Wounded (3 page)

Hanks opened it immediately. “You done?”

“Yeah, I’m done.”

“Mr. Hunt,” Wallace said. He was up now and at the door, gripping the bars in a pathetically clichéd way.

“Yes, Wallace?”

“I’m scared.”

I nodded.

Bucky was still by the dispatcher when I came out. “Well?” he asked.

“Says he didn’t do it, wants me to call his brother in Fort Collins. I think that’s what he wants.”

The horse isn’t supposed to make decisions. That’s the first thing. The second thing is that the rider
is
supposed to make decisions. If the horse gets ahead of you, you might get left behind. That’s the old saying. So, you’ve got to redirect the animal, break the routine, ride him between some bushes for no apparent reason. Don’t let him get chargey on steep hills.

AT THE FIRST SIGN
of the green horse’s nose going up, the trainer should put on a running martingale. If he lets the nose get up, it’s too late to put the rings on.

The next day, I found myself faced with the unwelcome prospect of putting in a call to Wallace’s brother. I didn’t do it right away. I fed the horses, mucked out the stalls, and built a long-needed shelf in the tack room, nicking my finger in the process. Still, I’d said I would call and so I would. I put the tools back into the big red box, congratulated myself for doing so because I never put tools back where they belonged, and walked across the yard to the house. The air was still warm, but I could feel autumn coming. In the house, I settled behind the desk in my study and began cleaning my only rifle, an old Weatherby I’d had for years. I supposed in some way I liked the weight and feel of it, but I didn’t much like guns. Cleaning it reminded me of my father, his insistence on a tidy rifle. He thought one should show respect for the danger and the necessity of the thing. I appreciated the danger part, but the necessity part had only presented itself once, when I found an injured moose up mountain and had to put the animal out of his misery; as the animal had dragged himself around a four-meter circle, I wondered whether I would be ending his pain or my own on seeing him. The moose looked at me as I drew a bead and, in my human way, I imagined his asking for release. I guess I believed that a dirty gun was a scary one. I was pausing to inhale the scent of the gun oil when Gus plunked the phone down in front of me.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“The only time you clean that damned rifle, that you don’t use, is when you’re procrastinating.”

“If that were true, this would be the cleanest gun in the West.”

Gus turned and left the room.

I picked up the phone and called information in Fort Collins. I asked for a Gary Castlebury; how many Castleburys could there be? There were in fact two G. A. Castleburys. I took both numbers and, of course, the first one I dialed was wrong. I dialed the second. A man answered.

“May I speak to Gary Castlebury?”

Silence on the other end.

“Hello?” I looked out the window at some gathering clouds.

“Who’s this?” the man asked.

“I’m trying to reach Wallace Castlebury’s brother,” I said. “Are you Gary?”

“What do you want?”

“Are you Gary Castlebury?”

“What do you want?”

“My name is John Hunt. Your brother worked for me for a couple of weeks.”

“So?” I felt that the man was about to hang up.

“Your brother asked me to get in touch with you. He’s gotten himself into some trouble up here in Highland. Actually, he’s in a lot of trouble.”

“What’s that supposed to mean to me?” the man said. “Quite a lot of trouble.”

“Wallace is your brother, isn’t he?” I asked.

“What kind of fuckin’ trouble is the asshole in now?”

“He’s been arrested for murder.”

Gary Castlebury was silent for a few seconds. Then he snorted, sounding almost like he was laughing. “That son of a bitch is too lazy to kill anybody.”

I didn’t say anything.

“What’s he want from me?” he asked.

“I told him I’d call you.”

“Well, thanks for callin’. You have a nice day now,” he said and with that he was off the phone.

I looked at the dead receiver and placed it back onto the cradle.

Gus had come to the doorway. “So?” he asked.

“That boy’s floating on a river of lava in a rubber raft.” I stood and locked my rifle back in the cabinet. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“It’s none of my business.”

Duncan Camp drove into my place with his single-horse trailer in tow behind his pickup. The trailer was open topped, a white affair with a broad green stripe, and in it stood a truly monstrous palomino.

“What the hell is that?” I asked as Duncan pulled himself out of his truck.

“It’s a horse, John,” Duncan said. “I’m surprised at you. Equus caballum.”

“Caballus,” I said.

“That’s what I said.”

“A horse. You sure?” I asked.

“Pretty sure,” Duncan said. “He’s got a horse brain, I can tell you that.”

“You want him for riding or picking apples?”

Duncan coughed into his fist, then took out a cigarette. “He’s a big one, all right.” He lit up. “Fifteen hundred pounds of dumb muscle and bad attitude.” He looked at the burning cigarette in his hand. “Doctor said these things are going to kill me. But he didn’t say when. I can’t work with imprecise information.”

“So, he spooks,” I said.

“Did I mention that he’s hard to catch?”

“Not until now,” I said. “He trailers okay, though.” It was more a question than an observation.

“He has his moments.”

“My daughter named him Felony.”

“That’s charming.” I looked at the horse’s eyes. Felony looked frightened and he was snorting and prancing in place. “We’d better get him out of there. I want you to stick him in the round pen. Take off his halter.”

Duncan backed the horse out of the trailer; the animal swung his hindquarters around sharply before he was clear of the ramp. The big man lost his balance, but he didn’t fall.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m just getting old.” Duncan turned the horse and walked him toward the round pen. “You gonna start with him now?”

“Might as well see what I’m getting myself into,” I said.

Duncan walked the horse into the pen, removed the halter as I had instructed, and came back out. He stepped onto the observation deck with me, and we watched the animal trot and canter around the circle, one way and then the other.

“He’s a pretty mover,” I said. “Big cus.”

Duncan didn’t say anything.

“What’s he do when you try to catch him?” I asked.

“You might say he can be a little chargey,” Duncan said.

I laughed and looked Duncan in the eye. “How chargey?”

“Oh, he’ll come right at you sometimes. Mostly, though, he just gives you his butt.”

“How hard?” I asked. “When he comes right at you?”

“Varies,” he said.

“So, he spooks under saddle and attacks when he’s not.” I took Duncan’s silence as agreement. I said, “I say we shoot him.”

“He sure is pretty,” Duncan said.

“Okay, we shoot him and stuff him.” I blew out a breath. “Well, I guess it’s time to see what we’ve got in there. Let me have the halter and lead rope.”

Duncan handed them to me. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Call nine-one-one.”

I climbed down the steps and walked into the pen, holding the halter in my right hand and I held the tail end of the cotton lead rope in my left. The other end was still fastened to the halter. The horse pulled up on seeing me and sped away in the opposite direction. He kicked up more dust and when I was in the center of the circle, the horse started storming clockwise around me. I picked a spot on the wall opposite the gate. When the horse approached that spot, I tossed the halter out, hanging on to the end of the rope. Felony put on the brakes, rolled back, and tore off anti-clockwise. When the animal came to the same point on the circle, I tossed out the halter again. This time the horse paused and trotted by it. I talked to the horse the whole time, calling his name, making soothing sounds.

“You okay?” Duncan asked.

“Yep.”

Every time the horse came to that spot, I tossed the halter. Soon the horse was slowing when approaching the spot. After a couple more tosses, he was stopping at the spot and turning to face me. That was what I wanted. I then pushed the horse away with a large gesture of my arms. When he stopped again, I turned my back to him and took a step away. Felony followed me across the pen. I turned and let the horse sniff the halter. He let me stroke his neck. I left the pen.

“That was great,” Duncan said, coming down from the platform.

“I can work with him,” I said. “Is there anything you know that he’s particularly afraid of?”

“John, he’s scared of everything. A squirrel spooked him. Once he caught sight of his reflection in a truck window and took off. Who knows? All I know is I don’t have many wrecks left in me at my age.”

“Well, I’ll work with him for a few weeks.”

Duncan looked at his watch. “I’m late. Hell, I’m always late. I didn’t expect you to start right away.”

“I’ll give you a call when I know more,” I said. We started walking back to his truck. “Are you going to be the one riding him?”

“Mostly,” Duncan said. “Unfortunately, my daughter’s in love with him. She’ll want to ride him. I would like to put other people on him.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “We might have to have Ginny come over and ride him here some.”

“She’ll like that,” he said.

Duncan opened his truck door. “That was great.”

“Well, we’ll see how it goes,” I said.

In my dream, I was working a string of seven green horses. It was too many and I knew it. I didn’t have enough time to train them correctly. Every horse bucked and I found myself resorting to popping the animal I was riding with a quirt. Every time the horse bucked, I’d reach out and whip him on the snoot. But he wouldn’t stop bucking and when I looked over at the hitching post I saw the other six horses, saddled, tied, waiting and bucking in place.

All day long woolly, white clouds had clumped together over the mountains and I expected rain, so I worked like mad trying to get my hay in. But there would be no rain that night. The clouds had already rolled past and so I left off with the last of the hay and saddled my Appaloosa. I packed a canteen and a little food and rode out the south gate and toward the creek. I had to admit to myself that I was bothered by my failure with Wallace’s brother, but I had only said I would call, not that I would get him to come. I was also bothered by my decided lack of interest in Wallace Castlebury’s predicament. I am by nature loyal and it felt bad simply to abandon the man, despite his brief presence on the ranch and despite the fact that I found the man generally objectionable. I didn’t know if Wallace was guilty or not and I didn’t care. He was nothing to me. I wasn’t his lawyer or a cop. I’d made the call and that was it. I hoped the ride would clear my head. Zoe trotted some yards ahead of me and darted off after the occasional rabbit.

The creek was late summer low, a couple yards wide. The Appy crossed it without hesitation, which was unusual, and I took it as a good sign. I had an hour of light left and so I decided to ride all the way to the mouth of the cave and ride back in the dark. I’d discovered the cave several years into living in the area. I happened on it while chasing down a cagey bull back when I ran cattle. The cave was deep enough that I didn’t know how deep it was. Susie and I had taken picnics and camped there regularly for a while. She’d never liked it.

“I don’t want to go any farther,” Susie said.

I turned to her. She was backlit by the entrance to the cave. Still, I could see the fear, if not on her face then by her posture. A chipmunk had found the picnic we’d set up some yards outside the cave.

“I don’t like it in here,” she said.

I pointed the beam of my flashlight into the darkness, showing a twist of passage. I realized that once we made that turn, the outside light would be lost and Susie would really become frightened. “You go on back, I’m going to look a little deeper,” I said.

“No.” She shook her hands at her sides. “This makes me so nervous.” Her voice broke. “I’m scared.”

I went back to her. “I’m sorry, Susie. Come on, let’s go back and have some fruit. If that chipmunk left us anything.”

“I don’t mean to be such a baby,” she said.

We walked out and Susie sat cross-legged on the blanket.

“If it scares you, it scares you. That’s pretty simple. There’s absolutely nothing to apologize about.” I sat and leaned back against a large rock. “I can come back here some other time.”

“I don’t want you to,” she said. “Just the idea of your being in here terrifies me. Really, I’m not making it up.”

“Okay, honey.”

Susie stood. She trembled as she looked down the slope then out over the Red Desert.

I got up and put my arms around her. “Everything’s okay,” I told her. “Everything is just fine.”

“No, it’s not,” she said. “Can we go back to the house now?”

“You bet.”

“I’m sorry, John.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “We’ll go back home. What’s the big deal? Come on, let’s pack up.”

Zoe was back from chasing a rabbit, heeling to the App. I had sneaked back to the cave many times while Susie was alive. She must have known, but she never said anything. I stopped going shortly before her death, feeling that somehow I was cheating on her by being in the cave.

The sun was gone by the time I reached the entrance. I still hadn’t been back in. But I wanted to explore it. I got off and looked into the dark mouth while my horse rested. Then I mounted and started back.

It was good and dark when I loosened the horse’s cinch and walked him the last hundred yards to the hitching post beneath the flickering vapor lamp on the barn. A hatch of white flies darted in and out of the glow well above me. I took off the saddle and took my time brushing the horse. I had started cleaning out a hoof when I noticed a car parked in front of the house. It was a light-colored convertible, seemingly new, that I didn’t recognize. I cleaned all the hooves, led the horse to her stall, and walked to the house. My body felt creaky.

“Who goes there?” Gus called as I stepped into the kitchen.

“Who does the fancy chariot belong to?” I asked.

“That would be mine.” It was Morgan Reese from the neighboring ranch. She was a frequent visitor.

“Hey there, Morgan,” I said. “What’s up with the new wheels?”

“I got sick of driving a truck to Billings,” she said.

“How much will it tow?” I asked.

“Who cares,” she said, “it’s a guy magnet. So where were you? Scaring cougars or kissing elk?”

“A little of both.” I moved to take a seat at the table across from her, but I remembered and felt how dirty I was. “Are you going to stick around and have some dinner with us?”

“Gus already asked and I said ‘you bet.’”