The horse snorted his pleasure as they stepped into the sun, some two hundred yards from the creek bed below. Simon looked upstream, and saw the narrow defile that had prompted his climb two days before. He looked around for the dog and couldn’t spot him, then urged the horse toward the creek.
On nearly level ground again, he turned downstream. Ahead loomed the first of several outcrops of rock that partially blocked their way. Simon carefully maneuvered the horse over the rock-strewn ground. The head-high wall of mountain granite on his right made him nervous. As they approached a wider section of the trail, he caught a glimpse of something moving.
“Spud?” He glanced uphill, and then toward the creek. Nothing.
Simon halted his horse, and looked up at the horse-sized boulders on the hillside. Nothing moved, but the feeling of a presence was strong, and the back of his head tingled with fear of the unseen. He tugged the rifle loose in the scabbard, and reset it, the feel of the cold steel reassuring. As he straightened in the saddle, his horse snorted, and a tremor coursed through the animal. He cast about for the cause of the horse’s agitation. The sight of a mountain lion, crouched in the trail fifty feet ahead, snatched his breath away. The yellow eyes, unblinking and steady, were fixed on Simon’s own, and the tip of the incredibly long tail twitched back and forth like a metronome.
He rapidly sorted through his options: turn and run, charge straight at the cat, or shoot it. He didn’t want to expose his back, and a charge might be met with a countercharge. Simon reached behind his leg to grasp the stock of the Winchester, thankful he had eased it loose only moments before. The long barrel slid clear of the scabbard, and Simon swung the rifle to his shoulder. He pressured the horse with his left knee as he levered a round into the chamber.
The horse wouldn’t turn toward the rock wall, and snorted anxiously. Simon realized that the twitch of the cat’s tail had stopped, and the belly of the animal lifted off the ground with a fearful ripple of bunched muscle. Panic rode hard over his common sense, and standing up in his stirrups, he aimed over the horse’s head, struggling to center the front blade on the cat.
He took a heavy blow on his right shoulder a fraction of a second after the sights settled and the trigger released the hammer. The Winchester recoiled with the crash of the shot, and the horse reared back as the concussion slapped the top of its head. Simon, the Winchester still in hand, was bowled off the horse by the weight of a second mountain lion.
He landed flat on his back in the willows, his mind gathering information frantically, trying to work out what was happening. The second cat splashed into the creek, and the first cat let loose an ungodly howl as the heavy bullet poured fire into its lungs. The sound of his horse bolting up the trail was nearly lost on him.
Simon scrambled to get up, and had barely reached his knees when the second cat turned to catch sight of him. The deadly concentration in the golden eyes matched the ferocity of the hissing cough as it bared yellow-brown teeth. Simon could not get the rifle unsnarled from the willows, and could only watch as the cat dug its claws into the bank, and lunged at him.
Spud sank his teeth into the cat’s cheek as he flashed by. Ninety pounds of enraged canine twisted in the air as his clamped jaws ripped the cat’s upper lip back. The dog tumbled into the willows. Growling ferociously, he scrambled to his feet, seized the cat’s tail and furiously twisted his head back and forth. Tawny hair flew in every direction as the lion defensively blew its fur, and with a screaming snarl, jerked loose of the dog’s grip. In two twenty-foot leaps, it disappeared over the outcrop.
Spud rolled the fist-sized patch of hair and skin out of his mouth, and shook his head. Breathing heavily, he looked at Simon for a moment, and then in the direction the lion had gone. He growled nervously, walked over to Simon, and sat down, shivering. Man and dog sat silently, touching each other for reassurance.
The horse had not run very far, and its limited brain was concentrated on the lush grass by the creek, the smell of the cat long gone, and therefore no longer a threat. Simon mounted, and after some coaxing, rode the horse past the dead feline, and out into the widening valley. Several hours later, Simon smiled in anticipation at the familiar sight of Tay’s dugout, and the blue-gray tendril of wood smoke winding into the sky.
Tay stepped out of the dwelling as Simon whipped his reins around the hitching post.
“Thought it might be you. Sit yerself down there and I’ll be right out.” He ducked back into the dugout.
Simon sat on the log bench by the door, and leaned against the warm wood. He could hear Tay fussing around inside, and a couple of minutes later he came out.
“So, heard ya took a little trip.” He handed a tin cup to Simon and sat down.
“Spent the strangest two days I’ve ever lived,” Simon said. “I saw things I’m not sure were real.”
“Walks Fast said ya would. I cain’t get too worked up ’bout that stuff, but I know what ya mean.” He grunted as he settled back against the wall. “It’s the bein’ alone, the emptiness of the place thet gits ya. Ain’t nothin’ to in’erfere with yer thoughts. I love it.”
“Then you do know what I saw?”
“Didn’t say I didn’t. I jist don’t set no store in the spir’t’chul part.”
“I was raised kinda religious. Pa always read to us from the Bible on Sunday evenings, and I heard Ma and Pa pray when things weren’t goin’ right. I listened, but I never did seem to get the same feeling they had. I felt kinda guilty about it then.”
“Like ya shoulda felt like they did?”
“Yeah. Sometimes, I could see their faces light up when they were done prayin’. Like they had seen something I hadn’t. Up there in the mountains, I think I saw a little of what they did.”
“See, thet’s the spir’t’chul part I’m talkin’ ’bout. I know exactly what yer sayin, but yer puttin’ into it what ya want. Yer lookin’ fer somethin’. Be damn careful t’ remember what the question was when ya think see the answer.” The old man’s eyes glinted in the afternoon sun and Simon couldn’t tell if it was a smile of mischief or satisfaction.
Simon nodded his head, and gazed across the meadow toward the creek. The distinct smell of autumn permeated the air, and made the coffee taste that much better. The two men were silent for several minutes. Then Simon put his cup down on the bench. “Do you think that maybe we lose track of where we were going when we stop moving?” He continued to gaze across the valley.
“I git the sense yer gonna ask me something I can’t answer.”
“I left home ’cause I was disappointed. Nothing turned out like I’d expected it to. And since I’ve been here, things have gone real good. I mean, I’ve got money and a good job. I like the people here, and you and Walks Fast have been like my folks.”
“But?”
“Yeah, but.” Simon shook his head sadly. “But, somehow I think I’m missin’ something.”
“I want ya to think about this, Simon, and I kin talk cuz I been exactly where you are now. I ain’t been this old all my life, ya know.” Tay turned sideways on the bench and looked Simon full in the face, a half smile flitting across his lined features. Then, his expression turned serious. “When the things thet matter the most to ya are pushed aside by things that should matter the least, it’s time t’ change where yer beddin’ down the mule.”
Simon started to speak, and Tay put up his hand. “Think on that, boy. Don’t worry on it, jist think. Now git outta here. All this philosophizin’ makes my head ache.” He softened the order with a warm smile.
“Okay. Thanks for the coffee, Tay . . . and the talk. Maybe I’ll see ya Sunday for breakfast.”
“Maybe so.”
Just before he rounded the first bluff, Simon turned to see Tay, still sitting in the sun in front of his dugout. He wished he felt the peace that the image offered.
It was nearly a week before Simon could find the time to go see Walks Fast. The day turned out blustery and cool. Smoke made tentative dashes for fre
edom past the wind flap in the tepee top, only to be snatched and torn apart by the vigilant wind. Simon had not stopped completely when Walks Fast stepped out and held the flap back.
“Come in out of the wind.” The welcome in the Indian’s face gave Simon a warm rush.
He climbed off his horse, and looped the reins around a pole driven in the ground by the entrance. Holding his hat on his head with one hand, he stooped, and entered the warm, earthy-smelling interior. He could see no one else. His nostrils flared as he breathed the unusual smell. Boiled meat, wood smoke, body sweat and tanned hides blended to produce a sense of being, he thought, almost primeval. It felt both alien, but at the same time, on some more primitive level, familiar.
“Sit. The women are gone.” Walks Fast took a seat by the low fire, and waited for Simon to speak.
“I went to the mountains as you suggested,” Simon said.
“And now you want to tell Walks Fast what you saw?”
“Yeah, I talked to Tay about it a little, but he wasn’t very empathetic.” Simon watched the Indian’s face to see if the fancy word had registered.
“It is because he does not want to say what he knows is true. Some men deny what they see because it is hard to tell others. Words come out wrong and make a man look foolish. Tay is empathetic, but he is wise man too.”
The smile on Walks Fast’s face told Simon he had just been caught looking. A bit chagrined, he fussed with the robe under him, then realized what he was doing and folded his hands in his lap. “I saw my folks, just as clear as though they were there. And several other people. I thought my chest was going to blow up, it felt so full.”
Walks Fast’s face softened. “That is a good thing. Their spirits were with you, and they will know in their dreams that they were there. Their hearts feel full too, and they wonder why.”
“What was I supposed to learn? You said I would learn up there.”
“I said the spirits would show you the truth. Spirits can only open your eyes. You see what you know.”
Simon sat quiet, not really understanding what the old man was saying, but not wanting to ask. I see what I know? Then, he said, “I had to kill a catamount.”
“I know. Bad spirits will make your path a hard one. The mountain cat did not want you to come back here. Bad spirits were in the cat.”
“There were two of them.”
The old man reacted as though he had been hit from behind. His eyes went wide, and he mumbled something unintelligible. Walks Fast shut his eyes and took several long, slow breaths. “I must rest now.” He looked at Simon. “I must think. I’ll see you soon.” And he shut his eyes again.
Simon stood, looked at the stoic face, and left the tepee, very confused, and a little scared.
CHAPTER 18
Weeks later, the stinging bite of the driven snow banished every thought from his head but one—get out of the weather. Simon pushed down on the top of his hat, and hunched his shoulders against the cold. “Gawdamn wind,” he muttered as Spud hunkered down by the saloon door, anxiously waiting for Simon to cross from the house. He stomped his feet on the porch, and then pushed open the door. “All right there,” he said as the dog rushed past, and headed for the horse blanket by the stove. He hurriedly shut the door, then took off his hat and slapped it against his leg.
“How long is this going to last?” Lori asked rhetorically. She sat at their table, hands wrapped around a porcelain cup.
“I’m beginning to think we’re doomed to never see another person.” Simon walked to the stove, and turned his back to it. The wind drew air up the chimney and fanned the fire inside the stove, producing a fierce heat. He turned and reached for the poker leaning against the stack of wood.
“I just filled it,” Lori said. “Come and sit down. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
Simon shrugged out of his coat and walked to the hooks by his office to hang it up. He had just sat down when Lori returned, and put the coffee in front of him.
“I hate the wind,” she said as she reclaimed her seat and fidgeted with a spoon.
“Me too.” He picked up his cup and looked at her. “Don’t worry. He’s safe in a camp.”
“It’s that obvious, is it?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I can’t help it. I’ve never seen it last this long.”
“When I was a boy, we had a storm like this, and it covered our house. We were stuck in there for days. Pa had to dig a tunnel to get to the chickens. Froze most of ’em. I’ll never forget that.”
“But this is so late. Good grief, it’s February.”
“Could be worse. We’ve got enough wood and plenty of food. Zahn will be the same.”
“Where’s Buell?”
“Sleepin’. That’s his solution, sleep through it. You’d think he was part bear.”
“Same with Amos and Twiggs. Haven’t heard a sound.”
Simon leaned back in his chair and studied her for a moment. “Do you ever have second thoughts about working here?”
Her lips pursed, and her jaw worked slowly back and forth as she pondered the question. “You mean because of the . . . what do we call it . . . sinful nature of the place? Are we part of it?”
“I guess that’s what I mean. And I don’t mean you’re . . . well, you know, I—”
“We’ve talked about this before, Simon. We all have to do what we think best. I’ve never told anyone here, but I’m a divorced woman.”
Simon’s jaw dropped and he blinked rapidly as he faced her. “You’re what?”
“You heard me. Zahn is my second husband. It’s why we left home. We had to.”
“I . . . uh—”
“Can’t help but change the way you look at me, can it?”
“No! It’s not . . . I mean, I don’t care—”
“But it does, Simon, and you do care. And that’s my point. Since you had your experience out there in the wilds, you’ve been bothered about being here. We are the same people as we were before you went up there.”
“I know that. And I’ve thought a lot about what happened. I went to see Walks Fast, and something I said upset him. I’ve been back twice since then, but he’s gone. When I ask where, his wife just says, ‘Mountain.’ A person can’t live up there this time of the year. Anyway, it’s becoming less and less clear what that trip of mine meant.”
“Sometimes, Simon, where we are is what we are. We adapt to our circumstances. Do we become sinners if we live with the sinful? I suppose we do, a little. And how much can we change before we are no longer ourselves? I don’t know. That old Indian has experienced a lot. Maybe something you said reminded him of his younger days. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“You could, Lori, but that’s my problem: I’m not. I sometimes wake up at night wondering if I’m lost. And then, two or three brandies with some friends the next evening, and I feel fine. Is that normal?”
“I think so. But you give me too much credit. I’m only thirty years old, Simon. Seems more like a hundred and thirty sometimes, but in those years I’ve learned we don’t always have the luxury of satisfaction. Sometimes we just have to make do.”
“Sounds like I’ve missed the best part,” Amos said from halfway down the stairs.
“No, just waitin’ for the wind to change,” Lori said. She winked at Simon. “Come and sit down, Amos. I’ll get your coffee.”
The February blizzard was as bad as anyone could remember. It snowed and blowed for almost two weeks, then cleared out and got almost warm. Folks spent March waiting for mud holes to dry out, and getting wagons unstuck from those that hadn’t. By April, the first signs of spring were welcomed universally by both man and critter. May brought the first influx of hunters, treasure seekers, and all the other people, out to experience something different in their boring lives. They descended on McCaffrey’s ranch, drawn like bears to a honey tree.
Zahn was sitting at the appointed breakfast table when Simon and Buell came in. They hadn’t even sat down before Lori
brought their coffee. She stood close to Zahn as she poured two cups. He wrapped his arm around her hips and pulled her close, tucking his head into her side. “Sure missed ya, hon,” he said.
“We can tell,” Buell said with a grin.
“I would have been here a month earlier, but they needed me to see the ties downriver. I’ve never done that before, so it was interesting.”
“Ya mean they float those things to where they need ’em?” Buell asked.
“Yep. I stacked thousands of ties above the river. When the ice was gone, we knocked the supports loose and the whole mess went flyin’ down the hillside. Hell of a sight.”
“Did ya go with the ties?”
“No. I understand they catch ’em downstream at wide spots in the river, then carry ’em on wagons to the yard by the rail line. I coulda done some of the haulin’, but I wanted to come home.”
“Home?” Lori looked at her husband’s face. “First time I’ve heard you call this place home.”
“It’s where you are. That makes it home.”
“So what are you going to do now?” Simon asked.
“I’ve been offered a job at the sawmill. They’re putting in a steam engine and another saw. I made good money at the tie camp, but that’s a miserable place. Wet and cold for five months, and the cook was not a Lori.”
“That’s good news, Zahn,” Simon said. “I’ve been thinkin’ about maybe showing Lori more about the business end of this place. Amos thinks it would be a good idea too. What do you two think?”
“Ya know, I thought about a lot of things up there. When we came here, it was just a stop on the way west. And we were looking for a place to maybe settle. I’m a sawyer and I’ve been offered a sawyer’s job. Does it matter if it’s here or in Oregon?” Zahn looked up at his wife and Simon saw a flicker of relief cross her face. “Lori and I haven’t talked about this specifically, but I think generally, she agrees.”
“I sure do,” she said. “I love this job, and the girls I work with. I’ll go wherever Zahn does, but I’d like to stay here.”
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