This is The Writer's Voice, new fiction from The New Yorker. I'm Debra Treesman, fiction editor at The New Yorker.

On this episode of The Writer's Voice, we'll hear Thomas McWayne read his story, take half, leave half,

which appeared in the October 10, 2022 issue of the magazine.

McWayne has published more than a dozen books of fiction, including the story collections Gallatin Canyon,

Profare, and Cloudbursts collected in news stories which came out in 2018.

Now here's Thomas McWayne.

Take half, leave half.

In June, Grant drove his project Mazda with the FFA sticker south out of Montana's spring rain squalls to Oklahoma,

drinking red bull and jolt cola, grinding his teeth with his saddle in the back seat.

Each summer he took whatever job his friend Rufus had found for him.

This time it was on the coy Blake IV township spread, but he had to meet Mr. Blake first to see if the offer was final.

He'll get it, but you've got to sit with him and let him talk, Rufus said.

He's a lonely old land hog with one foot in the grave.

His people been here since the Indians.

Coy Blake was 90 years old with no immediate family, but he had not relinquished an inch of his land.

Grant stood before him, holding his hat, two eggs to sit down.

Mr. Blake looked him over. The first thing he said was, you don't know anything, but at least you don't have a big ass like the locals.

He raised one spindly arm above a spreading torso to point at the head of a long horn steer, hanging high above dining room table,

strode with the remains of cinnamon rolls, coffee, receipts and newspapers.

Grant hadn't eaten since he had an egg McMuffin near Salina, Kansas, and he stared at the food.

Mr. Blake said, that's old chief. A long time ago he was my lead steer.

He used him for years and years. He never got mean, but he got where he just did what he felt like.

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