Land of Wolves (16 page)

I watched as my father flipped his arm back to a ten o’clock
position, the line looping out behind him and then suddenly forward, sending his hand-tied fly across the stream and under a large bush that hung over the fast-moving water.

“But he robbed banks, and banks are where people keep their money.”

“I guess he didn’t think of it that way.” He adjusted, playing in a little and mending the line, keeping the arc upstream. “Anyway, he went to jail for that, but at his parole hearing he promised the judge he’d never rob another bank in Wyoming.”

“Did he?”

“No, he went and robbed banks in Utah and Nevada, so I guess he was a man of his word, of sorts.”

I glanced around the canyon. “And they used to be here?”

My father nodded his head upstream. “One of their hideouts, a cave, was over there—or so they say.”

“Can we go see it?”

He turned toward me. “I thought we were here to fish?”

“We are, but . . .”

“Maybe after we catch a few. We come back to camp empty-handed and that mother of yours is going to think we were just here to take a nap.”

“Yes, sir.” Dutifully placing his book in my rucksack, I picked up my rod and, pulling a few yards of line from my own reel, draped it out in the water and flipped it forward, rolling the line out about a yard from his.

“Poacher.”

Our lines danced to the right in the vibrant water. “Do you think they were bad men?”

He thought about it as he stripped his line in. “Well, it’s debatable as to whether Butch killed anybody, but at least three of the others did.”

Feeling a tug on my line, I lifted and watched as a twelve-inch brown trout arched and spit my fly back at me. “Darn.”

“I’ve told you, don’t pull up to set the hook, go sideways and preferably upstream so the current does some of your work for you.”

I moved past him and redirected my cast.

He had pulled his own line in and then threw it, and I watched as the gentle loop played out on the surface of the water, an even larger brown snapping up the fly, my father steadily hauling it in.

I watched as he netted the fish, carefully taking it and slapping its head against a nearby boulder before flipping open his fillet knife, cleaning him out, and placing him on the dampened moss in his willow creel.

“But Butch and Sundance never killed anybody?”

He stood, towering above me. “That’s the story.”

“So, maybe they weren’t such bad guys. Maybe they just rejected the rules of society and wanted to make up their own game.”

His voice took a different tone. “They were thieves, Walter. They took things that didn’t belong to them, intimidating and harassing people all over this country. The amount of effort they put into stealing and hiding . . . Think what they could have accomplished if they had turned their efforts toward an honest life? Gunned down at forty years of age, they were men of low character and they all met bad ends.”

Quietly stripping in my line, I waited and then watched as he moved up the bank.

He turned and looked back at me. “There’s a tendency in our society to romanticize the exploits of outlaws and gangsters, an insistence that they’re Robin Hood–type characters,
that they have more in common with us than the people whom we hire to protect us and enforce our laws. I don’t buy that. I think that when you pick up a gun and use it to take things away from people, it doesn’t matter how clever or charming you are—you’re just a thief, plain and simple.”

I nodded.

He studied me for what seemed like a long while. “You want to go look at that cave?”

“Yes, sir.”

He started off as I secured my line and stumbled after him with a hidden smile. “How do you get low character anyway?”

He called back. “By not listening to your father.”

“I guess you can’t call it daydreaming at night, so are you sleepwalking?”

Surfacing from my memories, I caught myself about to miss a switchback that would’ve sent me tumbling down a scree field and into the canyon. “I guess.”

She watched as Dog went ahead. “See anything?”

“No, but with this heavy tree canopy, they could have a bonfire going down there and we’d never see it. It’ll be another quarter of a mile before we get to the tree tops.”

She sighed, having stopped at the switchback slightly above me. “If I can’t shoot you, can I shoot myself?”

“No. C’mon, this is good exercise.”

She started after me. “Drop dead.”

Starting to feel the stitch in my side, I mumbled to myself, “I may.”

“I heard that.”

We finally reached the tree tops but still couldn’t see any
sign of life other than a group of mule deer Dog must’ve spooked. Chances were good that if Abarrane and Liam had made it down here before dark, they were holed up in a pup tent somewhere snoozing soundly in their sleeping bags.

I found it hard to believe that Abe was abusing his grandson, and even as inherently dangerous as the family was, I doubted he had killed his son-in-law. I guess I thought I might get answers to some of the questions that had been mounting up, and so I did what I did best in these situations and placed one foot in front of the other.

The canopy gave way to a boulder field, trailing into a rock shelf that ran diagonally down the canyon and tapered back around a cornice where Dog stood looking back at us. I waited as Vic caught up and then continued along the edge until it cut back and the sound of the rushing water filled our ears.

She gestured toward the beast. “You think he knows where they are?”

“More than we do.” Zipping my jacket, I cast the beam eastward toward Powder Junction. It was colder down here, a product of the stream’s humidity having been ice and snow only days ago.

“Now what? And don’t say we should split up and cover more ground, because in the movies that’s how people die.”

“We should split up.”

She made to unholster her sidearm again.

“We don’t know which direction they went, but I don’t think they could’ve gone far, so just head down that way a couple hundred yards and if you don’t see anything come back.”

“And you?”

“Dog and I’ll do the same in this direction. Eventually one
of us will find them and when we do we just stay put till the other comes back, got it?”

“Who gets the flashlight?” I started to hand it to her when she held up her phone and illuminated the ground in front of her. “Just kidding, Squanto.”

Watching her go, I turned upstream and followed Dog toward the mountains. Realizing they could be anywhere, I played the beam up the hillside, figuring that if they made camp they might’ve made it on higher ground. It would take a hell of a rain to flood the canyon, but stranger things had happened.

Lifting my face, I looked out from under the brim of my hat and was pleasantly surprised to see a few stars in the sky.

The water was roiling and the chances of catching a fish were relatively slim, something Abe would most certainly have been aware of; but maybe, as I had said, he was looking for something beyond fish. I’d been a disappointment to my father, who’d been a maestro with a fly rod, because I always brought one of his books with me and settled in a shady spot to while away the hours as he actively fished, providing the fresh fillets for my mother’s cast-iron frying pan.

Food had tasted better then and the air had seemed sweeter, but maybe it was just the memories that made it so. There is no sweetness without loss. What I would give for five minutes to ask all the questions I hadn’t and listen to all the answers I’d ignored.

Continuing on, I caught a flash of metal to my right and stepped closer to the stream so that I could shine the flashlight beam toward the water, the light revealing a broken bamboo rod and a maroon South Bend Oren-O-Matic fly reel.

I balanced on a boulder and reached down with my free
hand, lifting the tackle up and studying it. It was about the sixties’ vintage that I would assume Abarrane would carry, fly fishermen being almost as superstitious as ballplayers and cowboys about giving up their worn-out tools.

I glanced around and could see where a large swipe of moss had been scraped away under the surface of the rock where I stood. It was a deep tub, and if you fell here, you were getting wet. Playing the beam around, I hoped that was all that had happened. There was nothing on the opposite bank, so I played the flashlight on the hillside behind me, hoping to see a tent or at least a nest of sleeping bags, but there was still nothing.

I was at a large V with the buttress of the canyon thrusting straight up a good thousand feet toward me, and I was pretty sure this was the spot where my father and I had usually fished. Glancing back over my shoulder, I could see the abutment where a rock formation I knew pretty well stuck out, and the scree pile where the notorious cave was hiding.

I thought about how much effort it would’ve taken, after falling in, to climb up there. “You crazy old bastard . . .” I whistled for Dog and then carefully laid the rod across the path so that Vic would find it, pointing the tip toward the Outlaw Cave.

The wind was picking up a little, and it felt like a front was moving in, but nothing that would change the weather much other than to raise or lower the temperature some twenty degrees. I could see the vague glimmer from Vic’s phone and figured she must’ve already started back, having found nothing in that direction.

I took another breath and stretched, immediately regretting it, then bowed down to try to make the stabbing pain go away. I placed a hand out on a boulder and found the rhythm of my breathing. Slowly standing, I turned and looked up the
slope and could’ve sworn I saw something move just as Dog barked. Starting after him, I slipped in the scree but found a clearer pathway that led off to the left and steadily rose up to the cave.

I could see a bit of light as if from a dying campfire flickering off the cave’s rocky mouth above a few bushes that I didn’t remember, which blocked the opening. Funny how things changed in a half-century.

I reached a hand up, grabbed the nearest bush, and pulled myself the rest of the way, taking handfuls as I went like a longshoreman pulling a ship to the wharf. Standing at the opening, I could see that Dog was sniffing around someone lying on a sleeping bag on the other side of the dying campfire.

Huffing my breath in and out, I caught up with myself, took a few steps in, and glanced to the right, seeing a pack, another rod, and some supplies stashed against the wall. It was Abe in the sleeping bag, and I was about to step around the small fire and stoop to him when I heard something in the back of the cave just as Dog growled and bristled. I couldn’t see anything even with the flashlight. “Liam?”

Nothing.

Dog barked.

I had the sense that someone or something was there watching me. I rested my hand on my Colt, just in case. “Liam, remember me? I’m the sheriff who came and visited you and your grandfather a couple of days ago at his ranch?”

Nothing.

“Don’t worry about Dog, he’s friendly.”

Nothing.

“Liam, my deputy Sancho gave you a badge—a deputy’s star that makes noise.”

Nothing.

I’d just about given up when I heard the siren.

Dog barked again but then wagged and moved forward.

I smiled. “That’s it, Liam, that’s the toy. Remember me? I’m here to help you and your granddad.”

There was some movement in the back of the cave, and the young boy stepped out from the shadows. He blew the whistle again and, without another word, walked toward me and Dog, who gave him a broad lick in the face. Liam sat at Abe’s feet on the other side of the fire, petted Dog, and breaking green twigs, fed them into the tiny blaze.

I angled to the side. “You need drier wood.”

He raised his face to me, shiny with tears in the flickering light.

I nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll get some.” Glancing at Abe, I lowered my voice. “Is your grandfather asleep?” I waited a moment. “Liam?”

He shook his head, swiping at the tears, and hugged Dog.

His pulse was very faint and his skin was frigid, but the tough old buzzard was still alive, if barely. I turned and looked at the boy as he stood against the rock wall, one palm pressed flat against the stone, his arm around Dog. I decided to lie. “He’s going to be okay . . .”

Dog barked again, and a light shone in on us from the mouth of the cave. “You find Batman and Robin?”

“Over here.”

Vic crossed toward us and, with a glance at the boy, knelt down. “Hi.”

He nodded but still said nothing.

Vic felt Abe’s pulse and then pried one of his eyelids back before turning to look at me, her own eyes widening before turning to Liam. “Honey, what happened to your grandfather?”

The boy just stood there.

“Did he fall? In the water?”

He nodded.

She leaned forward and, after placing an ear against the old man’s chest, glanced back at me, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Severe hypothermia with dysrhythmia.”

I sighed. “Yep.”

“We’ve got to get him out of here.”

Running the topography through my head, I couldn’t think of a single spot where we could possibly land a medevac helicopter.

She interrupted my train of thought. “We’re going to need help.”

“I can carry him out.”

“Are you nuts? There’s no way.”

“You take Liam and get back up to the rim, drive to where you can get a signal, and get Double Tough and Scott out here—maybe get Casper to send a helicopter and land it at the pullout topside with full setup.”

Her laugh was a bitter bark. “And what, you just waltz out of here with him on your back? In your condition?”

“My condition is fine. I’ll start out with him and then when you get in touch you can send those guys down to get him. It’s not like I’ll get very far.”

She barely whispered. “And two dead guys are better than one? Why not wait?”

“You felt his skin and listened to his heart, he must have a core body temperature of about seventy-five . . .” I lowered my own voice even more. “The farther I get him the better shot he has at surviving.” I gestured toward Liam. “Now, get him out of here. The faster we move, the better.”

“We can’t risk moving him, he’s an eyelash from being dead.”

Leaning into her, I gave out with the old ER saying, “They’re not dead until they’re warm and dead.”

She glanced down at Abe, reached out and placed her fingertips at his throat before looking back at me. “I’ll go, but only if you promise to just stay here with him, and no carrying him out there in the dark up a cliff.”

I nodded.

“Walt . . .”

“Go.”

She shook her head and then turned to look at the boy. “Hey, Liam, you wanna take a walk with me?”

He didn’t move.

“I’ve got candy in the truck, and we can go for a ride and drive real fast and blow the siren and flip on the lights. You wanna do that?”

He still didn’t move.

“Gotta be better than sitting around watching your grandfather take a nap, huh?”

This time he nodded.

She stood and went to him and reached down to take his hand as Dog followed after them. “We need to get going, what do you say?”

I watched as she led him to the opening and looked back at me, gesturing as if to a dog. “Stay.”

Dog sat.

“Take him with you.”

“No, I think if you’re going to need any backup, he’s it.”

Dog looked at me, and we listened as the two of them made their way down the scrabble field into the boulders, Vic talking to Liam the whole way.

Pushing on my side, I couldn’t feel any pain and figured I had a fighting chance of getting the old man out of there. It wasn’t like I had to make it to the top. I just needed to get him as far as I could, or possibly more out into the open where they might be able to lower a gurney.

Looking down at him, I shook my head. “Old man, what were you thinking?”

Listening to Vic’s voice as it grew fainter down the canyon,
I assessed my situation. I figured the smart thing was to do as she’d said and just stay put; then I heard the little voice that had gotten me in trouble my entire life, telling me that my side wasn’t hurting that bad, that Abarrane wasn’t that heavy, that the climb out wasn’t that steep, that I didn’t really need the flashlight.

I told the little voice to shut up.

It didn’t. I lumbered to a standing position, stamped out the dying fire, and thought how lucky I was that Abe was a small man.

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out through my lips, I peeled the sleeping bag back and carefully lifted him up against my chest until I could get an arm under his shoulder. Then I crouched down and held the one arm as I lifted him from the ground with Dog watching me. “You know, if you were just a little bigger I’d have you do this.”

Taking another deep breath, I shrugged him up a little higher and then stood there testing the weight. He was heavier than I thought, but nothing like other men I’d carried and the conditions were better.

I figured I’d make it.

I took the first step, slid on some rocks, and just stood there for a moment attempting to not second-guess the decision. “So, Abarrane, how ’bout you tell me the story of your life—and just skip the part up until a few hours ago.”

I could see through the trees that the sky was still clear and that a sliver of moon had sliced through, giving out with a little more illumination. “Thank heaven for small favors.” Dog swept past and took point as I slowly began the descent to the stream below with the unconscious man draped over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Having dropped about thirty pounds during my recent
adventures in Mexico, I was lighter on my feet, but my energy hadn’t fully returned, probably because I hadn’t had either the inclination or time for any form of exercise or rehabilitation. Still, what mass I’d lost certainly made it easier on my joints, and I had to admit that I really didn’t feel so bad and was almost enjoying stretching the dormant muscles.

It was about then that the stitch in my side spoke up.

Pausing for a second, I took another deep breath and looked ahead to Dog, who was watching me from the next switchback. “I’m okay. Honest.”

He waited there until I started off toward him again.

There was still a dull ache from my side, but it didn’t feel like somebody was poking me with an icepick, so I allowed my mind to wander back to Henry’s potential fishing trip to Alaska. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe a vacation was just what I needed to jolt me from my malaise. Then I remembered the more pressing issue involving a high school basketball player and remembered that I hadn’t been back to Henry about that.

I followed the white on Dog’s tail like it was a flag. “Don’t get too far ahead of me now.”

I hadn’t been to Alaska since the early seventies, and that had been on the very North Slope where I’d provided security for an oversize oil rig. I drank too much then, and a bear had tried to eat both Henry and me.

I wondered if girl’s high school basketball was really safer.

Stumbling over a brick-sized rock, I caught myself and stood there for a few seconds to get my bearings. We’d made it down from the embankment leading to the cave, and the stream was to my left. The ground was flatter down here, but there was less light, so I just wanted to allow my eyes to adjust. I could pull
my Maglite from my belt, but then I wouldn’t have a hand free to catch us if we fell.

Taking another step, I tripped over another rock, so I pulled out the heavy-duty flashlight, and clicked it on, realizing I was now losing any hopes of night vision, not that it was doing any good anyway.

Dog was up the trail getting another drink of water before turning and looking at me again.

“I’m coming.”

Assured, he turned and started up the path with me following a little slower this time. I took a few more steps when I noticed that Dog was simply standing in the trail, looking up the long ascent to the pullout. It was strange how he stood without moving, and I figured there had to be something or somebody there—probably more mule deer. The last thing I needed was to be out here in the dark carrying a man and wandering around looking for a lost dog. “Hey, don’t even think about it.”

In another second, he was gone.

“Dog!” Barking his way up the trail, I listened as the noise echoed off the rock canyon. “Dog!”

He was making good time up the switchbacks, and all I could do was sigh. Maybe he’d heard Vic or Double Tough or the highway patrol pull up at the top and had gone off to meet them. Either way, I needed to get going and shrugged Abe farther up onto my shoulders.

Stepping off again, I made good time and, as near as I could tell, it was just about another quarter of a mile to the top. I had caught my breath and had reached the last scramble before making it topside when the stitch in my side came back with a vengeance. I’m not sure what was going on in there, but it
was like something had blown apart and my tires were trying to run flat.

Swallowing, I lowered my head and trudged on, bending my back a little in an attempt to relieve the pain. I dropped the flashlight near the trailhead and watched as it bounced off the rocks and whistled into the darkness with a clattering finality.

I averaged at least one of the things per year.

I took the last few steps into the clearing at roadside, and there was Dog sitting beside the International Travelall, wagging his tail and looking up at the same wolf I’d seen on the mountain, who now sat on the roof of the vehicle, centered in the luggage rack.

“What the hell?”

The wolf turned to regard me but made no other movement.

At second look I could make out a little more detail and could see he was indeed darker than the other specimens I’d encountered but with the gray around his muzzle more evident. Whether it was in comparison with the beast known as Dog, or just being closer, I could see he was even larger than I had thought.

I figured he must’ve gotten Dog’s attention and then realized what he was dealing with and decided that vertical was the better part of valor—but climbing on top of a vehicle? That couldn’t be normal behavior for any wolf.

“Howdy.”

He didn’t move, and neither did I.

“Dog.” He turned his head to look at me, but he didn’t make any move to abandon his post either. Patting my leg, I called out. “Dog.”

Reluctantly, he rose and sidled in my direction.

Mostly because I couldn’t hold the weight much longer, I carefully knelt down and pulled Abe from my shoulder, laying him on the ground. I was relieved he was still breathing, but he showed no sign of consciousness.

Glancing up, I could see that 777M was still sitting there, watching the three of us.

Slipping off my jacket, I placed it over Abe in an attempt to make him as comfortable as possible. Having done the best I could, I sat beside the old man and studied the wolf, which studied me in return. “I tell you, Larry, you are one strange animal.”

The ears perked a bit, but that was all.

“There’s going to be a bunch more like me here in a short time and maybe even a helicopter, so maybe you want to get out of here while the getting is good.”

He continued to study me, apparently unconcerned.

“Look, I’m not giving you Abe. First off, he’s not dead, and second, you need to get out of the habit of snacking on people. It’s bad enough that you ate a sheep, if it was you that did it.”

His luminescent eyes never left me.

“What do you want?”

He glanced up the road toward Powder Junction.

“Are they coming?”

Dog barked and started to move back toward the vehicle.

“C’mere, you.” He turned to look at me, longing to ignore my command, but then paced over and sat where he’d been. “Stay.”

The wolf rose up on all fours and even deigned to stretch but continued keeping his attention toward the road, where I could now see flickers of headlights and hear the angry howl of a siren.

Forcing myself to stand, I reached out and grabbed Dog’s collar, holding him fast as my truck’s emergency and off-road lights became visible, along with a few other vehicles just behind. They were closing fast, and I could hear the distant but steady thumping of my least favorite form of transportation coming from the south.

When my eyes returned to the top of the International, in that instant, he was gone.

Glancing around, I felt like I was looking for an apparition I’d summoned up. Walking forward, I continued to hold onto Dog. I peered into the bushes around us and up and down the road, but it was as if he’d never been there.

Dog lurched, and I lost my grip on him as he darted around the Travelall and back to me. Dropping his nose to the ground, he circled the vehicle again, swinging his great bucket head side to side in an attempt to pick up the scent.

With another stab of pain I felt a little woozy, so I placed a hand on the International. “You . . . you can’t track him?”

He sniffed the ground a few more times and then raised his head and whined—perhaps for the first time in his life.

“It’s okay, honest.” I petted his broad head and glanced up the road at the approaching lights, lots of them, and started laughing. I laughed so hard I threw my head back and the next thing I knew I was lying on the ground looking at the left front tire of the Travelall.

Dog was barking and sniffing at my head as I lay there, having difficulty breathing. Dust clouds were broiling up everywhere, and I felt completely disoriented, so much so that I reached out and clung to the tire in hopes that I wouldn’t blow away into the canyon.

The engine of the helicopter and the sirens from the vehicles
were deafening, but I could hear voices and called out even though I was pretty sure no one could hear me. I felt something blow against my jacket sleeve and released the tire long enough to grab ahold of whatever it was. The noise and wind had died down a bit, so I risked opening one eye. The dirt was still swirling, but I held the paper close and chuckled into the darkness as I read the blue-and-white card in my hand—
CASH PRIZES, MALLO CUP PLAY
MONEY 5 POINTS.