I grew up near a small prairie town in the backwaters of rural Canada, working my parent’s farm until I was old enough to know better but too young to do anything about it. Dad died when I was nineteen, and my eldest brother thought he knew better and quickly talked mom in to selling off the lot of it thinking we’d all have a little cash to see us through and be done with the work. Something that sounds like a lot of money and good sense when you’re nineteen often turns out to be short changing yourself, though, and by twenty one most of my share was spent on rent and trucks and beer and pissing around the countryside with a few guys I thought were true pals. So, it wasn’t much wonder at all that I found myself broke and working my way as far as I could get on what little bit was left over. Until a few weeks ago that had been a pretty little ranch at the edge of the mountains, but lately I’m getting further away by the minute. And there ain’t no turning back.