"Damnedest thing I ever saw, Buck boy. What d' you say?" he asked, pulling the dust-caked bandanna down from his face.

The mule just looked at his owner and then showed his teeth, all eight of them. But before he could comment further, a loud explosion roared across the desert, and at that moment the old-timer was suddenly thrown off his feet and onto his back, landing on small rocks and scrub, knocking the breath from his old body. He rolled over and placed his hands over his head. The rumble that followed took what little air remained in his lungs. Buck tried to spread his strong legs for better support, then suddenly lost his balance and collapsed. Going down first to its knees, the animal then rolled over, smashing the carefully loaded pack. The ground shook, rolled, and then settled, and finally all was still again.

The old man gasped for air and tried willing himself to breathe. He rolled over onto his aching back and peered up and saw the low foothills and then the mountains. They were the same as they had been the last half century of his life. Quiet and still. But he felt a strangeness within him that hadn't been there a few moments before. He swallowed and propped himself on his elbows, then rolled back over and gained his feet. He had never given the mountains a second thought, but now he was afraid to look at them too closely. As the old man looked on, several jackrabbits sprang from their holes and sprinted out into the desert, away from the mountains. A coyote then bounded across his vision, heading the same way as the rabbits, although it was not in pursuit. The coyote looked back at the rocky-faced mountains, then swung its head forward and sped along even faster, tongue lolling from its mouth.