High Country : A Novel (24 page)

The river was low. Fenton led them across easily, Easter knowing this crossing as well as any horse in the mountains. They pulled up the steep pitches to the old camp. Grass was growing in the fire pit, showing a softer green where the tents had stood. But where everything had been was clear, looked inviting in the October sun.

They had lunch, Fenton comfortable enough to turn down Haslam’s offer of morphine. Afterward he took Cody Jo to the long rock that slanted down into the White River. He wanted to hear the waters spill down into the South Fork. When Ty came to join them, Cody Jo was on her way back for morphine.

“Good to watch the water from here,” Fenton said, seeing the way Ty was looked at him. “Cody Jo and I watched it together one night. Long time ago . . . moonlight on it.”

“Let’s get you out of these mountains.” Ty reached out to pull Fenton to his feet. “It’s time for that treatment.”
Fenton waived him off. “Hell, Ty, that treatment has less chance than a fart in a storm.”
Ty found no way to respond.
“It’s no big deal, Ty.” Fenton tried to cheer him up. “Next year you’ll be in these mountains. I won’t.”
He watched the waters for awhile.
“Important thing is what’ll stay. The South Fork. White River.” He held out his hand, let Ty pull him to his feet.
“Remember this country,” he said. “It ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

The last evening Ty took the rifles off to the big rock that held the sun and broke them down, putting the parts in order on a manty, cleaning them the way Spec always had.

“You still do them things Spec taught you.” Jasper stopped by with the canvas water buckets. “While you forsake your loyal cook.”
“I’ll get your water soon as I’m through.” Ty checked the action of the Winchester as Jasper ignored him, walked past to get the water himself.
“Offered to get his water for him.” Fenton sat down and hunched forward. “Believe he thought it was too much for me.” He shook his head. “Sorry damn state of affairs.”
“Spec used to do this.” Ty looked down the bore one more time. “While he told me what a miserable life a packer has.”
“Packin’s somethin’ you took to. Spec saw things different. Took no pleasure in a well-packed string . . .” Fenton’s voice stopped as he saw movement in the willows below them. Then the bear lifted up into the sunlight, rising higher and higher, the hair reddish in the late sun, the head nosing upward, testing. Ty eased back the action of the Winchester, slid a shell into the chamber.
There was stillness, their eyes moving from the bear to Jasper, dipping his buckets into the aspen-lined creek, then back again to the bear. The only other movement was the bear’s, its huge head high, questing, reading the air.
Ty snugged the rifle into his shoulder, the stock cold on his cheek. Jasper struggled up from the creek, water slopping from the heavy buckets. He was abreast of the bear before he saw him. The buckets dropped, the canvas collapsing, water pooling out as Jasper staggered back into an aspen and fainted, sliding down its trunk.
The bear came down onto his forelegs and moved toward him—big as a car.
Ty’s finger tightened on the trigger even as he considered the risk. He knew this bear wouldn’t go down with one shot—with many shots. He knew too that the bear would charge. He just wanted the charge at him, not Jasper. He was farther away. He was uphill. He had the Winchester.
Then he heard Fenton’s voice—the voice conversational, Fenton’s attention on Ty, not the bear, not even on the crumpled body. “Jasper has passed out.” It was as though he’d seen a landmark. “Or maybe his heart’s give way.” His voice got louder. “I believe we’re more interesting to our bear than a passed-out Jasper. Take your finger off that trigger. Let’s see.”
Ty let up on the trigger, holding the bear in his sights as the bear looked up, searched to find that voice. His head turned back to Jasper, still motionless at the base of the aspen. Then they heard his deep cough, a kind of grunted dismissal. Ty felt a weakness wash through him as the great body turned and melted back into the brush, the rustling of willows all that was left.
“Hand me that Springfield.” Fenton’s voice grew urgent. “I’m steady enough to shoot. Keep your eye on them willows. I’ll watch Jasper.”
Ty kept watch as he passed the Springfield to Fenton.
“If he don’t charge back,” Fenton pumped a round into the chamber, “better try to revive Jasper. He’ll want a drink.”
“Saw that bear’s track.” Ty still watched the willows. “Should have told you.”
“No matter.” Fenton looked beyond Jasper’s still body. “It’s your hand now. Play it. Keep things calm. I’m bettin’ calm is all our bear wants.”
“Should of told you.” Ty was trying to see into the deepening shadows. “You know things I don’t.”
“Your problem now, Ty. I’m done with it . . . or it’s done with me. It don’t pay to second guess.”
“ Yo u’ll soon be runnin’ things like always. “
“Don’t pay to lie to yourself either.” Fenton motioned to him. “Ease down there for Jasper. I’d like to get this over.”

Angie and Alice cooked dinner as Jasper recovered with Fenton’s whiskey. Fenton was sure he was the same bear that had chased Sugar from the bog, just twice as big now. He had the same reddish pelt, the same stripe along his backbone. Ty had seen that clearly, along with the scars—his record of a long life in these woods.

Fenton had other theories too, figuring the bear saw few people in this canyon, probably none but those with Fenton or Ty. Few other packers even knew about it, and all of them were wary of Fenton’s routes.

His guess was that the bear was mostly curious, didn’t want to face them any more than they wanted to face him. “Hell, bears take an interest too. Want to see what’s what even if it don’t make much sense.”

They talked about it, figuring the bear’s age, listening to Fenton, to Ty, asking questions, all of them getting comfortable with what had happened—except Jasper. Jasper was still shaky. “Never can tell what that devil might do. One time he near got Ty shot.” Jasper held his whiskey with both hands to keep it from spilling. “Ain’t that true, Ty?”

“It wasn’t the bear squeezing that trigger.”
“No, it wasn’t. But it was that damn bear that got my interest up.” Jasper accepted more whiskey, somehow sounding pleased and belligerent at once. “Don’t you deny it.”

It took them two days to get out. Two days after that Fenton started his treatment. Ty pulled shoes and put away the gear, and when the snows came he moved into town himself, setting up his saddle shop in Horace’s barn, making sure Fenton got his treatments on time.

Bull Trout came in to see him there, talking about college and football and watching Ty move around his workshop. “That leg has mostly healed. And Jasper’s put some pounds on you.”

“I don’t limp anymore.” Ty saw where the conversation was going. “But even if I could run again, it wouldn’t be fast.”
“ Yo u’re tougher than you think, Hardin. Get that meat back on your bones and you could play again. If you’ve lost speed, play linebacker. Not many got by you.”
“There’s packing. That’s what I like.”
Trout looked at him, watching how sure he was with his tools, how straight he cut the line of leather.
“ Yo u’re not packing now,” he said after awhile. “You can’t pack in the winter. And they have this new bill.You don’t have to play football, you know.”
A few days later Cody Jo said the same thing. It made enough sense that Ty went in and registered, signing up for a course in history and one in geology. That gave him something to think about between the times he was off helping Fenton, which he did each day after his classes.
They could all see he took the treatments as seriously as Fenton did. Maybe more. He was at the hospital regularly, making sure Fenton was on time, talking with the doctors, more troubled than Cody Jo when Thomas Haslam accepted the teaching job in San Francisco.
“We won’t move until June, Ty. And no matter when we go, the treatment will go on. I’m not the one giving Fenton the medicine anyway. What I seem to be doing mostly is calming you.”
He looked at Ty, considering. “You know Fenton and Cody Jo may be more concerned about you than they are about themselves.” He spoke slowly now, making sure to say it right. “Fenton is dying, fighting mostly just to keep Cody Jo’s spirits up. What makes you think he can keep yours up too?”
“I’m not asking . . .” Ty’s throat closed on his words.
“Think about it, Ty. Every time you see him you look more like your father. If Fenton taught you anything, it’s not to walk around like you’ve been dealt a bad hand.You haven’t.You have brains, health. Use them.”
He put a hand on Ty’s shoulder. “Offer him life. Not despair. That’s the legacy Fenton’s left you . . . life.”
That night Ty drank beer with Buck and Angie and Jasper, trying to cheer up, wanting to talk about what Haslam had said but afraid it would make him low again. They didn’t seem blue at all, talking about Fenton and the bear and the mountains as though they would all last forever.
The next night he went to The Bar of Justice. When he told Beth about Fenton, she began to cry. “He was so full of piss, Ty. Always outtricking the others.” She wiped at her eyes. “The best ones always go. Or don’t come back.” She poured a drink, fixed one for Ty. “You hardly been here since you got back. And then just to drink. I ain’t sure you’re havin’ any fun at all.”
“I’ve been in the mountains,” Ty said. “With Fenton.”
“Watchin’ him die?” She mopped at the bar. “Fenton would tell you to go on upstairs and have a good time. Spec would too.”
Loretta came into the room and started talking with a man over by the jukebox. Ty saw again how beautiful she could look.
“Loretta’s quit drinkin’,” Beth said. “Got religion too, which may not be an improvement.”
Loretta came over. “So you got wounded by the Germans. That’s God’s way, you know. He can take and He can give back.”
“I’m not even sure it was the Germans,” Ty said. “And tell me why He took Spec?” He thought about how much Spec enjoyed this girl.
“Spec never paid enough attention to Him,” Loretta said. “You might pay more yourself.”
A man came over and asked her to dance.
“Be careful,” she said over the man’s shoulder. “Don’t get like Spec.”
“Truth is,” Ty turned back to Beth, “I’d like to be more like Spec. In the woods at least.”
Beth filled his glass, not sure what he meant. “Just drink slower, hon. He made life awful hard.”
Ty had another, drinking more than he meant too. It made him stop thinking about Fenton—or about anything else. He didn’t even protest when Loretta helped him upstairs. But he didn’t enjoy it either.
“I’d say you didn’t get your money’s worth,” Loretta said. “Which is your own business. It’s mine how much of that poison you pour down.”
“You sure have changed.” Ty struggled to pull his boot back on. “Why is what I drink a worry to you?”
“It is now I’ve joined,” Loretta said. She was dressed, impatient to get back downstairs. “There’s a meeting tomorrow. Want to come?”
“Joined?” Ty got the boot on and leaned back. “Some church?”
“That AA club. I had too much one night, and this guy knew it. After we was done, he said, ‘Honey, you’re in trouble. Better let go and let God.’ Took me to a meeting the next day. And I did. I let go and let God.” She looked in the mirror and patted her hair. “He’s a regular now. And I’m sober.”
“Havin’ any fun? They say that’s what I got to have.”
“I’m makin’ more money. Which I got to start doin’ right now.”
Ty followed her downstairs and drank some more. “Is Loretta serious about all this religion?” he asked Beth. “About that AA?”
“You bet.” Beth’s bosom jiggled as she stirred drinks. “The good news is she don’t pass out when she’s workin’.”
“Is there bad news?” Ty found he wasn’t so much drunk as sleepy.
“The bad is she’s a pain in the ass.” Beth laughed. “You get on home, honey, before you are too. She might talk you into one of them meetings. That’ll be depressing.”
Ty’s head hurt the next morning. But he got to the geology class, giving up on taking notes when he realized the professor was saying in complicated words what Fenton had told him in simple ones. He went from there to the hospital and had coffee with Cody Jo while Fenton had his treatment. Wilma, doing her volunteer work, sat down with them. But she soon had to get up to console a logger whose wife had miscarried.
“Don’t you go see her looking like that,” she told the logger, her eyes so blue, her uniform so tidy that Ty was sure just her presence made the man’s world better. “Help her laugh. Tell her you love her.”
Willie smiled, encouraging and understanding at once. The logger left with his back straighter, his head up. Ty was taken by the way she’d cheered him up.
“Hope my pep talk did some good.” Willie sighed, sitting back down.
“They’re lucky to have you,” Cody Jo said. “We all are. You make it make sense. The births . . . the deaths too.”
“I just wish these visitors wouldn’t look so low,” Willie said. “Some patients look worse after they see their friends.”
Ty blew on his coffee. Willie was watching him as she talked, reading his face, the set of his shoulders.
“It’s true.” She put her hand on Ty’s. “Fenton hasn’t much longer. What counts is what he does have. Help him. Show him his mountains in you.” She hugged Cody Jo, who had begun to cry, and went off about her work. Ty sipped at his coffee, afraid to say anything.
“Sorry.” Cody Jo brushed back her hair. “I’m not even sure I’m crying about Fenton. I think it’s Willie, being so sensible—saying things I know but can’t do.” Her voice was husky, searching for something. “Am I just selfish, Ty? Is it that I can’t bear seeing him this way? He’s the strongest part of me. What keeps me whole.” She looked at Ty as though afraid to let go of something she’d just found.
“Do that for some girl, Ty.” Her voice came to him as if they were alone in the world. “There is nothing better you can do in your life.” She let the tears fall, her face not changing at all.

Then Fenton was in the hospital for good. Ty would visit, talk about the trips he was planning, ask advice about where to go, which fords washed out and which didn’t. Fenton listened, sometimes answering, sometimes not.

“They looked right shocked at my condition,” he said one morning after the doctors had left. “They’re right, too. It couldn’t get water from the creek.” He stared at Ty, his mouth dry, his eyes yellow. “Better not count on me, Ty.” He forced himself to swallow. “I ain’t got the energy.” He looked out at the winter skies.

“That country’s been good to me,” he said finally. “Taught me.” He looked at Ty. “It’ll do better for you. No Cody Jo to turn your head.” He wet his lips. “Sure wouldn’t trade for the interruption, though.”

“Need to slip over soon.” Fenton’s eyes were still closed, but his voice was clear. “It’s time.” Fenton opened his eyes and looked at Ty.
“Rode across once. Slick rock a goat couldn’t cross. Led a mule too. Back from the dead.”
“Sugar,” Ty said. “Sugar was the mule.”
“And Cody Jo. She come along.” Fenton looked out toward the Missoula hills, lost under the gray clouds.
“Never liked to be packed.” He turned back to Ty.
“Who?”
“Cody Jo. Never would follow.” Fenton’s eyes seemed to come alive in the ravaged face. “Tight your ropes, Ty,” he said. “Never can beat a tight rope.”

The next day he was gone. They told Ty as soon as he got to the hospital. Cody Jo was there with Thomas Haslam.
“It’s finished,” Haslam was saying to Cody Jo. “He’s free of it. It’s what he’d want ...It’s over.”
“That part is,” Cody Jo said. There were no tears left in her now. “But not Fenton.” She took Ty’s arm, looked at Thomas Haslam. “I don’t think Fenton knows how to be over.”