With the icy breath of the wind sweep plains stinging his face, the cowboy prodded his weary horse onward toward the seeming shelter, an outgrowth of rock offering a refuge from the wind.

He dropped wearily from his saddle, sand and dust swirling as his boots hit the rocky and uneven ground.

Not a soul heard the thud, the labored breathing of his horse, his own shallow breath’s, or the low moan of the constant wind.

The cowboy unsaddled his mount, gave it a rough but fond rub along its neck and ears, then let him free.

Slowly he moved his gear and made his bed by the rocks shelter. A simple saddle pillow, ratted blanket, and poncho cover. He laid down, watched the stars and while the full moon looked on, silently he died.