again, lifting him, burying his head in Harold’s chest and stomach, splaying him out flat against the iron gate. Harold tried to holler but nothing came out. The bull stepped back and Harold slid down in the dirt, and then the bull began to ram at him with his head.
    Raymond saw it all and came running up from behind, whipping the bull in the hip with his gloved fist and grabbing his tail to distract him, to turn him away. Goddamn you! he hollered. Hey! Hey! The bull spun around, swinging heavily, all his power and weight, and flung Raymond across the corral, sprawling him out on the ground, and then came after him, his head down, swinging and plunging, and slammed him in the back. Raymond rolled onto his face in the dirt and managed to scramble up. Hey! he hollered. Hey! The bull knocked him down again, smashed him in the leg, Raymond all the time was trying to kick at him, and then he scrambled up once more and limped backward, moving away. The bull stood looking at him.
    Then the bull turned again toward Harold, who lay on his face across the corral. The bull trotted across to him and began bumping at him with his thick head. Tumbling in the dirt, kicking and twisting, Harold finally rolled under a short plank panel they’d nailed into the corner of the corral to prevent cattle from climbing into the stock tank. Inside the little enclosure he was out of reach. His face was filthy now, there was blood smeared across his nose and cheeks. He turned his head and vomited into the dirt and tried to breathe. The bull sniffed at him through the fence panel.
    Seeing his brother safe for the moment, Raymond hurried limping into the barn and grabbed a hay fork leaning against the wall and stumbled back out in a kind of one-legged hopping motion, and went out and around the fence and climbed into the corral on the far side to shove the gate open again. The bull stepped forward, sniffing at the gate, then plunged through, and seeing Raymond on the other side of the plank fence, the bull snorted and swung around, pawing dirt up over his back. You son of a bitch, Raymond said. Try something now. He hollered and waved his arms, and as the bull turned away he jabbed him in the hip with the hay fork. Bright blood spurted out and the bull bellowed, he spun back to face Raymond again, his head lowered, tossing back and forth, but the old man stood him off, brandishing the long-handled hay fork as if he and the bull had been flung together in some ancient arena, and all the time Raymond was speaking in a low hard mean voice. Come on, goddamn you.