by Brian Gore
Those pack horses knew what a nose bag was and came at a trot to get their reward. In a few minutes they were haltered and tied into a string, with Ben back in the saddle and riding for home.
By three that afternoon he'd returned to the ranch with his string. He loosed the horses in the home corral and set about sorting out a light, spike camp, to go horse hunting. His plan was to be horseback and riding, headed for the high country and his horse herd, when the sun broke over the eastern horizon the next morning.
The rising sun found just that. Ben, Toby, the three, now loaded, pack horses, and a second saddle horse, were five miles up the trail when the first bright streaks of sunlight broke over the horizon.
A.H. was too old to run along any more. He was left with a three day supply of dry food in a bucket, and no shortage of water in the trough. Ben didn't like leaving him, and A.H. didn't like being left behind, but really, he no longer had much urge to go along; and he knew Ben would return.
For the first time, in a long time, daybreak found Ben Jensen sober. There was a down side though. He suffered through the affects of his recent sobriety with a subdued case of the shakes. He fought those with frequent stops and cups of hot coffee from the steel thermos bottle stuffed into a saddle bag. By noon, he and his small string were well up into the hills.
It was in this country he felt as close to whole as he could feel these days. As close to anything that seemed like a church that he could abide. He sat in the sun on a rock outcrop of the mountain, eating the sandwich he'd packed for lunch, as he looked out over the prairie far below. Stretching eastward it faded into the hazy distance, rolling away from the mountains.
His horses grazed the slope behind him. Cinches loosened, pack ropes tied up, his bridle hanging on his saddle horn.
He sat on the rock, on that sunny slope, and smiled. Life might be a misery, but today... he was home... and today... he was a Cowboy! There was nothing else he'd ask for, on this day.
By mid afternoon they had climbed to the set of working corrals where he planned to set his camp. The remainder of the day was spent pitching his tipi, hanging his panniers where the bears couldn't reach, and cutting and splitting enough firewood to carry him through what he hoped would be a very few days, gathering his horses.
He was weary not only from the ride up and the work setting up camp, but from the nagging affects of, not, drinking. Ben turned in early, climbing into his bedroll, soon after sunset.
Ben was an odd drunk. He could choose to not drink... in fact, felt little need to when he was hard at work. It was in the quiet times, down below, amongst the people of the lowlands... that life caught up with him. When the agony of his life grew into too heavy a burden, and the only thing that seemed to lighten the load, or soften the pain, was to fog his brain with the bottle.
Tomorrow would be a day of hard riding. He silently hoped he would find himself still up to the task if it happened to get "western". A smile creased his face as he half hoped that "Western" it would be!
Dawn found him up and burning his breakfast in a cast iron skillet over an open fire. The battered, once enameled, coffee pot sat steaming on a rock beside it.
He squatted beside the fire as the sun brightened the sky. A tin cup of coffee warmied his hands in the chilly, high mountain air. Yes sir! It was mornings like this that kept some small flicker of hope alive in his battered heart. How could you not feel the life that remained, on a morning like this?
Ben wolfed down his eggs and bacon as if he hadn't eaten in a week. He emptied his coffee cup, throwing the dregs into the fire. Standing up he dumped the remains of the pot in the fire, poured a pail of water from the creek behind it, and stirred the embers to make sure they were dead. He sure as hell didn't need the Forest Service after him too!
With the morning routine done, he set about saddling Keno, his second saddle horse, for this days work. Toby had worked hard enough the previous two days, and had earned a rest.
When his watch told him it was 6 a.m., Ben Jensen was another mile up the mountain, tracking his horse herd.
He found a few apple piles, maybe a day old, so he turned and followed the tracks that accompanied them. From what he could tell, the majority of his horses had stuck together. His hope was that his luck would hold and he'd have the pressure from the bank off his back sooner... rather then later.
It would be nice if the mares had stuck together. The few yearlings and two year olds he'd kept would likely hang close to them. He hoped, but he wasn't counting on it.
Ben and Keno rode most of the morning before he spotted the tell tale switch of a horse tail behind some brush, several hundred yards across a park. The horses he was following had shaded up in a little grove of aspen to take a late morning siesta.
Now came the fun. Either those horses would herd along like a good, mountain ranch horse herd, or, they'd be feeling a little feisty, and he'd be in for a run. He was a little surprised when he found his luck still holding.
He circled around to get behind the herd, and started pushing them back toward the working pens where he'd set his camp. Initially, the lead mare made a hard run, a little ways out into the park, making like she'd really crack out and take 'em all on a wild ride. However, just as quickly, she quit her flight and moved easily back up toward the trail when he circled below them.
Late that afternoon he had those horses corralled in the pens. The rest of that day was spent catching a few of the mares he judged to be leaders. They were brushed down and gotten used to being handled again. While Ben worked, the others munched on the grain he'd spread in the rough board feed bunks scattered across the corral.
If he had the cooperation of those lead mares over the next few days, driving the herd back to the home place would be much less of a job.
He hadn't yet collected the whole herd. All the two year olds and yearlings were present and accounted for, but by his count six mares and four colts were still missing. Likely they weren't far from where he'd found the main bunch. It wouldn't surprise him a bit if they came in during the night. Horses didn't like being alone, and these, few as they were, would likely come hunting the herd.
The way his luck had run so far, he had high hopes Lady Luck would continue to smile on him... and, damn if she didn't! That next morning, when he crawled out of his range tipi, he was greeted by the sight of the six missing mares, and 4 with colts, grazing in the meadow outside of his corral.
He pushed the herd into the back pen and closed the middle gate. That allowed him to open the front gate, and push the late comers in on foot. With them caught, he opened the center gate back up to let the herd spread back out into the whole set up.
With all his horses accounted for in one easy day of looking, and no new losses to predators, he was feeling pretty fine. For the first time in a long time he felt, almost, glad to be alive.
That afternoon, he threw the remainder of the baled hay to the herd. He'd hauled it up by truck late in the spring, on the rough old logging road that found its way to the camp. More of a two track; it took half a day for a hay loaded pickup to make the climb.
Ben had cached the bales here, in a rough slabwood lean-to that sided the corral. He'd hauled the hay up knowing he'd need to feed his horses when he rode up to check horses and cows during the summer. To be honest, he'd not done a good job of that, as shown by the amount of hay, still in the shed, this late in the season.
Damn! He could get used to things going right for a change. Even if that didn't allow things to get Western!
In the morning he'd start the drive down off the mountain. He foaled his colts in the barn down at the ranch, rough as it was, in late winter. That put 'em at nearly six months old now. They were tough, mountain bred colts, but it still wouldn't do to push 'em too hard, this young. In the spring, he'd made the drive up in three days. He could make that easy in one day, just riding. Going back down, he'd push 'em in two days. He needed healthy horses and colts to sell, not busted up cripples 'cause he'd got in a hurr
y. They should still be able to make the ride easy in that time.
He'd make his overnight camp in a grassy park, a couple of miles above the Forest Service campground on Lodgepole creek. That'd make a pretty good drive the first day, and an easy trail going into the ranch the day after.
He should make the run across the Lodgepole just after breakfast time and be at the ranch by noon.
As bleak as his future had seemed when he'd stomped out of the bank, Ben had the growing feeling that maybe, just maybe he could succeed at getting things turned around. He felt like he could actually see a little sunshine trying to break through the clouds. He'd never been much of a quitter. The last few years he'd lived, if poorly, on sheer force of will alone. If Miss Lady Luck would just keep on cutting him a little slack, he'd find a way to make it work. If she'd grant him, just a little bit more. Just let him take a breath.
Nothing changed that next day. Good luck or bad, he drove his small herd into the park above Lodgepole creek an hour or two before sunset. He'd pushed easy, allowing the herd to graze their way along, as much as possible, and still get where he needed to go. The colts were still young enough though that even with that days easy drive, those youngsters would be tired and not wanting to move much. That would go a long way toward holding their Mommas close.
Ben pitched his tipi on the uphill side of the park, to act as a small deterrent to the horses trying to go back up. He hobbled and belled his pack horses, along with the lead mare of the herd and built a small fire to boil some coffee before sitting, back to a log, chewing jerky for supper while the coffee brewed.
Sitting there, watching the shadows of the advancing sunset, he wished once again, as he often had, that he'd been born a century earlier. He seemed, as many cowboys thought of themselves, born out of season. His dreams and values, his basic personality seemingly tailor made for that earlier time; and out of place in this one.
But, just like all those other cowboys, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Just Cowboy up and do the best he could. It seemed that too often, no matter how hard he pushed, his best just wouldn't fit what the world demanded of him. There were times he found himself wishing those lowlanders would just blow themselves all to hell.
But at this moment, here in the high country that inflated his soul, he couldn't sustain such dark thoughts. Here in the mountains he loved, all he could do was to be at peace, if only for this short time, hidden from the world that had treated him so harshly.
Soon after dawn broke he'd be on the trail, moving those last few miles of rough mountain trail, down past Lodgepole Creek Campground. Then, on to the ranch, and back to that "other" world.
Ben spent his evening, sitting against the log, chewing jerky, sipping coffee... and watching the wispy tendrils of smoke rise from a campfire in the campground far below and drift off down the valley.
Later that evening looking at the glow down in the valley below; "Now there's a lowlander pilgrim if I ever saw one" he thought to himself. "That campfire must be big enough for two suppers from the glow it's throwin' off!"
Chapter 6
They'd made good time that first day, making it all the way to Mitchell, South Dakota a couple of hours after dark. She hadn't any experience driving cross country but still thought they'd done well. What with the stop of over an hour at the Walmart in Sioux City she thought they were lucky to be as far as they were. She'd needed to buy them each several sets of clothes and other necessities she found it impossible to leave with.
In addition, she'd bought a tent, sleeping bags, cook stove and ice chest, along with several other bits and pieces of camping gear recommended by a paunchy, balding, clerk, who seemed to think her eyes were in the middle of her chest. These were the things they needed to execute her idea of simply disappearing. She wanted her and her son to fall off the face of the earth.
Then, of course, there were the multiple stops when Timmy had to pee. All in all, she felt good about the day. For the first time, she felt a sensation of growing safety. They had a chance.
She pulled the car in under the portico of a Best Western Motel on the west side of town. Leaving the sleeping Timmy to his dreams in his car seat, she went inside to book a room for the night. She was glad when the clerk didn't ask for any ID... just the cash for the room. The fewer places she had to leave any traces the better.
Five minutes later, she and her son were safely secluded in their room. The door was bolted and chained. The TV was tuned, with the volume louder than necessary, to some child's show she found on the cable; and she stood under the spray of a shower as hot as she could stand it. The sound of her sobbing, from releasing the fear she'd held bottled up inside her all day, now hidden from her son by the noise of the running water and the too loud TV.
In the morning they'd continue their journey, north and west, bound for the imagined freedom and security, of Montana. But for now, she'd savor this peaceful night with her son. It was the first night, in many, that neither of them would have to fear a beating, or worse.
When she came out of the bathroom from her shower, she looked in the small phone book she found on the nightstand between the two beds. "How'd you like to have Pizza for supper Mr. Tim?" she asked her son.
"Pizza? can we Momma? It's like Christmas! Chocolate milk and Pizza all in one day! Hooray!" the boy laughed.
Without thinking, Amanda Blake reached into her purse for her phone, powered it up and dialed the number to the local pizza delivery store. The clerk that answered assured her it wasn't too late for a delivery. When he asked for her name to put on the order, she froze for a second before quickly stuttering into the phone, "uh... Su... Susan... Susan Crandall. I'm in room 204 at the Round Up Best Western Motel. "
The clerk told her their supper would be delivered in less then 30 minutes or it was free, and hung up. She glanced at her watch and said to Timmy; "Well, if your pizza isn't here by 8:30... he just said it's Free!"
Amanda punched the power button again, and then sitting there looking at it as it shut down, started laughing. "Terrified of a pizza delivery boy! It's too much!" she thought to herself...
"What are you laughing at Momma?" Timmy wanted to know... "Oh, it's nothing" his mother replied; "Your pizza is on the way", and then she grabbed the boy, tickling his sides as they rolled around on the bed, laughing. It struck her that it was the first time she could really remember laughing, so easily, with her son. She thought; "I like this. Oh God, I truly, like this."
As they ate their pizza little Timmy looked up at his mother and asked; "Where we going tomorrow Momma?"
"What's your hurry Mr.?" She laughed again and reached out to tickle the boy again. He laughed and wiggled out of range.
"Not a hurry Momma, I just want to know. Where we goin'?"
"Well you nosey little runt, tomorrow night we should be staying in a place called Sheridan, Wyoming."
"Is that in Mon - ta - na Momma?"
"No, but it's really close little man. We'll be in Montana, the day after tomorrow!"
"Good! I want to see Mon - ta - na Momma!"
"Why Timmy? Why do you want to see Montana?"
"Because Momma. Mon - ta - na makes you smile!"
Amanda had to grab her boy and hug him close, to keep him from seeing her tears. Damn! She loved that little boy like she'd never loved anything in her life. Somehow, she told herself again, she had to get him and keep him, free of the misery they'd run from.
"I love you so much Timmy, I love you so much!" She told him as she hugged him tight.
"Momma! You're scrunching me, I can't breathe!"
"Well, I'll let you go then! So you can breathe and eat more pizza, you grubby little monster!" and mother and son rolled around on the bed, laughing once again.
Mother and son ate pizza, drank soda and watched the television into the night, falling asleep, with the boy wrapped peacefully in his mother's arms.
They slept through the noisy return of the salesman occupying the next room, returning
from the bar across the street at midnight, with his wife-for-a-night.
They slept through the sirens of the fire engine racing past headed for the wreck up on the highway at two in the morning.
They slept as the black Yukon pulled away from the warehouse in a rundown industrial area of central Chicago.
Chapter 7
Mirza returned in less than an hour and took up his place around the table. Weapons were now distributed to all the men, the bar closed and the doors locked.
They all sat quiet, drinking coffee now, waiting on the return of Zlatko and Juka. They seldom spoke. A somber, solemn mood hung over the room.
Twice a cell phone rang and hurried conversations were whispered, advising anxious wives why they hadn't yet returned home. Telling them to lock the doors and let no one in until they got there.
It was several hours before the two scouts came to the bar and knocked. Jadranko rose to verify it was them, and let them in.
It was Zlatko who made their report; "We waited for the dispatcher to get off from his shift at five. He stopped at a liquor store on his way home. When he came out and was walking back to his car we diverted him into an alley to have a conversation. As soon as we asked about Sadik, he changed. He acted very scared. I asked him why he was so scared and he tried to deny it. But the look on his face was plain."
"I told him I didn't have time to argue with him and that if he couldn't answer my questions I had no need for him any longer. I took out my knife and pushed his head back with the point under his chin. The man is a coward and started talking so fast I couldn't understand, so I told him to shut up."
"Finally, I told him to speak slowly, my English is not good, and he started again."
