Nothing the army wanted to chance, even for our own soldiers.

The sight of the little bottle had produced a twisted silence on the bus. The wind-stirred brushing on the metal roof stopped. Everybody watched as M'kehla drew from his hair a long ivory knife with a very thin curved blade. He dipped the point into the bottle and put a tiny heap of white powder on the bowlful of green mint, three times.

"Observe," he said, and raised the pipe to his lips.

With the lighter boring a long blue flame into the stone bowl, M'kehla drew one deep breath and held it, eyes almost closed. Within seconds we all saw his eyes snap wide, then narrow, glittering afresh with that dark, sharp humor. He breathed out an inviting sigh and lifted the pipe toward my cousin. Davy dropped his eyes and shook his head.

"Not this father," he muttered.

"I guess I might try one blade tip," I ventured, feeling like somebody should defend the family honor. "For the sake of science."

We all watched as M'kehla repacked the pipe. He swayed as he worked, singing in a sweet, incomprehensible whisper. His hands danced and mimed. When he picked up the tiny vial a dusty sunbeam streamed through the window and illuminated the green glass. The hair on my arms stood up. I cleared my throat and looked at my brother.

"You want to join me, try some of this superstuff?"

"I never even tried it in my car. I'll get the dry ice ready for the brand. Come on, Percy. Learn something."

Buddy stood up and started for the door, pushing Percy ahead of him. I looked at Dobbs. He stood up too. "I guess I gots to finish the sound, boss."

Rampage was supposed to be picking up the keg at Lucky's and Bucko had to take a leak. One by one they ambled to the front and out the door, leaving only M'kehla and me.

And the pipe. I finished my beer and set the bottle back under my stool. "Well, as you say… let us so embark."

M'kehla hands me the pipe and fires it up with his little blue flame. Green smoke wriggles out of the stone hole. The mint mild in my throat… cool, mentholated, throat raw smoke Kools throat raw smoke Koo -

Everything stops. The green wriggle, the dust motes in the sunbeam. Only M'kehla is moving. He glides into my vision, his eyes merry. He asks how it goes. I tell him it goes. He tells me ride loose sing with it never let it spook you. Riding loose here. Good, and don't move until you feel compelled. Not moving, boss. Good, and what is the terrain this time? The terrain, boss? Yeh, Home, the terrain – What does it look like this time? It looks, this time it looks, it looks to me like you're right it looks like the future!

M'kehla smiled and nodded. I shot to my feet.

"Let's go get them cows!" I yelled.

"Yaa-hoo!" M'kehla whooped.

We stepped out into the Fourth of July noon just as Dobbs cued up James Brown and the Famous Flames blaring "Out of the Blue" over the airwaves, and the breezes blew, and the leaves danced, and the white pigeons bloomed above us like electric lilies.

I was a new man, for a new season.

In the pasture we moved with the smooth certainty of a well-trained army, M'kehla commanding the right flank, me the left, Betsy at the rear calling out calm instructions, and the fleet-footed kids filling in the gaps. The herd would try to escape to the right and M'kehla's force would advance. They would try to plunge left and I would press my platoon forward. We corraled the whole herd without one renegade breaking through our lines.

The branding was even more efficient. The kids would cut out a little maverick and haze him into a corner of the corral and M'kehla and I would rush in and throw him on his side and hold him. While Buddy stirred the big metal brand in a tub of dry ice and methyl alcohol, Betsy would shave the animal's side with the sheep shears. Then everyone would hold everything while Buddy stuck the icy iron against the shaved spot for the required sixty seconds. If the spot was shaved close enough, and the brand was cold enough, and the animal held still long enough, the hair would grow back out in the shape of the brand – snow white. Nothing moved, yelled, or bellered during this holy minute. Just Buddy's counting and the calf s heavy breathing. Even the mother in the adjoining corral would hold her worried lowing.

Then Buddy would say "- sixty!" and we'd turn loose with a cheer. The branded dogie would scramble to his feet and scamper away through the escape chute, and the army would be advancing on the next wild recruit.

If I had been impressed earlier by M'kehla's strength and agility, I was now astounded at my own. We were catching and throwing animals with ease, some topping two hundred pounds, one after the other. From just the tiniest pinch of powder! It dawned on me why it had been nicknamed after the superslick race-car additive; I was not only newly powdered but freshly lubricated as well, functioning without friction, without deliberation. No debates over right or wrong good or bad to impede the flow and delay decisions. In fact, no decisions. It was like skiing too steep or surfing too far out on the curl of a breaker too big: full go.

And the women couldn't even tell we were high.

Davy stood near the keg, sipping beer and watching from under a defeated scowl. He made no move to help, and the only time I saw him smile was when Percy drawled a suggestion how we could avoid all this unnecessary toil.

"Say, you know? What Ah say we ought to do… is cross these calves with all these damn pigeons." He hitched at his belt like a Hollywood cattle baron. "And get you a herd of homing cows." Everybody laughed in spite of the count. Percy whooped and slapped his leg and elbowed Quiston. "What do you say to that, Quizzer? Homing cows?"

"Good idea!" Quiston agreed. "Homing cows!" Always an admirer of the older boy's style, Quiston hitched at his britches and drawled, "But what Ah say we ought to do… is we ought to go down to the pond and get that thing out, like Dad said he would."

"What thing?"

"That monster thing."

"Hey, damn straight, Quiz," Percy remembered. "Before it gets too shady. Haul him out an' brand him!"

"At the pumphouse, you say? That's a deep dive."

"I dove it."

"Yeah, Dad. Percy dove it."

I stood up and looked around me, tall as a tower. Everything seemed under control. Pastoral. Bucolic. The fresh cedar shavings like soft golden coins under the sun. The calves all cowed and calm. The huge flag not so much waved by the breeze as waving it, like a great gaudy hand stirring the air to keep the flies away.

Buddy plunged the frosted brand back into the fogging tub, watching me.

"How many more?" I asked.

"Just three," he told me. "Those two easy little Angus and that ornery spotted Mongol over there."

I took off one of my gloves and wiped my stinging head. I realized I was rushing like a sweaty river. Buddy was focusing hard on my face.

"We got more than enough hands to finish up here. Why don't you go on down and cool off. Capture their dragon. Get them out from underfoot."

Everybody was watching. I took off my other glove and handed them to Buddy along with my lariat.

"Alright, I will. We'll geld this Gorgon ere he spawns."

"Yaahoo, Uncle Dev!" yelled Percy.

And Quiston echoed, "Yaahoooo, Dad!"

I followed the boys past the shade maple where Dobbs was fussing in his sound scene. He had a cold beer in one hand and a live microphone in the other, happy as a duck in Disneyland.

"How-dee!" he greeted us through the mike. "Here's some of our gladiators now, rodeo fans. Maybe we can get a word. Say, podnah, how's it going out there in the arena? From up here it looks like you're drubbing those little dogies pretty decisively."