One way or another, with or without Juice, that horse would be coming with the group.
“Where are you going?” Juice screamed after Orion and Luke.
Luke turned his bloody face back to his twin brother. He grinned, exposing red teeth. “Don’t get eaten by a bear, you big cry baby.” Then he faced the trail again, bouncing along behind Orion.
Juice’s horse started huffing and pawing. “Hey, you, trail guy. What’s wrong with this horse? He’s going crazy.”
George shouted, “Hang on tight.”
The animal exploded across the creek as Juice screamed like the hounds of hell were on their heels. George wasn’t even sure if more than one of the horse’s hooves touched the water, which was a good thing, since the panicked animal was past being careful about footing and could have broken its fool leg. George lost sight of it for a split second, then it was up the bank and shaking water off like a dog. The horse trotted straight over to Junior, and George grabbed one side of the reins, which were still looped over its neck.
Juice was not with the animal.
George didn’t care what Orion and Luke did. He couldn’t leave a man behind, fifteen hundred dollars or not. Especially not a man who was on the ground, possibly injured. All he could hear from the creek was groaning. But groaning noises meant Juice was alive and probably conscious.
“Juice? You all right?” he shouted.
The clattering hooves of two horses told him that the other men hadn’t stopped.
“You guys, wait up,” George said.
No one answered. The hoofbeats continued up the trail.
George sighed. He walked Junior back to the creek, tugging three horses behind him. Just as he got to the edge of bank, Juice’s head appeared above it. He crawled over it on all fours. He was covered in mud, including one whole side of his face. Otherwise, he appeared all right, without a drop of blood on him. Slowly, shakily, he stood, not meeting George’s eyes. He delivered a few choice words to his horse, then snatched the reins from George.
“Need a hand?” George said.
Juice ignored him. He spent the better part of the next minute trying to climb on, first pulling the saddle sideways and having to right it and tighten the cinch with George’s coaching, then slipping through the stirrup with his wet city boots. Finally, he led the horse to a fallen log and climbed on. Without a word to George, he took off after his buddies. His horse decided to set the pace and broke into a fast lope, with Juice’s legs bouncing like they were on marionette strings.
“No, no, no,” he shouted, in perfect cadence with the horse’s stride.
“Nice, buddy,” George muttered. Maybe I should have just left him.
He turned and rode after the men. He hadn’t gone fifty yards before the trail split. To the left was a short cut up to Highland Park. It was poorly marked and too boggy for wet weather use. To the right was the trail they needed to take today.
Muddy hoof prints led to the left. They had taken the wrong fork.
George looped the reins over his saddle horn and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey. Hey, you guys. You went the wrong way. Come on back.”
“George?” a man’s voice said from his right.
George hadn’t heard the man and horse approach. When he turned toward them, he saw a rider with a low-slung hat protecting his face astride a nice-looking young gelding, but George couldn’t help noticing the frothy sweat on the horse’s neck and sides. The man lifted his hat brim.
George smiled at the familiar face. “Henry Sibley. Hello, sir. Heck of a day for a ride, isn’t it? What are you up to?” Henry owned the Piney Bottoms ranch, and he’d had George out to do some electrical work a few months before.
“Sorry to be brief, but I’m hustling down the mountain. Got someone injured in our party, and I’m going ahead to arrange for a ride.”
That explained the animal’s signs of exertion. “Anybody I know?”
Henry paused, then said, “Perry Flint got his mouth busted up. And we ran into some other trouble up there. I’d tell you more, but I’m in a huge hurry.”
“Jiminy crickets!” George hit his forehead with his fingers. “That’s right. You were coming up here with them. I was just at their house yesterday. How can I help?”
“The rest of the group is further up this trail. Tell them you saw me and that everything is on schedule.”
“I will. Listen, my truck and trailer are down at Hazel Park. I can give you my keys. I’d take you myself, but I’m up here searching for some missing persons with a paid group that just ran off and got themselves a few hundred yards down the wrong trail.”
“That would be much appreciated. But I don’t want to leave you stranded with your clients. I’ll only use your rig as a last resort. If I do, I can have it back in a few hours at the most.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just leave the keys on the back passenger side tire of the trailer, if you would.” George retrieved the keys from a zippered pocket inside his jacket and handed them to Henry.
Henry nodded. “Listen, I really need to go, but I sure thank you for your help.”
“No problem. Good luck.”
Henry saluted him and took off, his horse loping easily toward the creek. George caught a last glimpse of the animal’s rump and tail as it descended the bank, and then they were gone.
Seconds later, Orion and his crew rode up behind him from the left fork of the trail.
Orion said, “Whyn’t you tell us which fork to take?”
George turned back to his clients and forced a smile. He was fast growing sick of this man. He muttered, “Because you probably wouldn’t have listened to me anyway.”
“What?”
“I said let’s make up some time. Follow me. Yah.” He slapped Junior on the rump. Junior hopped in surprise before settling into a lope, jerking Yeti and The Lunker along with him up the narrow trail. Trees limbs smacked George in the face, and from the sounds behind him, were hitting the others, too, but he didn’t slow down.
He wanted all the distance he could manage to put between himself and the disagreeable men from Chicago.
Chapter Nineteen: Consider
Upper Little Goose Trail, Cloud Peak Wilderness, Bighorn Mountains, Wyoming
Friday, August 12, 1977, 3:15 p.m.
Patrick
Patrick led Reno and Eddie past the cairn that marked the start of Little Goose Trail. The group was single file behind them, heads down. With nothing to slow it down, the wind barreled through the saddle. He started across the ridgeline and trudged through it. Ahead of him, he could see the trail winding its way into a boulder-strewn meadow.
“I’m really starting to hurt, man,” Eddie said.
Patrick wanted to tell him to suck it up, but his medical training and ethics kicked in. There were many days when he cursed the Hippocratic Oath. First, do no harm. Yeah, right. Its guidance had caused him and the people he loved plenty of harm. Yet how could he ignore a person in pain? Wasn’t that in and of itself causing harm, when he had the ability to help? It was this exact phenomenon that drove him to risk his life for others, time and again. Even to rescue murderers who might not have been the most deserving of his mercy and assistance.
He sighed and halted Reno. “I thought you said you were okay?”
“The pain is getting worse. My shoulder and my elbow especially.” Eddie clutched his arm.
Patrick turned to the others. “Hold up, kids.”
“It’s so c-c-c-cold.” John’s shaking had gotten worse, and Patrick didn’t like how sallow his skin looked.
He looked around him, down the trail in front of them, behind them, and up the small summit along the ridge to their right. His eyes stopped there. He thought he saw a small cave up in the boulders, ten or fifteen yards off the trail. It would only take a minute to hobble the horses. The others could take shelter there with him while he took care of Eddie.
“Let’s get out of this weather. Follow me,” he said.
He walked Reno up toward the rocks. As he got closer, he saw that the cave was more of a west-facing overhang, really, but deep enough that it would provide shelter from the wind and the wet. He set Trish and Perry to work hobbling the horses while he retrieved his medical kit from Reno’s bags. By the time he had it out, John and Eddie were already under cover. Patrick helped his kids finish the hobbling job, then the three of them scrambled under the overhang. Trish sat by John, and Perry perched on a rock a few feet away from them.
Patrick didn’t even look at Eddie. “I need your shirt off so I can get a good look at you.”
Eddie tried to lift it over his head, but he grimaced and stopped. Patrick shook his head. He’d messed up. He should have forced Eddie to submit to an examination up on Highland Park. Adrenaline can mask pain and some serious injuries. The incident with John and Perry, the storm, and the crash had distracted him. And maybe his dislike of the man had made him easier to distract.
Patrick peeled the shirt off of Eddie, who hollered something blue as it jostled and lifted his injured arm. “Sorry.”
With his shirt off, Eddie’s stomach was concave, and Patrick could see a lot of it. His too-large jeans rode low on his hips, exposing the waistband of his underpants. Patrick wondered why he didn’t wear a belt. He hated that his daughter was in here and could see the man. He tossed Eddie’s shirt to the ground. It felt heavy, and it hit the dirt floor of the cave like it was holding something heavy. Patrick glanced down and saw what looked like a bundle of money sticking out of the breast pocket. Eddie reached out with his foot and pulled the shirt over to himself, covering the bundle in the process. If it had been a bundle. None of my business. Not illegal to be carrying cash.
Patrick pulled a pen light out of his bag and shined it in Eddie’s eyes. The pupils reacted normally. Next, he did a visual examination of Eddie’s head, neck, extremities, and torso. The man had several gashes and would have some wicked bruises on his left side. He uncapped the hydrogen peroxide. Its slightly sharp odor was fleeting. He put some on a cotton ball and cleaned the cuts with it, then applied antibacterial ointment and some adhesive bandages.
He moved on to the joints, deciding to start from the bottom. He reached for an ankle.
Eddie jerked it away. “What? No, man. It’s my side that hurts.”
“I need to be thorough. I should have done this at Highland Park.”
“And I need you to quit wasting my time. Get your hands off my legs. Nothing below my waist, understand?” Eddie’s glare was malevolent.
What the heck is his problem? But Patrick had already known Eddie was not a nice person and prone to behavior that didn’t seem rational. He thought back on Eddie’s movements. He’d had plenty of time to observe him, walking, getting on and off Reno, and riding with his feet in the stirrups. He hadn’t seen any signs of foot, ankle, hip, or leg injuries. He didn’t want to be negligent, but it wasn’t worth a violent confrontation.
“Fine.” He began rotating Eddie’s arm joints, one by one, saving the obviously injured left shoulder and elbow for last. When he got to them, he clucked.
“What?” Eddie flinched as Patrick touched his elbow.
“Hold still.”
Patrick palpated up and down the arm first, looking for signs of obvious breaks and finding none. He turned his attention to the swollen elbow and sagging shoulder. It looked like Eddie had taken the brunt of an impact with the arm.
“Well, I can’t do an x-ray to be sure, but I don’t think you broke anything. Looks like a hyperextended elbow and a subluxation.”
“A what?”
“Shoulder dislocation. Do you have a history of them?”
“A few.”
“So, you’re familiar with putting it back in place.”
“Yeah, and it hurts like mad.”
“Yes, it does. It will be even worse because your elbow is hyperextended, too. But we need to do it first. Then I can put you in a sling for the elbow. You ready?”
“Now?”
“Now. The sooner it goes back in, the easier.” It was already more swollen than Patrick liked. This wouldn’t be easy for either of them. “Lie down on your good side for me.”
Eddie did, gritting his teeth. Patrick grasped the man’s wrist and pulled the left arm down and out, slowly and steadily. The muscles resisted, spasming in protest. Patrick kept up the pressure, willing the ball of the shoulder joint back into the socket, but, still, it refused to cooperate. Sweat had beaded on Patrick’s forehead. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only about thirty seconds, he finally felt a clunk as the shoulder re-located.
Eddie’s shriek rattled Patrick’s skull. For a tough guy, he wasn’t very stoic. Patrick looked at him closely. His skin had grown pale, which wasn’t surprising. Patrick guided him back up to a seated position and pushed his head between his knees. While Eddie was recovering, Patrick retrieved an ace bandage and some old rags out of his kit. Patrick helped him put his shirt back on. Now, Patrick could see the breast pocket sagged with a stack of bound bills. He was surprised at the amount of cash the man was carrying, but he supposed it was because he was traveling. Working fast, he bandaged the elbow then fashioned a crude sling and slipped it over Eddie’s wrist and shoulder.
Again, Eddie let loose a string of unprintable words.
Patrick started re-packing his bag. “The good news is that I can’t find anything seriously wrong with you, besides the elbow and shoulder. The bad news is that riding down is still going to be painful.” Patrick rifled through his supplies. He’d given Eddie ibuprofen earlier. “Do you have any problem that you know of taking painkillers? I can give you some Tylenol with codeine.”
“Just give them to me, man.”
Eddie downed two pills with the canteen of water Patrick handed him. Patrick closed the bag. Only then did he think about his audience of teenagers. Eddie had probably added color to their vocabularies. Trish saw him watching her and looked out of the cave. He turned his attention to the boys. John’s pupils were still dilated. His shaking was a little less noticeable, though. Perry’s lip was twice it’s normal size, but his bleeding had stopped.
It was like he was running a field hospital up here on the mountain. He shook his head. “All right. Henry’s going to be waiting for us with our ride. We have to get moving. Anybody need anything else before we go?”
The kids shook their heads. None of the bright eyes and bushy tails of that morning when they’d left Park Reservoir. Or, at least, when Perry and John had left it. Trish had been flat all day.
He decided to unhobble the horses himself to give everyone else a little longer out of the elements. “Okay, then. Everyone wait here for a minute.”
Patrick adjusted his slicker and marched out. The weather hadn’t improved. Sleet and wind, which drove cold deep into the bones. He shivered. His thoughts turned to Susanne as he unhobbled Reno. He hoped she was having a better day than him. He missed her, at the same time as he was glad she wasn’t here. He would have hated to put her through another bad mountain experience. She was probably having a great time with her friends. Holding babies and throwing a party—two things she loved. He would have loved to be back there with her. He wanted to wrap her warm body up in his arms, to soak in her heat. He stopped himself before he could take the thought further. Now was not the time to be thinking about his wife’s warm body. Next, he wondered if Henry was making good time. But from Henry his mind quickly turned back to Eddie Blackhawk. And the more he thought about Eddie, the angrier he got.
He didn’t trust the man.
He moved on to Goldie’s hobbles. Eddie had given Patrick plenty of reason not to trust him before. Eddie frequented the Fort Washakie Health Center during Patrick’s visits, not because of medical issues, but to hit up his sister Constance for money. Then there were the illegal poker games he ran at the T-ton Ranch. And the threats he’d made against Patrick.
Patrick leaned down and unfastened the hobbles around Duke’s legs. Now here Eddie wa
s, the only survivor of a plane crash in the Bighorns, supposedly onboard to visit family in Buffalo. But Patrick had racked his brain, and he couldn’t think of any Blackhawks in Johnson County. As a doctor, he crossed paths with just about everyone sooner or later. It didn’t mean there weren’t any, but it seemed unlikely.
Still, what was there not to believe Eddie about now? So, he’d jumped off a horse without telling anyone to run into the woods to relieve himself. That was hardly a crime. And the man had survived a high-altitude plane crash. He needed their help. Patrick should be concentrating more on that and less on reasons to doubt him.
He just couldn’t shake the distrust he felt.
Holding four sets of reins in his hand, Patrick unbuckled the last set of hobbles—from Plug—and returned them to the saddle bags.
“Let’s go, everybody,” he called.
The kids and Eddie made their way from the overhang to the horses, hunched in their slickers. The group was dragging more all the time. For once, he wasn’t sorry they weren’t going to be camping out that night. He couldn’t wait to get home—after a trip to the emergency room—and sleep in his own bed with his beautiful wife. He wouldn’t have admitted it aloud, because he didn’t want to make John feel any worse, but he was freezing cold without his jacket under his slicker.
As he held out his hand to give Eddie a leg up onto Reno, a man’s voice called his name.
“Patrick.”
Patrick turned toward the voice as Eddie grunted and lurched back to the overhang. What the heck was wrong with him now? Patrick tented his eyes to see better through the sleet.
George Nichols was riding up the trail, ponying a big draft horse and an oversized nag.
Chapter Twenty: Surprise
Flint Residence, Buffalo, Wyoming
Snaggle Tooth Page 11
