Wild Sorrow (30 page)

“See that meat trail over there? It leads right to you.” Steel walked a few feet away and picked up a small chunk of dark flesh, possibly a cube of stew beef, and held it up between two fingers for me to see, replacing it on the ground. He walked a few yards farther and picked up another piece, which I could barely make out at that distance.

Short, who had stayed close by, leaned over me with an open thermos and poured a cold, dark fluid over my legs and into my lap. “Guess who's coming to dinner, man?” he said, and they both laughed. Even though my nose was parched and frostbitten, I caught the game scent of fresh animal blood and thought of the elk in the meadow and her unborn calf.

Just as the two men were making ready to leave, a bolt of white fire soared through the sky, a shooting star so large and luminous that it swept the ground with light and trailed a silvery streak across the heavens that burned blue, then yellow, and then golden before dissipating. “You know what that means? My grandmother told me that means someone is going to die,” Steel said. “And that someone is you.” The two men chuckled at this as they walked away.

I listened as the UTV chugged away, upslope to the ruin, where it stopped and idled for a few minutes, then drove away. I waited in the blowing cold for the two cougar cubs to find me.

Hungry as they must surely have been, it took the lions nearly an hour to appear. I guessed that they were delayed because they were frightened by having been caged, and were so mistrustful of the sound of the UTV that they cowered in their former den for a while before venturing out. Or maybe the cold wind had dried the meat so much that it had lost most of its scent, and so they had trouble finding the trail. During this hour of waiting, I watched as an enormous full moon rose from behind me and floated high into the sky, pulled upward by the pulsing planet, Mars. The other stars retreated demurely into the background as Grandmother Moon bathed the mesa with her silvery light, as if to spotlight my predicament. But Mars remained—close and large like a brilliant red warning beacon. Momma Anna had taught me that Mars was an ancient elder of her people named Qusayu, a warrior who protected the People. It was my frail hope that Qusayu had brought the moonlight to help me.

But I was not idle while the heavens arranged themselves so gloriously. I spent the whole time wriggling my torso up and down, flailing my bound-together legs against the ground, and trying to sever the rope that pinned my wrists against the pole by rubbing them frantically against it, all to no avail. I had worked my jaw to try to loosen my gag, I had twisted my head back and forth for the same purpose, and the only benefit to any of this was that I had burned enough calories to keep from freezing to death in the howling, bone-penetrating, blood-congealing ice-wind.

After a time, though, I had ceased struggling and had begun to think about my imminent demise. The lament of the ropes that held the bell had commiserated with me, crying out in misery with each gust or gale. I thought of Kerry, his face, his eyes, the wild places he loved, the wild places within him, the way he looked at me, the way he smelled. I thought of Momma Anna and her sweet little, flat smile, the courage she showed in teaching me, her dedication to the rituals of her culture. I thought of Tecolote and her potent medicines, her foreseeing wisdom, and her cryptic way of communication. I thought of Roy, and of Diane, but I tried not to think of Mountain because I didn't think I could bear it. And when I did relent and think of him, my chest hurt so bad that I felt my own heart become the milagro that Tecolote had given me, the one that was cracked in two.

In that same instant, I glimpsed two low, muscular silhouettes in the moonlight—one slightly larger than the other, both of them nose to the ground on the slope above me. No more time to feel sorry for myself; it was time to die. They loped forward from meat bit to meat bit, and the wind carried their voices as they spit and growled, fighting with one another in their hunger over each morsel.

As I saw them coming for me, young and beautiful and starving, I thought that if I had to die, it was perhaps a good thing that it was so that something wild could live. I had worked all my adult life to protect the wilderness and its inhabitants. My body would be my final gift to the wild.

Gift!
Tecolote's voice echoed in my mind:
I advise you to treasure every gift you receive. Even if the thing, it seems small or insignificant, you must treasure it.
I remembered Roy's little gift! I rolled slightly onto one hip and began maneuvering the tips of my fingers into the back pocket of my jeans.

One of the cats caught the scent of the blood, raised its nose to the air, and then lowered into a half crouch and began to creep down the slope toward me. The other followed, and they approached cautiously, but clearly hungry. I tried to make a growling noise through the gag, but it came out as more of a groan, which did nothing to dissuade them. My frost-numbed fingers found the seat belt cutter, but I couldn't get hold of it. The larger of the cougar cubs moved cautiously toward my boots, and I flopped them up and down, startling the two youthful predators into a quick retreat. But they were not completely intimidated. They studied me from a few feet away, their tails flipping with excitement, their cat-minds wild with ideas driven by the smell of the fresh blood. They began to sniff the air and cry, their voices still young and high, but threatening enough. And then they began to circle, unsure how to begin, looking for the best avenue of attack. I plunged my fingers deeper into the pocket and caught the small knife between two fingers. I had begun to maneuver it out when the larger cat made another attempt, this time taking my boot into its mouth and biting down hard. I felt a needle pierce my arch and I cried out and flopped my legs again, throwing the cat off. But this time, the cougar pounced, grabbing hold of my boot with its claws. Gripping my boot in its strong clutches, the cat made ready to bite again, when a blur of speeding fur blew by me from behind and struck the cub with a thud, bowling the attacker off of my legs. Mountain stood up and posed over my boots, teeth bared and growling, the hair on his back spiked in a high ridge, his head low and forward, ready for a fight.

If I could have spoken, I might have cried out with joy. If I'd not been sandblasted dry by bitter winds, I might even have cried. But pinned and gagged and parched as I was, my sole reaction was to freeze, unmoving, in a strange mixture of relief and disbelief. In an instant, I recovered and fingered open the seat belt cutter and used the strong, hooked blade to slice through the ropes on my wrists. It was an amazing tool! No knife could have done it that well.

The cougars hissed and growled as Mountain stood his ground, and I watched as the ravenous cats began to evolve rapidly into killing machines, working to flank the wolf, taunting him in tandem with one swipe at his thigh, then another at his neck.

I worked at the ropes binding my body, cutting one strand without gaining any relief and then finally another, which allowed me to pull my torso free. The cats tried a charge, but Mountain charged back and they retreated. Still, they resumed circling. While one of the cougars menaced Mountain from the front, another moved around to attack me from the back. But, no longer pinned to the post, I was a moving target now, and I turned, scooting myself around to keep my eyes on the cub. That was when I saw the man coming at me with the rifle.

He charged toward me and paused at thirty paces, taking square aim in my direction with his gun. At the advance of this intruder, the cubs had scattered, but the gunman made no notice of that and instead raised the barrel of the rifle slightly, adjusted his line of sight, and prepared to fire—on the wolf! I raised up to my knees and pushed my body in front of Mountain's, holding him to me with one arm while I yanked hard on the gag, finally pulling it from my mouth. “Stop! What are you doing?”

“Move out of the way,” Daniel Kuwany yelled. A gust of wind caused the bell ropes to wail.

I tried to make myself larger, shielding the wolf with as much of my body as I could. “Stop! Daniel, it's me, Jamaica Wild. This is Mountain, my wolf.”

“I know that wolf. I'm going to shoot him. He killed three of my sheep tonight.”

“No, it wasn't him. It wasn't him. He's been in my car. He had a full belly, he had goat meat for dinner. He wouldn't have attacked something if he wasn't hungry. And besides, he didn't have time. It's only been about an hour since . . .” Amazingly, Mountain hadn't moved from behind me.

Kuwany moved to one side to get a better shot. “You got company behind you.”

I turned to look, and discovered why the wolf hadn't budged. The cubs had regrouped and were stealthily moving toward Mountain and the smell of blood on my boots, which were outstretched under him as I stood on my knees.

The piercing
whhhinnnng
of gunfire startled us all, and we froze in still life for a second. Frightened, the young cougars fled rapidly up the slope. Kuwany dropped his rifle and put his hands in the air. Mountain moved around beside me and peered into the darkness. Still standing on my knees, I seized the opportunity to slice the rope binding my ankles, trying to imagine who this next opponent might be. A gush of wind began howling, nearly pushing me over, and it continued unrelenting. Daniel Kuwany's blanket flew out straight from his shoulders, Mountain's mane blew up like a lion's, my hair whipped out from beneath the bag still encircling my neck and buffeted my face, and the ropes on the school bell started weeping and wailing and ululating and groaning and then suddenly a loud
snap!

The great iron bell gave a deep, metallic creak, and then it rang—a deep, round, guttural, gonglike tone. Another deep creak, and then another
bong
from the bell. And another, and another.
Bonnng . . . bonnng . . . bonnng.

I got to my feet as Kerry walked toward us, pushing against the wind, his rifle pointed at the shepherd's chest. He looked at Kuwany, then at Mountain and me, and he glanced up at the bell ringing in the bell tower. The gale subsided, and in a few moments, the bell stopped pealing. Kerry eyed Kuwany with suspicion. “Is he the one who's been—”

“No. But he and I have to have a little talk about wolves and sheep.” I grabbed the shepherd's rifle off the ground.

“So, where are the bad guys?”

“Gone,” I said.

“They didn't go back through Pueblo land. I'd have seen them.”

“Me, too,” Kuwany said. “Whoever did this, I didn't see nobody but you and that wolf and those two cats.”

“How did you know to come out here?” I asked Kerry. “And how did Mountain—”

“Mountain must have opened the car door again. I found the Blazer parked in the corral with the door standing open, and I found your cell phone on the ground.” He reached in his pocket and then held up the Screech Owl. “I returned the last call, and Lorena Coldfire told me what she had told you. I figured you would be out here.”

Christmas Present

On Christmas morning, Kerry drove me near to the address I had written down on my hand. “Slow down, don't get too close,” I said. “Park down the street a house or two.”

“Diane's coming, right?”

“Right. We wait for her call.”

“She's getting a warrant?”

“As soon as she can find a judge who will answer the door on Christmas morning.”

Just then, the Screech Owl sounded off. I checked the display, then punched the button to answer. “Did you get it?” I listened a moment, then clicked the button to end the call. I looked at Kerry as I reached for the door handle. “She's on her way.”

“How do we know if he's there?” Kerry asked.

“I'll find out.” I got out of the truck and closed the door slowly and quietly. My face ached; it was swollen, frost-nipped, and red every place that it wasn't bruised. I had rope burns on my wrists, and a painful little puncture wound from a cat bite on my foot. I was still bruised, scraped, and sore from the beatings, the avalanche, and the explosion of Diane's gas line. I walked up the street to the house, Kerry a few steps behind me, and I recognized the car sitting out front. “He's here,” I said. I glanced down the street and saw two black SUVs coming in our direction. “Here comes Diane. You take the back door.”

I burst through the front door without knocking. I did not draw my weapon, fearing how easy it might be to use it. Eloy Gallegos was sitting in a big leather chair in the corner of the front room, celebrating holiday gift-opening with his family, dressed in an expensive-looking plush black robe and pajamas. He looked up in astonishment as I came through the door. “You!” he gasped, his eyes bulging. “How did you . . .”

Heaps of torn colored paper, open boxes, and lavish gifts covered nearly every inch of the floor. I had been cool and determined before that, but when I saw him sitting in his comfort and luxury, I became furious with rage. Ignoring the woman and the young boy on the sofa, I strode fast across the front room and struck Gallegos with a blow to the abdomen and another to the face, which caused me to shriek with the pain to my hand and my wrist. But I drew back to strike again all the same, when Eloy ducked and rolled over the arm of his chair and then raised up and ran for the back door. I bolted after him and caught hold of his robe, pulling him down, falling on top of him. I bashed him again with my fist, this time in the soft flesh of the side, right under the ribs. He gushed air but pushed me off and scrambled to his feet, grabbing a wooden spoon off the counter and smacking me on the shoulder with it as I started to rise. He picked up a marble rolling pin and struck at me, swiping the air as I dodged to the side, smashing the heavy tool through the wood facade of the cabinet beneath the counter. Gallegos grabbed the handle on the back door and yanked it toward him, but once again, I caught hold of his robe. I wanted to smash his head in the door or even take up a kitchen knife myself, but while I restrained myself from either of these, Eloy seized the toaster off the counter, jerking the cord out of the socket along with it, and he swept it in an arc behind him, smashing it into my right shoulder. I was knocked sideways by the blow but I grabbed the collar of his robe again as I went. Gallegos cleverly shrugged out of the garment and fled out the door in his pajamas. Kerry was waiting, as planned, on the porch behind the house. As Kerry moved to grab him, Gallegos faked to one side, jumped the step, and fled across the yard toward the garage at the end of the drive. Both Kerry and I pursued him, flanking him on either side, while two of Diane's men moved in from the sidelines with guns drawn and ready. I pushed Gallegos from behind and knocked him down. I jumped astride him, ready to strike, but Kerry pulled me off before I could punch Eloy again.