"So that afternoon, swishing through the hills, Cheney kept to himself... But as they came around a bend in the trail, one guy named Mealey got his fishing pole caught on a rock. It bent back, slapped his horse on the ass, and all hell went free. The horse lit up like a brushfire, thrashing and bucking, and pretty soon Mealey hit the ground, where a set of hooves caught him hard in the chest. Mealey lay still. his rib was broken. His breath came thin and sharp. The guys rode over for a look, but nobody spoke at first. Cheney sat high in the saddle, with that half-crooked smile of his.
"'Well Mealey,' he said after a while. 'We going fishing or what?'"