Rawlins, Jasper, Rowdy, and me. That’s how it was then. The four of us on that yellowed knot of land with its hedge rows and crumpling red barn. Rawlins was like the chief and the rest of us his scouts, always jumping around his moods and his words like it was dodge ball every day, all the time. Sometimes I even jumped out of the way of his laughter cause the look in his eye told me to.

Now Jasper, he didn’t jump so much as me. He walked right at those dodge balls and without even trying he’d duck away at the last minute and get up and keep walking with that smile of his, freckles spread out wide over his nose and his cheeks. I think Rawlins could see the day coming even then. Little Jasper still only eleven years old and scrawny but I always thought I saw a glimmer of fear in Rawlins eyes when Jasper would duck like that and keep walking.

Truth be told, Rowdy was my favorite. He was really only mine, not a scout at all. If anyone else were telling this story, Rowdy I bet wouldn’t even get a mention. That’s because Rowdy didn’t give two shits about dodge balls or when to duck. Rowdy was a relative of the wind and both Rawlins and Jasper gave him a wide berth. When Rawlins agreed to having Rowdy around, he’d said that he didn’t believe in keeping horses except to pull plow or take you somewhere you couldn’t go in a car. Said they were like women, changeable and mean. Then he’d looked me straight in my little girl eyes, sized me up from toe to head, and said, might be good for you. He’d turned on his boot heels then and walked away.

And that was the mystery of Rawlins right there. He’d say something mean to make you want to jump sideways out of the way, then he’d look you in the eyes and grant your wish.
I couldn’t ever figure it, how a person could be so mean with his words but somehow stay fixed in your mind as kind.