CHAPTER 18
“You’re never going to believe this,” Dean Howe said into the phone, “that stray of yours is back in the pasture.”
“You’re kidding,” Rum said, “What the?”
“The gate was open, maybe somebody returned him.”
“You mean you think someone found him?”
“Got any other ideas?”
“No,” Rum said, “Can you have a couple of hands out there this afternoon? I’ll send a trailer.”
“Yeah, be there about two.”
Rum hung up. He took his glasses off, set them on the desk.
“What do you think about that Dinero?”
At the sound of his name, the dog raised his head off the floor and looked up. Rum reached down and scratched the dog’s neck. Then he called Connie.
“Can you drive?”
“Sure.”
“Have Oyster hook up the trailer for you. Take it over to the pasture at Bar W at two and pick up that stray bull calf.”
“Someone found the stray?”
“Apparently.”
“Hm. Where do you want me to put him?”
“I’ve got the vet coming tomorrow to give the bulls a check up. Might as well have him look at this one too, check him for brucellosis at least. Take him over to the bull pasture for now.”
“Yes sir” Connie said. She doubted that the calf could have contracted brucellosis, since the disease was passed on through contact with the placenta of an infected cow, and the bison calving season was well past, but she wasn’t going to question the boss’s instructions.
Continue Reading January 11th, 2009
CHAPTER 8
Rum Feldon sat behind the wheel of his black Yukon Denali parked in front of the gate at Bar W’s pasture. He lifted his cell phone and punched in Kerry Johnson’s number.
“I’m sittin in front of the pasture, and I’m not seeing that calf anywhere” he told the Bar W foreman.
Johnson replied, “Hey it’s gotta be there, Howe and I just saw it yesterday.”
“Well it’s not here now, believe me.”
“I’ll be right there” Johnson told him. He jumped into his truck and sped over to where Feldon sat waiting. They both got out of their vehicles. Feldon handed him the binoculars he’d been using to scan the pasture. Johnson completed a study of the area, handed the glasses back to Rum and said, “Can’t understand it, there’s no break in the fence anywhere. You don’t suppose it jumped?”
“Might’ve”
“Guess you’ve got a breecher then, want some help rounding him up?”
“No, I’ll get a couple of my guys on it” Rum replied.
Johnson nodded and returned to his vehicle.
Rum walked over to his truck and was putting his binoculars away when a load of bird shit landed on the shiny black hood. “Dammit!” he yelled and looked up to see a raven flying off toward the hills cackling, “Haw Haw Haw!”
CHAPTER 9
Mark had been walking through the brambly sage and juniper bushes since late last night after Clowers had lifted the rope off the gatepost and let him out of the pasture. Following the raven’s instructions, he kept to the path of the moon and sun. Clowers had warned him that the Ranchers would come after him. His best bet the raven had said, would be to get some distance between himself and the ranch, head in to the high country where the trees would conceal him. He didn’t even stop to eat, just tore off mouthfuls of grass along the way. By mid-afternoon he’d made it across the sagebrush strewn high desert and was nearing the forested foothills. He stopped to drink from a small stream, crossed it and walked into the cover of the pine trees, leaving a trail of hoof prints in the mud.
The shrubs and trees became denser and taller the farther up Mark traveled. It was rough going and several times he had to double back and find another way. When he came to a thin dirt trail meandering up the mountain that seemed to take him in the general direction of the sun’s path, he followed it. He was moving lazily with his head down, feeling hungry and tired when he caught a glimpse of something ahead on the trail. He stopped, raised his head and stared hard for a moment before he realized there was an animal standing only a few tail lengths in front of him. It was tall and slender like a horse, but it was hard to see because its light brown fur blended in with the background and something like tree branches grew out of the top of its head. It held very still, observing him with large round eyes.
“Hello” Mark said and took a small step forward.
The buck turned and bounded away with a swiftness and agility Mark had never seen in any cow or calf. Gosh, I hope I didn’t offend him, Mark thought. He was disappointed that he’d missed his first opportunity to meet a wild animal.
Mark headed up the trail and reached the top of a ridge just as the sun was setting. The trail continued through the trees along the ridge to the north. It would be easy walking, but would take him in the wrong direction. He looked to the west, where the sun dipped below the top of another ridge. In between, the forest was thick with trees choked by dry undergrowth. Mark sighed and started picking his way down the slope through the heavily wooded terrain.
Clowers glided over the calf and landed in a nearby pine tree.
“You’ll want to find a safe place for the night,” the raven advised him.
Suddenly, Mark remembered his mother’s warning about the dangers of the wilderness.
“What do I need to be safe from?” he asked.
Clowers turned his head and preened his tail feathers with his beak.
“Predators” came the muffled reply.
“What’s a predator?”
Clowers stopped preening, faced the calf and said, “Animals that’ll want to make a meal of you…wolves, grizzly bears, mountain lions. They generally hunt at night.”
The raven bent his neck, stretched out his left wing and began smoothing out the underside with his beak. Mark’s eyes grew large as he realized the implications of the raven’s words. Animals. Meal. Hunt…hunting…him. Eating…him. He crumpled to his knees and moaned.
“Hey take it easy there fella.”
Clowers flew down and landed on the ground in front of Mark.
“Maybe you better eat something.”
“Uh thanks, but I don’t feel much like eating right now. I’m a little worried about being eaten. Why didn’t you ever tell me about predators?”
Clowers looked annoyed, took a few steps away from the calf, then turned and said, “For pete’s sake, you never asked. Besides, I just figured you understood the risk. If safety is so important, you should’ve stayed in the pasture.”
“Maybe I would’ve if I’d known about the predators” Mark shouted back.
“Oh really?” Clowers glared at him.
Mark was silent for a moment, remembering the burning curiosity that drove him to go beyond the fence. The lure of seeing what was Out There had been irresistible.
“No I guess not,” Mark conceded.
“Mmm hmm,” the bird said, “now just calm down and listen to me, you’ll be all right. Go stand next to that outcropping of rocks. There’s some grass you can eat. I’ll fly around the area and make sure it’s clear. Stay there until I get back.”
The bird flew away and Mark ambled over to the rocks. After he’d eaten a few mouthfuls of grass his fear subsided, his head cleared, and he considered his dilemma. His mother had warned him about the danger beyond the fence, and the raven had just confirmed it. Now he had to make a choice between remaining free with the risk of being killed by a predator or returning to the pasture where the Ranchers would keep him safe. So far, the wilderness had not lived up to his expectations. Still, he hoped to meet some of the wild animals Clowers had mentioned, other than predators of course.
Mark moved toward the base of the rock wall to nibble some tender green sprouts. A sudden dry rattling sound came from above his left ear. Mark stepped back and surveyed the jumble of multi-colored stone, trying to locate the source of the sound.
On a rock ledge a few feet from the ground, he saw a circle of scaly flesh. At the edge of the circle a bumpy tail vibrated, making the sound that had caught Mark’s attention. From the center, a flat earless head emerged. A slender forked tongue flicked in and out of its mouth. Mark was mesmerized by the odd circular animal. He took a step closer.
Clowers swooped from the sky and dove between the calf and the snake yelling, “Mark back away! Back away NOW!” Mark quickly scrambled into the trees as the raven made a dive at the snake. The reptile’s head lunged forward and Clowers pulled up just in time to avoid its snapping jaws. The snake coiled again and readied itself for another strike, but the raven didn’t give it the chance. He flew to the tree where Mark was hiding, watching the action.
“That was close,” Clowers said.
“What is it?” Mark asked.
“Snake” Clowers spit the word in disgust.
“You said I needed to watch out for wolves and bears and lions. You didn’t say anything about snakes.”
“Haw Haw, forgot about snakes” said Clowers.
“Anything ELSE I should know about?” Mark looked up at Clowers with narrowed eyes.
The raven lifted a wing and dipped the feathered tip in the air four times, “Wolves, bears, lions…snakes…yep that’s it.”
“That’s it huh? You’re sure now. That’s it?”
“Oh knock it off. You’re ok aren’t you?” Clowers replied, “No thanks to instinct. Most animals know to stay away when they hear the sound of a rattlesnake, and cattle are naturally afraid of almost everything, but not you. Your curiosity is going to get you in trouble.”
Clowers was starting to regret opening that dang gate for this ungrateful calf. But since he was responsible for letting him loose, he was going to have to figure out a way to keep him from harm. Otherwise Mark might as well go on back to the ranch and face castration.
“Let’s get something to eat and find a place to spend the night” Clowers said.
Mark nodded and followed the raven in to the forest. The animals he’d met so far hadn’t been very friendly, but this day had been more exciting than any he’d spent in the unremarkable confines of the pasture. He wasn’t ready to give up on the wilderness just yet.
CHAPTER 10
Feldon left the Bar W and arrived back at the Casablanca to find Walker returning a chainsaw and goggles to the tool shed.
“What’s up?” Feldon said.
“Oh hey there Rummy, just clearing some brush,” Walker replied, “You know, I thought I’d help out with some of the work around here, since there doesn’t seem to be much for me to do. Startin to feel more like a vacation than a job, heh, heh”
Feldon was skeptical. For the life of him he couldn’t think of any brush on the property that needed clearing. Sounded like Walker was making excuses to play cowboy again. So let’s see how he’d take to some real work.
“Well as a matter of fact,” Feldon said, “I’ve got a prime assignment for you. I want you and Connie to go after a stray that’s loose in the hills above Bar W. That dog of yours any good at tracking?”
“Oh sure. There was this one time when…”
“Tomorrow morning early, grab your gear and meet Connie at the stable.”
“I can be ready at the whim of a hat. Uh, will someone have my horse saddled up?” Walker asked.
“I’ll tell Colwell.” Feldon said over his shoulder as he walked to his office. This is perfect, he thought. Powers would be holding a meeting of his Energy Task Force at the Casablanca tomorrow. Rum had been wondering how he was going to keep Walker from nosing around.
An hour after sunrise Connie and Walker rode across the back pasture and through the gate separating Casablanca’s property from the adjoining Bar W grazing land. Walker rode the black gelding, Coattails as usual. Connie was on a small roan mare named Tanker. Wolfy and Rover ran ahead of the horses sniffing their way from bush to bush and stopping now and then to explore a prairie dog hole.
When Rover saw the cattle grazing at the north end of the pasture, he barked and took off toward the herd. Wolfy raced after him. Rover ran straight up to the heels of one of the cows and nipped hard. The cow yelled and swung its back end away from the dog, but Rover ran around behind and nipped again and then again. The rest of the cattle scattered to get away from the aggressive dog. All of the activity excited Wolfy and he started barking and chasing the cows too. Now the whole herd was agitated and emitting sounds of fear and alarm.
“Hey would you call your dog off?” Connie said as they approached the chaotic scene.
“Aw he’s just havin some fun” Walker said, “He’s a real cowdog ain’t he?”
“Actually,” Connie said, “the dogs aren’t supposed to worry the cattle that way. Makes them skitterish and hard to handle when there’s a real task to be done.” She yelled out to Wolfy to heel, and the dog obeyed.
Walker called, “Rovey heel,” knowing full well that that the dog had never heard those words before and wouldn’t comply. He chuckled and said, “Guess he’s busy right now, he’ll come along in a minute or two.”
Connie frowned and kicked her horse into a trot. They left the pasture through the back gate and threaded their horses through the thick sage. To the left and right of the trail, towering red rock hoodoos marked the entrance to the Absaroka range of the Rocky Mountains.
“They look like big dicks, heh heh,” Walker said and gave Connie a wink.
She quickly looked away from the phallic rocks.
“We’d better hurry up or we’ll be camping tonight,” she said.
They’d prepared for that possibility; their saddlebags held tents, food and cooking gear, and they each had a bedroll strapped to the rear of their saddles, but Connie was hoping to avoid spending the night with Walker. She didn’t much care for his crass humor or his tedious self-promotion.
While Rover meandered around looking for something to kill, Wolfy sniffed out the trail of the calf. Even where there were no apparent hoofprints, the dog’s keen smell kept him on track. By noon they’d reached the top of a ridge where the calf had apparently left the dirt deer path he’d been following and headed west through the forest. A little while later they came to a rock outcropping where Wolfy ran around in circles whining.
Connie swung her leg over the saddle and jumped to the ground. She knelt down, examining the faint imprint of hooves in the dirt.
“The calf was here all right,” she said.
Wolfy left the tracks and ran to the base of the rocks. He was joined by Rover. The two dogs sniffed the dirt, now and then glancing up at the rock face and whining.
“Something sure has got their attention,” Walker said. He leaned onto the saddlehorn and peered up at the rock face, trying to figure out what the dogs were so excited about.
“Come on, this way,” Connie said as she mounted her horse and guided Tanker into the trees.
“Kinda hot out here Rice-a-roni. Ain’t it about time for a nap?” Walker said, eyeing the grassy ground in the shade of the rocks.
Connie cringed. Why did he insist on calling everyone by cutsie nicknames? He’d laughed loudly when they’d been introduced. “Pilaf!” he’d exclaimed, “like the rice?” Ever since then he’d called her Rice-a-roni.
“I think we should keep going, that calf can’t be too far now. We could still get back to the ranch by nightfall.” She whistled to Wolfy, who trotted ahead and picked up the scent of the calf. Walker reluctantly lifted the reins, turned Coattails away from the perfectly good rest area and followed Connie into the forest.
December 21st, 2008
Think you're a big bad macho type. Then walk in Hem's loafers with blogger David Frey as your guide.
Blogger David Frey continues tracking his hero throughout Europe with a trip to one of Ernest Hemingway's favorite haunts.
"Writers, a breed full of need, are a painful planetary species to emerge from both primordial bog and unspeakable blog," blogs the Con Man. "Take it from me, a writer who is about to make a real pain in the ass out of himself about…writing. After decamping to the Aspen Ideas Festival, I came away thinking that no one is more terrified of the future than the writer of fiction. A panel devoted to writing in the digital age had a quartet of terrific writers—playwright John Guare, short story writer Tobias Woolf, and poets Dana Goia and Barbara Ehrenreich—but they were all but clueless when it came to the new confusion under discussion. In this grave new world of new media—an Amazonian world of Kindles, iPads, and Nooks—the Ideas Fest showed a willful disdain of the evolution of literature into new forms, even as session after session extolled the virtues of Twitter, Facebook, and 'Living Digitally.'”
