The Red Dog Ranch
Virginia City, Nevada
November 15, 2012
During the last mile of their walk, Tess had been running off, nose to the ground, hackles raised, and disappearing into the pinyon and juniper woods on either side of the trail. Elijah Hawkes hoped his dog hadn’t found herself a bear or a bobcat. He had his boot knife, as always, but he hadn’t brought his bow, and he’d damn himself for that if the opportunity presented itself. Elijah had always wanted to bag a bear—he’d even reserved a spot for the head on the wall in his game room.
The shadow of the ridge was already upon them. It was only late afternoon but night came on early here deep in the basin. Elijah whistled for his dog and heard her trotting through the underbrush before he saw her.
“Heel, Tess.”
She fell in line, just off his left boot. Tess was a great dog. All German wire-haired pointers were smart, and they were good hunters, too, but few matched this one. At age four, she was seventy-five pounds of pure muscle under her white and liver-spotted coat. Her face was what gave her character, though, with her reddish-blond bushy eyebrows and beard and her golden-yellow eyes.
Those eyes looked up at him now as she whined softly.
He was about to ask her what was wrong when he heard the yip-yip from the mountain far above them.
Coyotes.
Elijah stopped and swung his head around to pinpoint the direction of the pack. He knew it would be that pack. There were four coyotes he recognized who roamed the hills around his ranch, and one of these days he was going to send his hired man Caleb out to shoot them. They were pests who stole his chickens and spooked the horses.
“Come on, Tess. You pay them no mind. Let’s get home.”
When Elijah started up the trail this time his pace was quicker. It was no good slowing down and getting lost in thought when this walk was a cornerstone in his daily regimen to keep his body in top shape. That was a requirement of his business—at least of what his business had evolved into. And he was very good at everything he did. Now, it would be best to get Tess inside away from that damn pack. He took his hands from his pockets and swung his arms at his sides as he lengthened his strides. The cold air stung his lungs and the bare flesh of his fingers. It would certainly dip below freezing tonight.
Soon the trees thinned and he could see the two-story wood-framed ranch house in the clearing halfway up the side of the ridge, smoke puffing from the stone chimney and the yellow lights in the windows welcoming them back. The house, his house, nestled into the hillside like it belonged there, like a God-made natural part of the ridge. Caleb would be setting the table for his evening meal. Elijah could see his own breath now as he climbed the hillside. He slowed his pace when he rounded the barn and the empty horse paddock. Tess trotted ahead and sat by the kitchen door. All of this belonged to him. He’d come a long way from that troubled kid getting into fights on the streets of Reno, running away from his older sister and guardian. He’d done all right for himself.
Elijah settled into his comfortable leather chair in front of the fire in the game room that doubled as his study. Elijah found that when he needed to write reports or read difficult mining texts, the heads of the deer, wild boar, mountain lion, and all the others calmed him, put him into a sort of transcendental state. There were times when he even talked out loud, though he’d not admit to anyone that he was in fact talking to the animals. He’d done his best work in here.
He stretched out his legs and admired his new boots. They were handmade black Lucchese American-alligator boots, and they’d cost him over four grand. Right now they looked pretty much like any pair of dusty cowboy boots, and that thought made him smile. Caleb would clean them later. Yes, he thought, looking around the walls of his favorite room, the good Lord had favored him.
Tess trotted in and placed her wet muzzle on his knee. He didn’t scold her. Caleb would have filled her water bowl after the long walk, and she deserved the drink. Elijah reached for the scotch he’d poured himself earlier, and thought, We’ve both earned our drinks after that trek. Tess would eat her evening meal later when he did—though hers would be out in the kitchen with Caleb. He scratched her ears, and she closed her eyes in bliss. Though his servant might feed her and care for her while Elijah traveled, it was clear to him that the dog recognized and revered her master. She was a purebred animal, after all.
“All right,” he said. “That’s enough.” She turned for the door, then stopped, ears up, head cocked to one side, staring at the black window. Elijah didn’t hear a thing, but he had grown accustomed to his dog’s supersonic hearing. If it was a serious threat, she would let him know. Most of the time, she was just being curious about the night sounds of the wilderness.
“Tess, go on. Go lie down.”
From the end table next to his chair, he retrieved a folded-back copy of Western Miner Magazine, and he returned to studying the advertisement for the double-layer trommel with submersible water pumps and a hydraulic-powered belt for the hopper and sluicing box. It was for sale up in the Yukon. They were asking half a million, and he wondered what they’d really take for it.
His phone pinged and vibrated. He straightened out one of his long legs and pulled the phone out of his jeans pocket.
It was a text message from the Brightstone Security Group, the corporate front for his real employers. Problems at the Benguet Mine in Baguio. Booked you on 11:30 a.m. flight San Francisco to Manila.
He leaned back into the soft leather and a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. Back to the Philippines. This was good. He’d wanted to go back for several months now. Much as he loved the ranch, winter was setting in and Caleb wasn’t the best company. He closed his eyes and pictured Esmerelda, the young girl he’d met the last time he was in Manila. She was fascinated with the dragon tattoo on Elijah’s back. It had that effect on Asian girls—his preference. Esmerelda was a tiny little thing who barely spoke more than a few sentences in English. But what a body. Much better company than Caleb.
Elijah looked up when he heard a long mournful howl not far from the house. The yip-yipping started up again—more excited now, it sounded almost like screaming. Then he heard Tess’s deep warning bark, also from outside the house.
Elijah flew up out of the chair and stormed into the kitchen. “Goddammit, man, why did you let the dog out?”
Caleb Penn stood at the kitchen sink washing lettuce. He wore a black apron over his blue work shirt. As he stepped to turn, his right shoulder dropped and he hitched his body around, swinging his artificial leg with it. “She was scratching at the door. I figured she had to pee.”
“What kind of a moron are you? Are you deaf as well as crippled?” Elijah yanked opened a drawer and rummaged around until he found his LED flashlight.
“Tess can handle herself against a coyote, I reckon.”
Elijah grabbed his coat off the peg. “But not against a pack.”
When Elijah stepped outside, his eyes weren’t yet accustomed to the dark. The night was pitch-black, but he knew his way around the ranch blindfolded, so he took off at a trot. Tess’s barking sounded close; he figured they had her surrounded in the woods on the other side of the paddock. He’d heard that a lone coyote would often come into the yard acting all doggy-friendly-like to lure the domestic dog off to the spot where the pack waited. It sounded like that spot hadn’t been very far away this time.
When the barking stopped, he slowed down. He didn’t want to come on them so fast they’d turn on him—he hadn’t brought a gun. He had only his boot knife with him, but in his hands the blade was all that would be needed. He was at the tree line anyway, and he couldn’t hit a target he couldn’t see, regardless of the weapon. Though his eyes had adjusted to the night’s darkness, it was darker still inside the woods.
Ahead of him he heard low growling. It was Tess. They must be closing in, and she didn’t like it one bit.
At once the night exploded with yipping, growling, and cacklin
g that sounded like maniacal laughter. The coyotes had moved in for the kill.
He clicked on the powerful flashlight. More than a hundred feet ahead, through the trees, the beam reflected off a pair of sly eyes that glanced in his direction for a second. Then the animal’s head turned away from the light, and the beast lunged forward. In the shadows he saw a blur of moving fur.
The beam of light bounced as Elijah ran yelling at the snarling pack. He heard Tess yelp once and then growl and snarl. He figured she was giving as good as she got. When he was about fifteen feet away from them he saw one animal slink off into the darkness. Another followed after.
He was surprised the other two hadn’t fled also. They seemed not to notice him in their bloodlust. Tess was standing her ground, teeth bared and hackles raised. She was bigger than both of the coyotes and was swinging her head from one to the other, daring either of them to attack.
Elijah reached into his boot. When one animal stepped forward to nip at Tess, Elijah drew back, aimed, and let the knife fly at the other. He felt satisfaction from the sharp cry. There weren’t many men who possessed his strength or skill with knives. The knife had plunged deep into the fur at the base of the coyote’s neck, and the beast’s legs collapsed. The blade must have injured the spinal cord.
The last coyote fled into the trees.
Tess limped toward the downed animal, her low growls loud in the suddenly still night. In the light from his flashlight, Elijah saw her ear was torn and bleeding.
He called her name. When he reached her side, his dog gave his hand a single lick, then she turned back, lowered her head, and growled again at the injured coyote.
Elijah patted her side, then passed the light over her body, checking for damage. He saw numerous blood spots in the wiry hair on her back. Closer inspection showed them to be puncture wounds. One of her back legs had a bone-deep gash. He waved her back and told her to stay.
He knelt next to the downed animal and saw the white-rimmed eyes and flared nostrils as the coyote struggled to move his paralyzed body. The tongue hung out the side of his mouth and clouds of foul-smelling steam puffed out from his labored breathing. Elijah reached his arm out slowly, not sure how much movement that head and mouth were still capable of. Then in a single, quick movement, he pulled the knife out of the flesh. He heard the animal’s breath catch as the head twitched and blood oozed out across the matted fur.
Tess whined. Elijah stood and swung the flashlight around. In the beam of light he saw his dog lying in the dirt, licking at the gash on her leg. He heard a low animal-like noise and realized it was coming from deep inside him.
Elijah turned back to the filthy beast and felt his jaw muscles tighten. The flashlight fell from his hand.
He grabbed the bloody fur at the nape of the coyote’s neck, then yanked up the head and pulled his blade across the taut throat. Blood sprayed over the ground. Elijah grunted and shook the head. The body, attached only by the bones of the spine, appeared to dance in the dirt. Then he dropped the carcass and stood still, breathing in the cold night air through his nose, smelling the overpowering scent of fresh blood.
“Caleb!” he shouted when he burst through the back door after carrying Tess half the way home. She could walk on her own, but not fast enough for his taste. He wanted the gash on that leg seen to sooner rather than later. Coyotes were foul creatures.
There was no one in the kitchen. “Caleb! Where the fuck are you?” He set Tess down on the floor.
“I’m right here,” Caleb said as he limped through the doorway from the dining room. “I had to take a piss.” He reached for the dog. “Shit. What happened to Tess?”
Elijah grimaced as he shrugged off his coat. Caleb was efficient, but the man’s missing leg and Godless foul manners infuriated him. “What do you think happened? She’d be fine if you had one iota of intelligence in that heathen head of yours. The coyotes got her and that’s on you. Now get your first aid box and fix her up or I’ll kick your no-good drunk ass back to that rehab center where I found you.”
When Caleb returned with his medical kit, Elijah lifted the dog onto the butcher block island in the center of the kitchen. Caleb cleaned the wounds and Tess watched him with unflinching eyes.
“Bring her to me when you’re finished cleaning up your mess here,” Elijah said. As he left the kitchen, he took a rawhide bone from the cupboard. He would reward the dog when she was cleaned up. With all his recent travel, Tess was spending too much time with Caleb.
Back in his game room, Elijah drank off the rest of the whiskey and moved to the bar to wash up. He pulled the bloody knife from his leather boot sheath and set it on the bar. He squirted some dish soap onto his hands and scrubbed his wrists and forearms hard. As he rinsed the suds out of the black hairs on his arms, the pink foam swirled in the water at the bottom of the stainless sink. Drying his hands, Elijah turned and admired his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He reached up and ran his fingers through his black hair, pushing the stiff hairs back into the short upswept curl over his widow’s peak.
He heard the buzz as his phone vibrated on the end table. He folded the bar towel, crossed the room, and picked up the phone. He read the new text message from his contact at Brightstone.
Come armed.
Elijah nodded and set down the phone. He walked across the room and stood in front of the large glass cabinet that displayed his collection of knives and swords. The three samurai katana were among his favorites. One was a thirteenth-century Kamakura blade and it had cost him nearly half a million. He rubbed his hand over the dark stubble on his chin, then returned to the bar and picked up the bloody boot knife. He ran his finger through the coagulating blood. Then he carefully cleaned the four-inch double-edged steel blade and slid it back into its sheath.
Aboard the USS Bonefish
Sea of Japan
June 18, 1945
The sonar man pulled off one side of his big headphones. Although it had been more than ten minutes since the last depth charge exploded, he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “It worked, sir. They’re leaving.”
Several men in the control room sighed audibly. Ozzie checked his watch. They’d been down listening to those damn kabooms for more than two hours.
The Japs hadn’t bought their ruse right away. When the bits of wood and the oil popped to the surface, it seemed they weren’t sure whether the sub was really gone or not. They had continued dropping their cans of hell. But now it looked like the waiting game was over. After no more sign of life, the destroyer was finally moving on.
It was nearly four o’clock. Ozzie was starved. He never did get that lunch, but he decided to wait and see what happened once they reached periscope depth.
“Up scope,” the skipper said.
The old man made a quick check around the horizon, then stopped.
“Destroyer bears zero-one-three, range three miles.” He stood back and folded up the handles. “Down scope.”
“You don’t mean to chase her, do you?” Ozzie asked.
“No. I don’t. Day’s almost done. We need to surface and recharge. I just want to know where to go hunting tomorrow.” He spread his arms, grasped the sides of the chart table, and looked thoughtfully at the chart. “Let’s get out of Toyama Wan for now. Put her on a heading of three-five-zero.”
Ozzie was finishing off a ham sandwich in the wardroom a couple of hours later when a crewman appeared in the doorway. “Skipper wants you on the bridge, sir.”
He nodded, then shoved the last bite in his mouth and followed it with the dregs from his coffee cup. He was tired of this war, tired of orders, and sick of the men who still believed in it. He’d joined up back in 1940 after working for his old man at the bank for a couple of years. Some of his buddies from university had suggested getting in before the rush, and he’d thought being an officer would mean he could give the orders for a change. Rah-rah guys like Commander Johnson hadn’t seen the sort of action Ozzie had, first with the Signals Intelligence S
ervice and then the OSS. Now he just had to survive until the damned Japanese figured out they’d already lost this war.
He headed topsides.
The sky was clear and there was no land to be seen anywhere. The sun was about to kiss the horizon. When Johnson noticed him, the old man handed Ozzie the binoculars and pointed slightly right of the setting sun. “Look over there.”
Ozzie raised the glasses to his eyes. It was one lone life raft and what looked like only two men inside. One man was waving while the other, his head shaved bald and dressed all in white, sat up straight, his back rigid. The heading of the sub was swinging around to aim for the raft.
“It looks like there are only two of them,” Ozzie said.
“Yup,” the skipper said. “I don’t like it.”
“What do you mean? You think it’s some kind of trap?”
“I don’t know exactly. My gut’s giving me warning signs, and I’ve learned to trust my gut.”
After a couple of seamen pulled the two survivors aboard, they led them up to Ozzie and the skipper atop the conning tower. The man in white was a Japanese officer. On the left breast pocket of his tunic was a bright red circular emblem trimmed in gold thread in the shape of a chrysanthemum flower. The design caught his eye, and Ozzie wondered if he had seen it somewhere before. Above that was a wide row of colorful medals. At his waist, he wore a sword. Ozzie could see that he was some high officer, but he had no idea in what branch. He’d never seen this uniform, and the insignia on his epaulettes was just as baffling.
The other one was just a boy, no more than fifteen years old, and clearly not Japanese, nor was he in military dress. Ozzie thought he looked Filipino.
The Japanese officer reached down to his belt and released his sword and scabbard. He held it out horizontally at arm’s length and offered it to Commander Johnson.
Dragon's Triangle (The Shipwreck Adventures Book 2) Page 3
