Yellowstone

by H. V. Elkin

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re a good man, Cutler. There are too damned few these days who know what they stand for. I’ll give you all the cooperation I can. How many men will you need?”

  “I’ve got a man with me. That’ll do.”

  “It’s a big territory, and the grizzly’s unpredictable.”

  “I know both of those things.”

  “I’d feel better about it if you’d let me assign you a man. Got a couple in mind. Will you at least see them first?”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “They’ve got experience I think you might find helpful.”

  “How long’s it gonna take to round ’em up. I don’t want to have to be your guest all winter if I can help it.”

  “You can see one of them right away. The other can be here in the morning.”

  “All right, I’ll look at ‘em. Guess I can do that much. But whether or not they’re in on this has to be up to me.”

  “I’ll trust your judgment.”

  Anderson went to the door and spoke to an orderly outside. Then Bill appeared.

  “This is my partner,” Cutler said. “Bill Taylor.”

  The Captain shook the young man’s hand. “Glad to meet you. Come in.”

  Bill came in with a grin on his face and handed Cutler his revolver.

  “What the hell is this?” Cutler asked.

  The gun not only had red tape around the trigger but was also fastened with sealing wax. Cutler could see the same red flag peeking out of Bill’s holster.

  Anderson laughed. “We have to do that. Regulations say there can’t by any discharge of firearms in the Park. You can remove the tape whenever you want to.”

  “Think we will,” Cutler said, “until you can regulate what a rogue grizzly’s gonna do with his claws and teeth.”

  “Yes,” Anderson said. “The grizzly you’re going after is a real problem for us. He’s got to be captured before the tourists start coming back again. One bad grizzly’s like a rotten apple; it takes just one to spoil everything. We don’t want visitors to get foolish with bears. But we don’t want them to panic either. They hear about a mean bear loose in the park, and they start thinking every one they see is going to kill them. The grizzly’s killed one man, and to my knowledge that’s the only grizzly accident we’ve had here. Thank God they’re shy animals. If they enjoyed conflict, we’d lose a lot more people. The thermal pools we got here have caused a damn sight more injuries and deaths than all the bears put together.”

  “Let’s hear about the one we’re after,” Cutler said.

  “Right. He’s a badgery color, I’d say. Big.”

  “How big?”

  “Strung up, he’d probably measure around nine feet long. A lot bigger than the men on his post, you can be sure of that.”

  “What made him go rogue?”

  “We did. Oh, not the Army particularly. It’s the whole setup here at the hotel that’s to blame. They got a garbage dump out back. In the evenings, the bears would come for the pickings. Well, this got to be a tourist attraction. Folks did some crazy things. A man wanted to impress his fiancée, so he tried to feed one of the bears out of his hand. I’m surprised we haven’t had a lot more accidents. Some of the people who come here have no sense about animals. They think God puts grizzlies and other bears in Yellowstone just for the amusement of tourists.

  “Well, the problem is, the bears got used to it. They stopped living like bears and started living like park pets. They changed their natural habits and relied on the garbage from the hotel.

  “Last winter, when the hotel closed, the bears didn’t seem to get the dump, but no food was to be had there. They complained a lot, but then they all did the sensible thing and went into hibernation.

  “All but one, the one you’re after. He decided he wasn’t sleepy yet. He kept coming to the dump expecting to be fed. When he wasn’t fed, he’d put up a howl that got bigger each day. Well, we figured he’d eventually give up and go to sleep like all the others, so we let him go. Finally, the day came when he didn’t show up. Couple days later, I had a report from our Norris output that an animal had ripped some boards off the side of the building and run off with a side of bacon. I sent word back that there should be a man on duty there at all times in the future. Then the same thing happened at Riverside, then Lower Geyser Basin, then upper geyser. By this time some tracks’d been seen, so we knew it was some kind of bear.

  “It was quiet for a few days then. I figure the bear just kept going south. When it didn’t find another outpost so close as the others, it started back. By the time it got back to Upper Geyser, there was a man guarding it. That was the man who got killed; the whole front of his chest was ripped out. He was alive enough, when they found him, to describe the bear as being the same grizzly who’d been so persistent about the garbage dump here.

  “After that, nobody saw the bear for the rest of the winter. As soon as we figured it’d gone into hibernation, another outpost has been broken into. We reinstituted the daytime guard and things were quiet again for awhile. It went on like that all winter.

  “Then last season, when the tourists started coming back, the bear appeared at isolated campsites, terrorized the campers, and stole their food. It hardly ever popped up where we expected it to be.

  “It’s a rogue, all right. It doesn’t do anything you’d expect a grizzly to do. It’s got it in its head that it’s going to live the rest of its life off the food people bring into the Park. It’s smart enough to not be seen by the soldiers that could kill it. And we know it’ll kill if it has to.

  “We figure it’s been just plain luck so far that only one man’s been killed, and it’s only a matter of time before someone else gets it. So, Cutler, we just have to get that bear before he gets one of us.”

  “He never showed up at the garbage dump this last season?” Cutler asked.

  “It’s almost like he knows we’ll be looking for him there. I tell you, Cutler, if we were at war and needed a spy and that bear was human, he’d be the head of our spy network.”

  “Except,” Bill said, “if that bear was human, he’d be robbin’ banks.”

  Anderson studied Bill a moment, then nodded. “I got to admit, I didn’t like the idea of civilians coming in here and showing us how to do our jobs. But that was months ago. Right now, I’ll take the help of anyone and anything that’ll solve the problem for Yellowstone.”

  “That’s when we can be the most help,” Cutler said.

  The Captain struck a match and lit a kerosene lamp. “When your clients get desperate enough not to interfere?”

  It was the truth but not a question Cutler was going to answer. A knock on the door saved him from having to be diplomatic.

  The man who came in was not a soldier. He was about Cutler’s age and, like Cutler, had the marks of experience in his face, a serious almost somber face that had seen many surprises. He was well-built and moved with a casual grace that said he felt inferior to no one. He slid comfortably into a chair by the desk.

  Anderson introduced him. “Cutler, Bill, this is Felix Burgess, our best scout.” Anderson shook his head. “Sorry, Felix, I’m not used to the idea yet.” He turned to Cutler. “Felix has been a scout here for more than four years, but he’s just been made deputy U.S. marshal for the park.”

  “Shucks, George,” Burgess said, “can’t say I blame you. Not used to it myself yet. You go on callin’ me a scout if you want to. Just see to it they don’t put my pay back to where it was when I was a scout.” It was a small joke. The only way you could tell was the way it made Anderson chuckle. There was no evidence on Burgess’s face that he thought it was funny. He was the kind of man who could ask you for a left-handed monkey wrench and make you wonder why you had never heard of one before. Burgess held out his hand to Cutler. “Pleased to meet you, Cutler. What can us country boys do for you?”

  Anderson answered the question. “Cutler and Bill might want to call on your service
s if you’re going to be free, Felix. They’ve got the job of getting the grizzly.”

  “Big Spook?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well,” Burgess nodded solemnly, “that shouldn’t be too hard. Gonna go out and do it now or wait ’til mornin’?”

  Anderson said, “If I tell Felix to tell you about himself, he won’t tell the truth, so I’d better do it for him. He fought in the Indian wars. Like I said, he’s our best scout. If it wasn’t for Felix, that conservation bill wouldn’t’ve been passed yet. Felix was with the bunch who found Ed Howell poaching bison last February. That led to the editor of Forest and Stream Magazine going to Washington and getting the bill passed in May so we could arrest and convict Howell two months later. We had to give Felix a citation for his part in that.”

  Felix winked at Bill. “Real nice citation, too. Lot better’n the six pair of field glasses the Boone and Crockett Club gave me.”

  Instinctively, Cutler liked Burgess. “Guess I could use a man with field glasses. You interested in tailin’ along with us, Felix?”

  Burgess needed no explanation of what Cutler meant from the way the question had been put. Cutler was going to be in charge of the operation, and there were no two ways about it.

  “Well, sir,” Burgess said, “guess I could tail along with you. But if we come to a place where somebody’s breakin’ the law, I’d have to wonder if you’d be interested in tailin’ along with me.”

  Cutler held out his hand, and the two men shook on it.

  Burgess asked Anderson, “This the whole war party, then?”

  “That’s up to Cutler,” Anderson said. “He might want to take along Rutherford, too. Can’t say about that until morning.”

  “Rutherford’d be good to have along,” Burgess said.

  “Who’s that?” Cutler asked.

  Burgess said, “Rutherford Klock. Never got himself a citation or field glasses, but he did win a medal for cussin’ once.”

  “During the season,” Anderson said, “Rutherford drives a stage here. He knows the Park like the back of his hand, and he’ll be looking for something to do about now.”

  “Might need a stage driver if we run into Big Spook,” Burgess said.

  “Why’s that?” Bill asked.

  “Might need him to drive the rest of us to Sepulcher Hill.”

  Bill looked questioningly at the Captain.

  Anderson frowned. “That’s our cemetery,” he said.

  Burgess nodded solemnly. “Last stop on the stage route. Sometimes.”

  Burgess took Cutler to the stable behind the barracks so that Cutler could be sure his horse and mules were being tended to properly. Inside, some of the cavalry soldiers were currying their mounts. Cutler found an obliging young man was doing the same to Kate, Emma, and Apache. The mules, like the cavalry horses, were stalled as a pair with a kicking bar between them and others. Apache had a stall to himself. Burgess introduced Cutler and Bill to a Sergeant Troike of the Sixth Cavalry, then left them.

  “Felix going with you?” Troike asked.

  “Yes,” Cutler said, “he is.”

  “You couldn’t do any better, Mr. Cutler. I was with him when he found Howell. That poacher had a rifle and a dog. Felix had to get close enough to use a pistol if need be. Don’t ask me how he did it, but he did. Made Howell so mad he tried to kill his dog for not warning him. Yes, sir, I’d trust my life with Felix Burgees.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Cutler said. “Where’s my dog?”

  “He’s sitting on your wagon out back by the corral. Won’t leave the seat, and nobody wants to try coaxing him down either. You and Bill are welcome to spend the night in the barracks, if you want to.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to be warm for one night, soon’s I feed Red.”

  The next morning Cutler looked out of the barracks window. The ground was white with an inch of snow. Bill came in blowing on his hands. “Mornin’. They tell me it’s here to stay,” he said, gesturing at the snow, “and that it’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets better.”

  Cutler grinned at the obvious. He was not happy about it. “Don’t make any enemies around here. It might not be too easy to get away from them in another couple weeks.”

  “Well, we’re just gonna have to work fast,” Bill said. “Finish the job and get out of Yellowstone while we still can.”

  “We’ll do our best, but don’t get your hopes too high.”

  “Thought you might be wantin’ this.” Bill handed Cutler a mackinaw. “Got it from the wagon.”

  Burgess came to the door with another man.

  The man was heavyset, had leathery skin and a five-day growth of beard. “Glad you’re lettin’ the heat out,” he said cheerfully. “We need it out here.” He went into the barracks, and the rest followed. Bill closed the door. “Well, where’s all the rabbit catchers?” the man asked. “Where at’s the swatties?”

  “This is Rutherford Klock,” Burgess said, “the one we told you about yesterday.”

  “I’m what we call a savage,” Klock said. “No better name was ever given a stage driver nowhere. Well now, Cutler, what’s this all about? Burgess here is a stunner, and if he’s in on it, I want to be, too. You won’t be sorry. I may look like a runny old coot, but that’s because my beard ain’t in yet. Grow one every winter, shave it every spring, so I don’t offend the dudes and lose any tile.”

  “He means tips,” Burgess explained.

  “Well, don’t expect too many of those for a few months now. Could use the rhino this job’d bring me. Besides, I’d like to be in on takin’ that bear down a peg or two and makin’ him sing small. But if you say no, Cutler, I’ll just cut my sticks.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Cutler said. “To start with, I usually work alone. Now I’ve taken on a partner, Bill here. And Burgess is goin’ along too. You figure that’s enough?”

  “Well, I suppose it is,” Rutherford said, “unless you want to find the bear.”

  “We want to find him.”

  “That’s good, then, because I think I know just about where to look.”

  Cutler looked at Burgess.

  Burgess shook his head. “I know Rutherford’s irritatin’ ‘cause he never learned how to talk English. But every time we’ve been able to figure out what he was talkin’ about, we never found him to be a liar about anything.”

  “Not to a chap, I don’t,” Rutherford said. “Might say anything to them scenery-lovin’, pusillanimous sonsabitches that pull the stage, but not to chaps like you who’re up to snuff. And I’m tellin’ you that bear’s gonna mizzle from where he is right quick. And if you want me in, we better get ourselves some Norwegian snowshoes and make ourselves scarce from this swatty hole.”

  Cutler and Bill decided they wanted Rutherford Klock.

  The quartermaster’s store was a short diagonal walk from the barracks. He fitted them out with Norwegian snowshoes, which were the same kind of skis Bill and Cutler had seen in the Snake River soldier station. An inch thick in the middle and tapering toward the back and the front, they were about three and a half inches wide and made a strong, light ash. With each set came a long, hardwood pole.

  “You’ll need this, too,” the quartermaster said, putting a can of wax on the counter. “Put it on with a hot flatiron before you start out. Felix’ll show you how.”

  After they had some breakfast, they went back to the barracks and prepared their skis.

  “With all this snow and more comin’,” Bill said, “how’re we gonna travel, John?”

  “On these skis.”

  “No, I mean what about the rig?”

  “What’s your guess, Bill?”

  “I figure, if we need skis to get around, the rig better stay here. Besides, if Big Spook deserves the name Burgess gave him, he might seem to be everywhere and anywhere at the same time. The wagon probably couldn’t go where we’ll have to.”

  “You got it right. So how do we travel?”

  “Well, lik
e you say, on the skis. You probably won’t want your horse.”

  “That’s right, too.”

  “But we might need the mules for pack animals.”

  Cutler smiled at his partner. “Right again. We’re just gonna have to take a chance on the snow not gettin’ too deep for the mules, because we got to tote provisions, guns, and traps. And we might need the mules if we have to get away fast from a tight spot. The mules may not be as surefooted as a bighorn or a mountain goat, but they’ve taken me over many a rough mountainside. Kate and Emma go along. So does Red.”

  “And Burgess and Klock.” Bill hesitated over the last name.

  “Yeah,” Cutler said. “Rutherford Klock may be more trouble than he’s worth. I don’t know yet. One slip-up from him and he can retrace his tracks. But for now, he looks tough enough to go after a grizzly, and he knows where to look. If it’s true, he can save us time. We don’t have too much of that if we don’t want to grow old in Yellowstone.”

  Bill nodded. “I get you.”

  Cutler handed Bill the flatiron and inspected the bottom of his skis. “Bill, I might not get a chance to say this later ...”

  Bill looked up from his work. He knew Cutler was saying he might not make it back from this job in one piece. The dark premonition had been brooding in Cutler’s face since they’d met on the farm.

  Cutler said, “If you make it back from this job yourself, you’ll know something about grizzlies. And you’ll know something about rogues. Now, this ain’t my grizzly we’re goin’ after. This grizzly’s a mean scavenger. He wants man’s food, and won’t let no man stand in the way of his meals. He’ll kill for it, which ain’t natural for bears, and that’s what makes him a rogue and dangerous.

  “My grizzly’s as much a rogue as this one and as smart as this one. But my grizzly is crazier than this one. He doesn’t kill for food—just for the sake of killin’. Someday, somewhere, my grizzly’s got to be killed. Get me? And the one we’re goin’ after now might be a good education for the one that’ll have to be got later.”

  Bill nodded. “You’ll live to get your grizzly, John. Maybe we’ll get him together. But if you ain’t around, I’ll get him for you.”