Alicia was standing by Duke’s head. “Is your horse friendly?”
Perry nodded at her. It wasn’t her fault the other guy was being a jerk. “Hold your hand out to his nose, palm down, to say hi.”
She did, and Duke bumped her hand with his muzzle. She smiled up at Perry. “He’s cute. Hey, we’re supposed to be meeting some friends at Highland Park, but we’re running behind because of the storm. Did you happen to see three guys up there?”
Perry started to say no. Then he remembered Eddie had been with two other guys who had died in the crash. They weren’t hikers, though. And, technically, he hadn’t seen the other two anyway. He shook his head. “No.”
Perry’s dad had reappeared. He eased Reno up the trail next to Duke. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
Alicia moved to the side. “No problem.”
The male hiker sneered. “Don’t pander to them, Alicia. They don’t own the trail.”
She turned on him and snarled, “Shut up, Walt. They’re nice people.”
Perry’s dad handed him the reins. “I’ll be back.” He turned to the hikers. “The longer you stand here, the longer we’re all out in this weather. My son was kidding. My horse isn’t going to hurt you or anybody. Move on by.”
Walt grumbled, but he started down the trail again, swinging his sticks.
Alicia whispered, “Thank you. It’s been a hard day. He’s not always like this.”
The two hikers disappeared around a curve in the trail. As soon as they were gone, Eddie scrambled out of the trees and up the trail to Reno.
“What in Hades made you go running off?” Perry’s dad’s cheeks were flushed. He stepped close to Eddie with a finger in the man’s face.
Eddie wasn’t tall, but he had a menacing look that made Perry want to stay far away from him. “I had to take a leak, man. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Without telling anyone?”
“Again, none of your business.”
Perry’s dad scowled. He took Reno back from Perry. “Mount up. We need to get going.”
His dad made a step with his hand and gave Eddie a push from behind. Eddie struggled, wincing, back into the saddle, then cradled one of his arms by the elbow. Perry’s dad turned to Henry and gave the go-ahead hand signal. The horses and walkers started climbing again. The trees thinned back out, exposing the fields of boulders. Now that they were wet, they looked darker than they had earlier. The incline got steeper.
“So, what really happened up there, Eddie?” Perry’s dad didn’t even sound out of breath, but he kept his voice low.
Perry turned his head slightly to the side so he could hear his dad better.
Eddie answered in a nasty tone of voice. “I don’t know. I’m no pilot.”
“Did lightning strike the plane?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“You might know more than you think you do. Did the pilot say anything?”
“No.”
“Did he radio anyone?”
Slight hesitation. “No.”
“Where was the plane going?”
“I told you. Buffalo.”
“Coming from where?”
Another hesitation. This one longer. “The res.”
“Do I know either of the guys who died?”
“Nah, man. They were just Indians. Dead Indians, now.”
If Perry had to guess, Eddie didn’t have many friends. He was almost as disagreeable as Walt the hiker.
A wall of wind hit the line of riders and walkers as they crested the ridge out of the basin. Perry lowered his face to keep it out of the hail and rain that was mostly sleet now. Water ran down rain slickers and horse flanks. The horses pushed into the wind for a few yards, then Henry stopped the group at a convergence of trails marked by a large rock cairn beside a grove of pine trees barely taller than their horses. Wooden arrows pointed from a post that was listing over so far that one of the arrows pointed nearly straight up. With Highland Park out of sight in the clouds, there was nothing Perry could see at their elevation and higher but rocks, rocks, and more rocks. Perry was almost disappointed that his dad was too distracted to utter his usual corny line.
Perry whispered it to himself. “They don’t call these the Rocky Mountains for nothing.” It was good, but not as good as when his dad said it. Perry wrapped his arms around himself.
Henry rode back to Patrick.
“This is taking us too long.” Patrick spoke first, in a low voice that sounded agitated. “I think John’s in shock. His pupils aren’t dilating. He’s starting to get the shakes, and he’s almost hyperventilating. I need to get him to the ER. Perry could do with some attention, too. And Eddie, of course.”
Perry straightened his shoulders. He’d thought John was breathing too hard and quivering. He started to feel guilty for being mad at him. Maybe something was really wrong with him. But John was tough. He’d be fine. He had to be.
“What do you say we take a faster way down?” Henry said.
Patrick squinted and wiped his eyes. “There’s a shortcut back to Park Reservoir?”
“No. But this trail—” Henry pointed to the right, “—will get us down to Little Goose Campground. From there it’s a short ride into Sheridan and a hospital.”
“Not short if there’s no one there to give us that ride.”
“There will be. Little Goose is a popular campground. And if there’s not anyone there, TP Ranch is just a few miles further down the road.”
Patrick pulled at his chin and stared over the ridge back toward Park Reservoir. His lips started moving fast, which Perry knew meant he was in a spirited debate with himself. In some ways, his dad was the coolest guy he knew. A doctor. A hunter. An outdoorsman. In other ways, he was a total geek. Talking to himself definitely fell in the geek category.
Henry said, “I could ride ahead and get help. Spot is young. He’s got a lot left in the tank.”
When Patrick didn’t answer, Perry couldn’t restrain himself. “But we don’t know the way down.”
“It’s just one trail the whole way, son. It empties onto a road that will take you all the way to the campground.”
“But what if you’re not at the campground when we get there?”
“Then you keep going to TP Ranch. You’ll only need to make one turn, a right at a dead end. After that, the road will take you all the way to the ranch entrance. It has a big sign over the gate. You can’t miss it.”
Perry snuck a glance at John, who looked like he was talking to Trish. “Even John?”
“Even John. It’s downhill the whole way from here.”
Patrick roused himself from his thoughts. “How long will it take you to get to TP?”
“An hour and a half, maybe two,” Henry said.
“And us?”
“Twice that, with walkers. But you won’t have to go all the way there. I’ll be bringing you back a ride.”
Patrick nodded. “You’re sure you’re okay alone?”
Henry scoffed. “I ride alone most days on our ranch and up into the mountains there. I trained for Search & Rescue when I was younger. I know how to keep myself safe.”
Patrick shook his head no, but what he said was, “Okay, then. You’d best move on out. Be careful.”
Henry saluted Perry and Patrick with two fingers. “See you down the mountain.”
He wheeled Spot and loped the horse onto the trail on the right, past the rock pile and out of sight.
Perry looked back at his dad. His lips were moving again.
Chapter Seventeen: Visit
Flint Residence, Buffalo, Wyoming
Friday, August 12, 1977, 3:00 p.m.
Susanne
Susanne, Vangie, and Ferdinand surveyed the deck.
“Thank the good Lord the weather is cooperating. I’m pleasantly surprised with how it looks,” Susanne said.
“I think it turned out really nice.” Vangie held out her arms for her baby.
Susanne kissed Hank’s forehead.
It was warm and soft and smelled sweetly of baby shampoo. “Give me one more minute with him.”
“Take all the time you want.”
The migraine that had been threatening her earlier after she learned about Barb Lamkin’s escape had mostly gone away, which was also a pleasant surprise. The medicine she’d taken before her shower might actually be working. It only hurt a little around the edges now, and her vision had cleared. Enough that she could admire their handiwork.
The deck did look nice, and the weather was gorgeous. Blue skies and fluffy white clouds echoed the blue and white crepe paper wound around the top railing of the deck while the yellow sunlight matched the cheerful daisies Vangie had arranged. Balloons in the same colors were tied close to bricks holding tablecloths onto tables. The weather might be mild, but it was still Wyoming after all, which meant breezy bordering on hurricane force winds. The tablecloths had been a find on the remnant table at the fabric store. Brown with cowboys in denim, yellow shirts, and red kerchiefs, their Paint horses rearing with hooves pawing the sky. Susanne had bought the last of the bolt. She’d give the fabric to Ronnie after the party, in case she wanted to make something cute for Will from it. Beyond the deck, the creek burbled, the cottonwoods rustled, and the birds sang. The yard was clear of badger holes. Even her purple, red, and yellow pansies still looked pretty in the flower beds shaded by the deck. And she’d only had to scold Ferdinand one hundred and twenty times, give or take, to stop him from ripping down all the crepe paper. Speaking of which, it was time to put him in the garage, which wasn’t going to make him very happy.
Susanne heard a vehicle pull up out front.
“Do you think it’s Ronnie already?” Vangie said.
“Maybe. Or it could be my sister-in-law.”
“Oh. I’d forgotten she was visiting. Where has she been?”
“She was exploring Main Street in Sheridan today.”
Vangie gave Susanne a significant look. The two women had become best friends, and they thought so much alike that Patrick said it scared him sometimes. No surprise that Vangie understood how Susanne felt about Patricia’s absence. The door to the house opened and shut. Ferdinand started barking.
“Hush, dog.” Susanne called through the screen door, “Patricia?”
When there was no answer, Vangie said, “Ronnie?”
The two women frowned at each other. Susanne handed Hank back to Vangie, shrugged, and headed into the house to see who it was.
Chapter Eighteen: Interchange
Lower Little Goose Trail, Cloud Peak Wilderness, Bighorn Mountains, Wyoming
Friday, August 12, 1977, 3:15 p.m.
George
“Easy, boy,” George said.
Junior slowed as the trail transitioned from the forest road they’d been following to the Little Goose Trail into the wilderness. The scenery didn’t change, however. Pine trees stretching skyward, rain and hail falling down. The normally hard, dry earth sloppy, with mud and water splashing up from Junior’s hooves. But the scent of pine needles, fresh and clean, was as head-clearing as it always was in the mountains, and, truth be told, George didn’t mind the wet. He’d guided clients through it plenty of times. He preferred the snow, but the outdoors was his preferred location in almost any weather. He’d always believed enjoying the wilderness was about being prepared for anything, and he was warm and mostly dry in a slicker over oil cloth.
After a mile or two on the trail, he looked back at his client. “What brings you to the area?”
Orion’s tone was condescending, as it had been the other times George had tried to converse with him on the trail. “The opera and theater.”
George was a little miffed. He was just trying to be nice. The guy didn’t have to be such a jerk. He tried again, anyway. He was curious about the men. “Where are you guys from?”
“Chicago. Best city on earth.”
Finally, a response without sarcasm. But George would have to take Orion’s word for it. He had no interest in cities, except for maybe Denver. It might be fun to see the Broncos play once. But Chicago? Why in the world would anyone want to live there? No mountains. Too many people. Just a bunch of big buildings, concrete, and cars.
They passed a wooden sign beside the trail that read CLOUD PEAK WILDERNESS.
George decided their fifteen hundred dollar payment merited a little bit of information. Feeling like a tour guide, he said, “We’ve just entered Cloud Peak Wilderness. It’s a sportsman’s paradise, and no wheeled vehicles are allowed anywhere back here. It’s nearly as pristine as God made it.”
His announcement was met by silence.
“We’re basically following the East Fork of Little Goose Creek the whole way. If you took it in the other direction, Little Goose runs right through the towns of Big Horn and into Sheridan.”
Silence again
“You guys just let me know if you need a break, something to drink, or have a problem, okay?”
More silence. Apparently, Orion’s comment about Chicago was the only conversation George was going to get from him. He stopped trying. The trail was treacherous and deserved their full attention anyway. It was growing more narrow, rocky, and steep. As they climbed, the temperature was falling, too, and instead of mud now, the hail and sleet were leaving a slick layer almost like black ice on the rocks. Several times, Junior had stumbled, and George heard the sounds of the other horses tripping and sliding behind him, too.
He concentrated on keeping himself balanced in the saddle to help Junior. Truth be told, George wasn’t much of a horseman, not by Wyoming standards. He’d grown up in town, without horses. Riding friends’ horses at sleepovers, he’d only become proficient enough by his teens to keep his dignity when invited to brandings, which were mostly parties on horseback anyway. When he’d taken the outfitter job, he’d been relegated to working with the horses that packed for the hunters. While strength was important, the defining trait of a good pack animal was calmness, so working with them hadn’t stretched his skills. That’s where Yeti had come from—George had developed a soft spot for the two-thousand-pound draft horse. He’d bought him for a good price at the end of last season, when the animal was deemed too old for any more hard-core seasons of heavy work. But Yeti was as solid as ever for the occasional job, like today, even in the mud and the ice. The Lunker was holding his own with a level head, too. It was Junior that made George nervous. He’d never ridden the Quarter horse in conditions like these, and he wasn’t turning out to be as surefooted as George would have liked.
George pulled up at a creek. It was an idyllic spot—at least, it was when the weather was nice—with a tumble of big mossy boulders up and downstream. Only a short section near the trail was suitable for crossing. It was still strewn with rocks, but they were small enough for the horses to navigate, and the crossing wasn’t too deep or difficult, except for the daunting climb out on the far side.
After taking a moment to examine the creek bed to make sure things hadn’t changed too much since the last time he’d come this way, George urged Junior into the water. Junior acted like it was scalding him, even though he was already sopping wet, and he hotfooted through it on shaking legs, dragging the pack horses with him. When he reached the other side, he jumped up the three-foot incline. George managed to hang on, just, no thanks to Yeti and The Lunker. The bigger horses had made it through the creek fine, but when Junior made his leap, they nearly pulled him over backwards by the pony lines. Junior yielded to the pressure on the saddle horn, landing sideways in a wide stance.
George took a few deep breaths then plastered a stoic expression on his face and turned to encourage the others. He wasn’t going to give away how close he’d just come to breaking his neck. “This is a good spot to cross, but only one at a time. Give your horse a loose rein. They know how to find their way through. Your job is to stay on and not get in their way.”
Orion and Luke looked skeptical, but Juice was flat out terrified.
“Whoa, Boss. I didn’t s
ign up for this.” His voice squeaked.
Orion grasped the saddle horn. “If you don’t cross, you’re looking for a new job.” He kicked his horse’s sides with more force than necessary. The animal tucked its hindquarters and jumped forward. It slowed at the water and picked its way through the rocks, making a lot of racket and lunging up the other side but less violently than Junior had. Orion tipped, swayed, and lurched, but he stayed in the saddle, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
“Good job, sir,” George told him.
Orion scowled. “This is costing us time.”
Luke took a deep breath. “Yah, horse.” He smacked it on the rear.
His horse took the creek in three splay-legged leaps then vaulted up the bank, ramming Luke’s forehead into the limb of a tree on the other side. George winced. The man fell backward, screaming expletives. He kept his seat, although George wasn’t sure how. When he pulled up beside Orion and George, blood was dripping into his eye, and he wiped it away, shaking it off his hand.
Orion raised an eyebrow at him.
“Taking candy from a baby,” Luke said.
On the other side of the creek, Juice stared at the water then behind him, back and forth, back and forth, like he was ready to turn tail for the truck.
Orion nodded at George. “Let’s go.”
George was aghast. “You want to leave him?”
“He can ride all the way back to his sainted mother for all I care. We’re doing what we came to do.” Orion kicked his horse, who pinned its ears but moved forward. He wasn’t winning any points with the animal, and George knew that if it got the chance to ditch Orion, it would.
Luke followed Orion. George hesitated, blocking the trail. Juice could try to ride back, but the truck was locked. George wasn’t about to give him the keys, either. But lack of shelter and a ride weren’t going to be Juice’s problem, because there was no way his horse was going to stand for being separated from his buddies. Not by a novice and a stranger in an unfamiliar place.
Snaggle Tooth Page 10
