(This week's photo prompt for http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/flash-fiction/barbed-wire-and-bulls/ ...)
Two efforts this time (to make up for being gone last week)
Leather gloves fit comfortably over his roughened and calloused hands. His chest and shoulder muscles rippled effortlessly under a loose-fitting denim shirt as he pulled the last strand of barbed wire taut. Only a thin bead of sweat dripping from the headband of his white Stetson suggested that the afternoon sun was taking a toll. Effortlessly he hung the coil of wire over the fence post, and stepped back. He had easily capped one entire side of the Enclosure with wire. Natives now would have as much trouble getting out as Settlers would have in getting in to get them.
He believed it was a sign of Bad Times coming, but no one else agreed. Each morning, or maybe every third morning, he thought there was a new stretch of fencing in place. The coil of barbed wire was always looped over the last fence post. Just as it had been the previous morning. Except it was a new fence post, and the wire extended ten feet further than it had before. No one else seemed to notice. Maybe the orange water or the bread shortages concerned them more. But something bad was coming. Of that he was very sure.