Any Other Name: A Longmire Mystery (15 page)

The Bear continued as if we hadn’t spoken. “These two were on a hunting trip, but they were not doing very well, when suddenly a duck flew out of some rushes and the Indian shot it with an arrow at the exact same time as the
Ve’ho’e
shot it with a gun.” Henry’s hands came up, gesturing as he warmed to the story. “They plucked the bird and made a fire, burying the duck in the ashes so that they could eat it the next morning. As they were going to sleep the
Ve’ho’e
made a wager, telling the Indian that
they should sleep well tonight and dream, and whoever had the best dream in the morning would be the one to eat the duck.”

I had heard this story numerous times.

“The next morning the
Ve’ho’e
awoke very early, but when he looked at the Indian, he could see his eyes watching him and so the
Ve’ho’e
said, ‘I have had a marvelous dream!’

“The Indian, seeing his enthusiasm, allowed him to tell of his vision first.

“‘In my dream, there were winged white women who came down from the sky who promised me everything forever if I would only join them in Heaven, but I explained to them that I did not have wings. So they lowered a ladder down for me and I began climbing up.’

“The Indian jumped to his feet and pointed at the
Ve’ho’e
and agreed—‘I have had this same vision, a dream so powerful, so vivid that it must be shared by more than one person.’

“The
Ve’ho’e
nodded. ‘It was as if it actually happened!’

“‘Yes, I saw you climb up the ladder and disappear.’

“The
Ve’ho’e
, sensing he had won the bet, exclaimed, ‘Yes!’

“The Indian continued to nod. ‘So I ate the duck.’”

It was quiet in the cruiser as the Bear returned his hands to the dash and his attention back to the road.

The kid finally spoke up. “That’s the end?”

The Cheyenne Nation’s voice echoed off the windshield. “Yes.”

“Well, that sucked.”

“For the
Ve’ho’e
, yes.” Henry smiled. “I told you you would not like the story.”

For the sake of peace between the races, I tapped the kid’s shoulder and asked, “You from around here, troop?”

“Sioux Falls, but they weren’t hiring this time of year.”

“How long have you been on the job?”

“Four weeks—got my criminal justice degree from Black Hills State.”

“What made you want to be a police officer?”

“I just want to help people, right?”

The Bear looked at him again, and I slapped Henry’s shoulder to get him to knock it off, the back of my fist making a loud smacking noise against the black leather. “Right.”

Henry’s voice rose with his finger. “Left.”

The kid turned to look at him. “What?”

“Left, turn left.”

“Right.” He did as he was told, but after a moment, he spoke again. “What is it that this woman’s done?”

I rested my chin on my arm. “Disappear, but the problem is that a couple of other women have had the same thing happen to them, and I’m hoping that she might be able to connect some of the dots for me. That, and I’ve got a dead sheriff’s investigator to throw in the mix.”

“How did he die?”

“Suicide.”

The Bear raised a fist like a mace. “To serve and protect, right?”

I hit him in the shoulder again.

The kid looked at me. “How long have you been a sheriff?”

I shrugged. “About as long as you’ve been alive.”

Some quiet time went by, and then there was a little edge to the young man’s voice. “So, what about you?”

Henry shook his head. “What about me what?”

“Are you a cop?”

The Bear smiled. “No, I am freelance.”

The tone was still there when he asked the next question. “So, what do
you
think we are?”

The Cheyenne Nation didn’t look at either of us when he responded with a philosophy the young patrolman would develop sooner or later, if he lived that long. “Consequence.” You could hear all of us breathing in the cruiser as we tracked along in the deep snow. “Consequence is what we all are.”

“Stop.”

Tavis hit the brakes, and we began a slow and agonizing slide on the cushion of snow, finally coming to rest at a diagonal, blocking both lanes. We’d been driving for what seemed like an hour, following the only set of tracks on the road, and all I could think was how embarrassing it was going to be if we were trailing a garbage truck. The young patrolman and I sat still as Henry leaned forward, looking past the kid through the driver’s side window farther down the road.

“What?”

He gestured. “No more tracks.”

I leaned back, wiping the fog from the inside of the window, and even though I was unable to do much about the outside, I could see that the Bear was right and that the road ahead was pristine and undriven. “The road less traveled?”

“They must have turned off.”

I patted Tavis on the shoulder. “Can you get her turned around and go back?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

As he tried, I scoped the outside to try and get my bearings.
“Shouldn’t we have met up with one of the Highway Patrol roadblocks by now?”

“Seems like, but maybe they’re just a little farther.” He pulled the cruiser ahead in an arc, and we slowly started back up the invisible road.

“How could you see that there were no more tracks?”

The Cheyenne Nation shrugged. “Did not see it—I felt it. And heard it; the snow feels and sounds different when it has not been driven on.” He raised a hand again. “Stop.” We slid and then rocked back and forth like a moored boat as the Bear unclicked his seat belt. “They went off the road here.”

I looked out my window. “That’s a road?”

Henry shook his head. “I cannot tell, but that is where they went.”

I tapped Tavis’s shoulder. “How ’bout it, troop?”

“What if it’s not a road?”

“Then we’re probably going to sink this Charger like a U-boat.”

“I’d rather not do that.”

I raised the collar on my coat and tugged down my hat. “Then we leave it where it’s more likely to be damaged and walk.”

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving this unit.”

Henry gestured toward the supposed road. “That, too, is a choice.”

Without warning, and I guess to show us that he was also ten feet tall and bulletproof, the kid spun the wheel and hit the gas. The big motor on the Dodge leapt at the opportunity and literally pounced into the tracks of the pickup, only to sink with a muffled thump like the plumping of four very large pillows.

I leaned forward between them and looked at the Bear. “What’d that sound like to you?”

He pursed his lips. “That we are, beyond even the slightest shadow of a doubt, stuck.”

Tavis threw the cruiser in reverse and stomped on the accelerator before either of us could advise him against it. The Charger spun its wheels and, if possible, dug itself in deeper. “Shit.” He turned to look at us.

“Looks like we walk after all.”

“Shit.”

Henry pushed open his door and climbed out. “My sentiments exactly.”

“You want to open the door for me? There aren’t any inside handles back here.”

Tavis got out on the other side and trudged back up to the road. “Shit.” He stood there and looked both ways. “I have no idea where we are.”

Henry looked around with me and then pointed toward something hanging in the fog. “Is that a sign?”

The patrolman walked toward it and slapped the pole with his hand, whereupon the majority of the snow slid off on top of him. “Shit.” He shook most of it off and then looked up and read the sign. “Oh, more than shit.”

I stooped and shone my flashlight on the tracks, which illuminated a few drips of coolant in the snow. “What?”

“It’s 16.”

“Meaning?”

Zipping up his duty parka, he walked back toward us. “We’re between the main roads leading to either Rapid City or Custer.” He looked around at the twenty feet that were visible. “Probably somewhere in Custer State Park.”

“I guess we’re lucky he didn’t go to Mount Rushmore.” I joined the young man. “Are there any structures around? Lodges they may be trying to get to?”

“There are a few—Blue Bell and Legion Lake Lodges maybe, but I’m not sure where they are in this soup.” He quickly added, “I’ve only been here once when I was a teenager, and we stayed at the State Game Lodge. I remember it because there was a photograph of Grace Coolidge holding a raccoon and she was a looker.”

“A raccoon?”

“Yeah, it was the summer White House and she had this pet raccoon. I thought that was kind of weird, right?”

I glanced at Henry, who shook his head and then nodded toward the two depressions leading into the whiteout. “We better get moving before the tracks fill in.” Henry and I took a few steps in that direction, but I noticed the kid wasn’t following, so I stopped and turned to look at him. “You coming?”

He shook his head. “I told you, I’m not leaving this vehicle.”

The Bear’s voice sounded from out of the wall of white, muffled by the frozen condensation. “I do not think anyone is going to be able to take it without a tandem of tow trucks.”

I stood there for a moment longer and then turned and followed the Bear. “Call the HPs and tell them where we are, would you?”

“Right.” I could hear him crunch toward the cruiser but then stop. “Hold on; let me get them on the radio and then get the keys.”

—

It was slow going; I was monkey in the middle with the Cheyenne Nation ahead and the puffing patrolman behind me.

“How far can they get?”

It was as if our voices were being struck by the tiny particles of snow and then steadfastly driven to the ground. Personally, I didn’t feel like talking, but the kid was nervous so I tried to make an effort. “Hard to say, but he’s got four-wheel drive. If there’s a road around here he’s got a better chance, but I’m betting that he’s going to get stuck just like we did, or his radiator will drain out and he’ll burn up the engine.”

We huffed along for a while in silence, but then he spoke again. “Do you think the other guy is dangerous?”

“I don’t know—either dangerous or stupid or both.”

“Why’s that?”

I pulled up, and he almost ran into me. “Would you be out here doing this without the right gear, if you had any choice?”

“No.”

“Smart boy.” I started off again but couldn’t see the Bear, and I was getting worried that he was outpacing us to the point of leaving us behind, so I doubled up on my efforts. Out of the corner of my eye, I could almost make out something moving alongside, but it disappeared.

I squeezed my eyes together and then quickly opened them but couldn’t see anything this time. I stared into the frozen fog, but the more I looked the more unsure I became. Off to my right, there was something dark outlined in the curtains of white gloom. Whatever it was, it must’ve moved fast to get ahead of us again. I didn’t have any worries that it was Willie, the mystery man, or Roberta because human beings couldn’t be that quick in snow that deep.

The kid’s voice came up from immediately behind me. “Something wrong?”

“No, nothing.”

I kept moving and scanned the area to my right but, responding to some kind of movement, I pivoted to the left and suddenly it materialized again. “What the hell . . .”

As soon as I spoke, the apparition disappeared.

Tavis was behind me and seemed spooked. “Hey, did you hear something?”

I stopped, and he caught up; now we were both looking outward in circles, like prey. “No, but I thought I saw something. Why, what did you hear?”

“Um . . . breathing.”

“Breathing?”

“Right.”

I stared at the path ahead. “We better catch up with Henry; I don’t want him coming up on those three alone.”

There was a thought that wavered in and out of my mind like the shadows in the snow, a déjà vu that reminded me of my time in the Bighorn Mountains a few years past and again when I’d been stalking some convicts in that same region only six months ago—it was not a welcome thought.

I was watching carefully as we moved on with more conviction, but there were no more shades in the claustrophobic storm. The kid had dropped directly behind me, and I listened to him breathe and sigh. “I bet you wish you’d never stumbled onto us back in Deadwood.”

His voice sounded remarkably cheery. “Are you kidding? Other than the odd biker fight, this is the biggest adventure I’ve had since I’ve been on the force.” Then he sighed again.

There was a little edge in my voice. “Why do you keep making that sound?”

“I’m not.” He glanced around, but his eyes came back to mine. “I thought that was you.”

There was a noise directly behind us.

Tavis stepped in closer to me. “Do you think it’s your buddy?”

“No, not from that direction.”

The patrolman edged in even closer, looking behind us. “Maybe he got lost.”

“He doesn’t get lost.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

It was quiet all of a sudden, and the only sound was our breathing and the snow crunching as Tavis adjusted his weight. “Maybe he—”

“Sssh.” Something exhaled to my left. “Well, whatever or whoever it is, it’s moving around out there in this storm at a pretty amazing speed.”

“A horse, maybe? Or a mountain lion?”

“No, whatever this is, it knows what it’s doing in deep snow and mountain lions don’t make that kind of noise.” I turned and started off. “C’mon, let’s get going before we—” There was another sigh, this one directly in front of me that came with what looked like the exhaust from a steam train. I pulled up and stopped and took a step back, almost standing on Tavis’s feet.

“Hey—”

“Be still—whatever it is it’s in the trail right in front of us.”

“Maybe it’s a tree.”

“That would mean the truck drove over it; besides, trees don’t breathe.” I leaned forward, but it looked like a rock, white with fissures and cracks running through it, darker than the snow, but not by much. It breathed out, twin billows that drove the flakes floating in the air like a double blast of a
breathing shotgun. “It’s a buffalo, and I think there are more than one.”

As I whispered, a low plaintive noise emanated from my right that was answered by a snort from the animal in front of me. I slowly turned my head and could now see two more massive things to my left that swung their heads and regarded us—four, no counting the rest.

Having once roamed the grasslands of America in herds estimated at sixty to seventy-five million, the American bison became nearly extinct in the nineteenth century after being hunted and slaughtered relentlessly. Approaching twelve feet in length, six feet at the shoulder, and weighing well over two thousand pounds, the buffalo is the largest mammal on the North American continent. With the ability to fight grizzly bears, mountain lions, and entire packs of wolves to a standstill, they fear nothing. And because they’re capable of reaching speeds of forty miles an hour, your percentages of being attacked by a buffalo in the national parks are three times greater than any other animal.

Tavis whispered, “There’s a herd here in Custer State Park, a big one with more than a thousand of them, but they round them up and auction a bunch off in October.”

“Including the bulls?”

“I don’t know.”

I sighed myself. “The bulls are bigger and meaner . . . I think we’ve stumbled into a herd of buffalo bulls, so don’t put on your roller skates.”

“What?”

“That was a joke.”

“Oh. Right.”

The one on the trail in front of us shook its head and came a step closer. I could see that it was the packed and melted snow on him that had made him appear to be made of rock, the snow and ice cracked revealing the dark coat underneath. He was close enough that I could see the horns and the broad, black nose that blew contrails into the snow around his barrel-sized hooves.

There was nothing we could do, and nowhere we could go. If we tried to back away or change direction it was likely that we’d just run into another of the shaggy behemoths—maybe a thousand of them.

The big bull took another step closer, bringing him within seven yards of us, but his eyesight, which wasn’t so great in the best of conditions, was failing him in the still fast-falling snow and the fog.

“Should we draw our guns?”

I whispered out of the corner of my mouth. “No, the damn things have very thick skulls—all you’ll do is piss them off or start a stampede and get us gored or trampled to death.”

“So what do we do?”

“The hardest thing in the world—nothing.” The bull took another step closer, stretching its neck out for that much more of a view and even going so far as to stamp a hoof. It was only a question of time, given the animal’s natural curiosity, before he would eventually get close enough to realize that we were not part of the herd, and then all bets would be off.

I ignored my own advice and, humping my sheepskin coat onto my shoulders, I placed a boot forward and stamped it in the snow in order to convince him that we were buffalo, too.

The bull didn’t move.

“What the heck are you doing?”

“It’s what he did. Now, will you shut up, because I’m pretty sure he knows that buffalo don’t talk.”

I wondered where Henry was and then thought about Vic, safely ensconced at the Franklin Hotel in a bubble bath, but mostly I was just glad that neither of them were here to see me imitate a buffalo.

The real buffalo still didn’t move and didn’t seem to know what to make of my performance—hell, for all I knew I was asking him out to the buffalo prom, but as a rancher’s son with a long history of dealing with large animals, I did know that when they get confused, they become dangerous.

I stopped moving, too.

Suddenly his head dropped, and I saw his tail lift and stick straight up.

There still wasn’t anything to do; if I jumped out of the way the kid would get killed and I couldn’t allow for that—the only other thing to do was to charge the buffalo myself.

All I wanted was to bluff him and not send all the others into a stampede that would leave us as bloody puddles in the snow, and I was just getting ready to make a bold and most likely foolish move when I heard a song lifted like the wind in a melody that was familiar.