Wounded

FOUR

DUNCAN CAMP’S giant horse was slowly coming around. He tried to walk over me a couple times on the lead rope, but a well-placed pointy stick had put an end to that nonsense. I’d tied the horse’s head high at the kickboard and irritated him with bags of cans, rustling plastic and even a gas-powered weed cutter. He showed wide-eyed panic at the introduction of anything new, but then began to settle down. He couldn’t get away and he wasn’t being eaten by anything. That morning, after fifteen minutes of stretching out my own muscles, trying to work out the tension of anticipation and ward off injury, I saddled Felony and climbed onto his back in the round pen. I could feel he was wired, but he rode like a dream, cantering clockwise and anti-clockwise equally well, pulling for quick, if not sliding, stops, backs. He even did a side pass on a moderately gentle cue. So, I opened the gate, took a deep breath, and rode out into the yard, then into the big field. The big horse felt good, a little too tense to be smooth, but he responded quickly. Before an elk could pop out from behind a bush or a helicopter appear out of nowhere, I took Felony back to the barn and let the short ride remain a good one. I brushed him out for a long time, talking to him, and he pushed at me with his nose. I could feel him relaxing. I didn’t give him a treat, only scratched his belly. I don’t think there’s a better feeling in the world than having a big, scared animal relax around you. I untied him and walked him back to his stall.

As I walked out of the barn, I tossed a look at the mule. He was munching happily in his new indoor quarters.

That afternoon, after a few long hours in the pasture getting the rest of my hay, I saddled Felony for a longer ride. I left Zoe in the house with Gus. I didn’t need her giving him a start by darting off after a rabbit or chipmunk. I rode west out onto the BLM land adjacent to my place, just east of the Red Desert. It was dramatic land, dry, remote, wild. It was why I loved the West. I had no affection necessarily for the history of the people and certainly none for the mythic West, the West that never existed. It was the land for me. And maybe what the land did to some who lived on it.

I rode along in the shadow of a butte, protecting myself from the intense afternoon sun. Ahead I saw something odd. On the red soil, the black was out of place, so I approached slowly for a closer look. Right over it, I still wasn’t sure what I was seeing. But as I dismounted it came together for me. The ears and the shape of the face were easy to see once seen. The coyote had been burnt. I touched the charred remains and put my fingers to my nose. I thought I could smell gasoline. Whether I smelled it or not, I knew what had happened. Someone had poured fuel down into the animal’s den and tossed in a match. It was something sheepherders did occasionally; they hated coyotes.

I looked around and found tire tracks about twenty yards away. They were the tracks of a dually pickup; that much was clear. The impression of the rear tires was nearly as deep as the front, so the bed must have been loaded. A heavy load, I guessed. I followed the tracks backward and located the coyote’s lair on a steep place on the butte’s face. The entrance was blackened from the fire. The coyote had run a hundred yards aflame and whoever had struck the match had followed along in the truck, watching. I felt sick. I was confused, near tears, angry. No one was keeping sheep there, so the lame excuse of protecting stock didn’t even make sense.

Then I heard them. The whimpering seemed to come from nowhere at first and for a second I imagined it to be the last ghost sounds of the dead coyote. I listened and traced the whimpering to a clump of sage and there in the shade and red dust were two pups, smoke darkened, eyes just opened. They could not have been more than two weeks old. One, a female, had a badly burned foreleg, but she was moving with slightly more strength than her intact brother. I wet my kerchief with water from my canteen and tried to wring drips into the pups’ mouths. Their little tongues weakly lapped at their lips. I put them in my saddlebags and mounted.

I loped along, checking on the babies every few minutes. I tried to keep them wet, cool. They were no longer whimpering, but they were still alive. I also poured water over my saddlebags to soak the leather. I tried to shake the image of the mother dog from my head. She had no doubt been between her pups and the den opening and had tried to carry the fire out and away with her.

When I cantered up to the back door, Gus came rushing out before I was off the horse. He knew something was wrong because I never rode an animal hard up to the barn.

“What’s the trouble?” Gus asked.

“I found some coyote pups. They’re injured.” I opened the pouch with the babies and he looked in with me.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

I blew out a breath, collecting myself. I looked at Gus. I couldn’t trust Felony alone with the old man. The horse might walk over him. “You take the pups into the kitchen. I’ll take care of the horse.”

Gus took the bags inside. I loosened Felony’s girth and took off his bridle. I led him over to the hot walker and clipped him up, left to make slow circles while he cooled down. I grabbed my big first aid kit from the barn.

Back in the kitchen I could see that Gus had carefully unloaded the puppies onto the table. The little female with the burned leg actually managed to drag herself a couple inches. The male didn’t move. I put my hand on the little body and felt no life. I stepped away from the table, poured myself a glass of water and drank it all down. I believed I was shaking, but I couldn’t see it in the hand that held the glass.

Zoe was at the table, looking up with obvious concern.

Gus brought me back to where I needed to be. “Well, let’s take care of this one,” he said.

“Okay.” I went back to the table. “Gus, go get me those little scissors you use for your mustache.”

Gus left and was back quickly.

I clipped away the fur above the burned area. The left paw was pretty much gone. But there was no bleeding. I told myself that was a good thing. I couldn’t believe the little girl was alive. I shook my head and looked over at Gus. “She ought to be dead,” I said.

“She’s tough.” The way he said it I knew he was already forming an attachment to the animal.

Gus tried to call the small-animal vet in town without success. I’d hardly ever used him anyway. My horse vet, Oliver, was two hundred miles away doing some work for a pack outfit in the high country. I looked at the little coyote and imagined her as a tiny horse. I went to the refrigerator and got some antibiotics, divided what I would have given a horse by a thousand and injected it. Then I mixed up some sugar and warm water and asked Gus to try to get some of it into the pup. I thought it might help with the shock.

“You okay in here?” I asked.

Gus didn’t look up. He used a dropper to put the sugar solution on the pup’s lips. “I’m fine.”

I called Zoe twice, but she wouldn’t budge from Gus’s side, so I left her. I went back out to put Felony away. With all my concern over the coyotes I hadn’t given much thought to what Felony might unexpectedly do. The horse had been great, steady, and still felt so as I finished unsaddling him and led him to his stall.

I returned to the house and made a bed out of sheets in the corner of the study. Gus came in and put the pup down in the nest. Zoe came close and Gus stopped her. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Gus, let Zoe check her out.”

Zoe sniffed the pup, then lay down, curling herself around the little thing. She gently licked at the burned leg.

“Maybe that’s the best thing,” Gus said.

I thought he was probably right.

Gus asked me if I was hungry and I told him I wasn’t. He then made me a sandwich and I ate it. That night I slept in the den on the recliner. Zoe stayed put beside the coyote.

The next morning, the puppy was struggling to move a little more. She would take a step, become exhausted, and fall over. Zoe remained by her. Gus tried again with the sugar solution, then with some warm milk. The pup licked at her lips finally and I could see Gus’s shoulders relax. I went out and fixed what needed fixing, worked a couple horses, then came back to check on the patient. I didn’t want to go into town, but Gus pretty much pushed me out of the house.

No doubt because of the coyote, I was hating people more than usual as I drove into town. I drove past the Wal-Mart that I refused to enter, past the McDonald’s that I refused to enter and past the church that I refused to enter. I glanced over at the parking lot of the Rusty Spur Motel, wondering if David Thayer’s car was there. When I’d called to set up lunch with David, he sounded cool. But why not? I hadn’t seen him since he was a kid. To him I was just some old fogey mate of his father’s. That was true enough. I told him we’d meet at the Little Winds Café. I’d suggested it because it worked at some kind of cosmopolitan front and I thought David might appreciate the effort. But also the food was the best in Highland, though that statement in and of itself was not all that significant.

I arrived first. The hostess, an overly skinny cowgirl I remembered from the barrel-racing event at the summer rodeo, led me to a booth against the far wall.

“How’s this, Mr. Hunt?” she asked.

“Just fine,” I said. “You’ve got the drop on me though. I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Becky.”

“Thanks, Becky.”

Highland was a small enough town that most people had a vague knowledge of who everyone was, but it did facilitate matters to be different in some way. In my case, in was the color of my skin. It could easily have been a problem for some folks, but it hadn’t turned out to be. I, of course, realized that I was referred to as the “black rancher.” I suppose had I been extremely handsome, I would have been the “good-looking, black rancher.”

I studied the menu, remembering a time when I would not have needed the narrow specs perched on my nose that fit too tightly against my temples. From where I sat I could look across the room and out the window at the street and the storefronts on the other side. A monstrous SUV pulled up at Ken’s Sporting Goods and four men got out, stretching and looking at the sky. I knew they were buying fishing licenses and I was a little envious. They were no doubt headed up into the Winds, with a stop first at the tribal office for permission, then the drive up. I considered the long drive through the reservation to the Owl Creek hills. The low, red and yellow ochre range always relaxed me, in spite of the heat, in spite of the arid desolation, probably because of it. I actually had a jar of soil from there on a shelf in my barn.

Two young men entered the restaurant. One was of medium height, about six feet, the other a littler taller and in the taller man I could see Howard’s eyes and cheekbones. They wore jeans, new Western boots and short-sleeved shirts. They were not so differently dressed from others in town. They were healthy looking and strong enough, but their postures said they weren’t ranch men. They walked like nothing really hurt.

I stood and signaled to them with a wave.

“John?”

“That’s me.” I shook David’s hand. I could see his mother in his face.

David introduced me to his friend, Robert. Robert managed to seem aloof without looking away.

I nodded and shook the man’s hand. “Come on, let’s sit down,” I said. I straightened the napkin in my lap and looked at David. “I can’t believe you’re all grown up. Last time I saw you, you were fifteen, I think. Considerably shorter.”

David nodded.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” I said, “but what a long time. So, you’re in college now?”

“University of Illinois,” David said.

“Me, too,” from Robert.

“How’s your mother?” I asked.

“I suppose Dad told you.”

“Yes, he did. I was sorry to hear about that. Is she okay?” I felt somehow caught, having attempted to play dumb.

David nodded, again.

“So, what brings you to the outskirts of no place?” I asked. I hated working at conversation, but he was my friend’s kid and I wanted him to feel comfortable.

“We’re here for a rally.” David said.

“Rally? What kind of rally?”

The waitress came. She was obviously intrigued with the young men and she admired them while she named the specials. “The tortilla soup is real good,” she said at the end of the list. “Well, I’ll give you guys a few minutes.”

David and Robert laughed a little.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Robert said.

“What kind of rally?” I asked again.

“It’s a gay pride rally,” Robert said.

“I see.” I took a sip of water.

“Because of the killing that took place here last week,” David said.

I nodded. “Awful thing. When is this rally?”

“Tomorrow at noon.” David ran a hand over his hair. “It’s going to be in front of the city hall building. Tell me, what is this place like?”

“Place?” I asked.

“This town,” Robert said.

I shrugged. “It’s a little town. It’s okay. Mostly white. Indians get treated like shit. You know, America. The murder hit everybody pretty hard.”

Robert might have smirked. I felt it as much as I saw it.

“My father’s a bastard,” David said. It came out of nowhere and not.

I studied his eyes.

“He screwed around and hurt my mother. He had an affair. He didn’t think about her or me or anything.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said.

David was staring at me, as if somehow I was representing his father at that moment. “He’s a real bastard,” he said again.

Robert leaned in, perhaps to break the tension. “So, what do you do here?”

“I raise and train horses,” I told him. “I’ve got a ranch about thirty miles from town. I used to run cattle, but not anymore.”

“How do you know David’s father?” Robert asked.

I glanced at David. “We were at college together. Berkeley.”

“Berkeley?” Robert asked.

“You find that odd?”

“John studied art history,” David said. “Right?”

I nodded, a bit surprised that David knew and remembered that fact.

“So, why are you here?” Robert asked.

I looked out the window, then to Robert. As my father would have said, there was a tone to his question. “Did you notice the landscape when you drove in?” I asked. “This is a beautiful place.” I pulled back some. “I love horses. This is where I grew up. Well, down in Colorado.” I shrugged. “Where are you from?”

“Vermont,” Robert said.

“Pretty state,” I said. “I went to school in New Hampshire.”

“I thought you went to Berkeley.”

“I went to prep school in New Hampshire. Phillips Exeter.” I felt bad for enjoying the confusion and disappointed assumptions reflected in Robert’s face. “Sometimes they let us country boys out. Anyway, it’s too green back there in New England for me.”

“How big is your ranch?” David asked.

“I’ve sold half of it and the BLM leases since I don’t run cattle anymore. So, there’s about fifteen hundred acres. Not so big.”

Robert asked, “How many black people live out here?”

I was a little startled by the question. “Good question. I don’t know. How many black people live in Chicago?”

Robert stumbled.

“I’ve never counted people around here, Robert. Black or white. A whole bunch of Indians live over that way.”

“Ever have any problems?” Robert asked. “With race, I mean.”

“Of course I have, son. This is America. I’ve run into bigotry here. Of course, the only place anybody ever called me nigger to my face was in Cambridge, Mass.” I let that sink in. “There are plenty of stupid, narrow-minded people around. They’re not hard to find. There are a lot of ignorant people, a lot of good, smart people. Is it different where you come from?”

Robert laughed nervously, but avoided my question by drinking some water.

I felt a little like a bully and I didn’t like it. I was a bit on the defensive and I liked that even less. I made myself relax, as when on a nervous horse. I viewed it as good practice.

“I’m here because I like the West,” I said.

The waitress returned.

“I’ll just have the burger,” David said.

“Same for me,” from Robert. He dropped his hand on top of David’s on the table.

The waitress couldn’t help but see this and it registered slightly on her young face. “Cheese on those?” she asked.

“No, thanks,” David said.

Robert shook his head.

“Becky, I’ll have the BLT without the B and with avocado,” I said. “And I’ll have cottage cheese instead of the fries.”

“Be right up,” Becky said.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian,” Robert said.

“Okay,” I said. “So, what do you think of our little town?”

“Not much to it,” David said.

“That’s for damn sure,” I agreed. I looked out the window and saw that the SUV was gone from in front of the sporting goods store.

“So, why did you study art history?” Robert asked.

“I like art.” I emptied my water glass and set it back down. “What are the two of you studying?”

“Undecided,” Robert said, somewhat sheepishly.

“There’s plenty of time,” I told him.

“I’m majoring in English right now,” David said. “So, how did you and my father get together? He was a business major.”

“I don’t remember. Probably some anti-war protest or something.” I leaned back. I felt slightly sleepy. “You two should come out to my place. I’ll put you on a couple horses and you can really see this country.” I considered that I was forgetting why they were there and I felt a little stupid. “So, when is the rally again?”

“Tomorrow at noon,” David said.

“You think folks would mind if some straight cowboys showed up?”

“I don’t think so,” David said.

The waitress brought the food and we began to eat.

I looked at the two young men together. They were handsome, bright. I thought about Howard.

“How does your father feel about your being gay?” I asked.

The directness of my question caused David to glance at Robert. “He doesn’t like it.”

“He hates it,” Robert said.

“Sorry to hear that,” I said.

“How do you feel about it?” David asked me.

“I don’t feel one way or the other about it,” I said. “Should I?”

“No,” David admitted.

“I hope I didn’t offend you,” I said.

“You didn’t.” David fiddled with his napkin.

“Would you like to come to my place for dinner tomorrow? It’s a bit of a ride. I’ll drive you out and you can stay over if you like.”

David questioned Robert with a look.

“Listen, no rush,” I said. “You can let me know tomorrow.”

“Okay,” David said.

We finished lunch, which turned out to be a dragging, boring affair. Still, I liked Howard’s son. I tried not to dislike Robert. I wasn’t put off by the men’s homosexuality, but Robert’s display for the benefit of the waitress seemed mean-spirited. I didn’t feel bad for thinking that, as I considered I would have been as put off by a heterosexual man or woman similarly marking territory.

I was in my Jeep, pulling off the highway and headed up the hill to Morgan’s house.

Morgan’s mother was on her knees in the garden in front of the house. She pushed herself to standing as I approached.

“Good day, Emily,” I said. “New knee pads?”

“What I need is new knees.”

“You wouldn’t like the new ones,” I told her. “What are you up to? Dividing irises?”

“Yes,” she said with disgust. “I’m sorry I ever put them in. They’re pretty but every time I turn around I’m dividing them again. How would you like to take a hundred home with you?”

“I don’t think so. Not with that testimonial. Is that wild, good-for-nothing daughter of yours around?”

“Barn,” Emily said.

I left Emily to her irises and walked around the house, across the corral to the barn. I found Morgan in the tack room, cleaning her bridle.

“I heard some people really do that,” I said. “Me, I like to let my tack get all cracked and brittle.”

She put down the sponge and stepped close, stood there, arms at her sides. “So, what are the ground rules? Do we kiss when we greet now?”

“I reckon. Till you get tired of me.” I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her lips. Her mouth was soft, sweet. I liked kissing her.

Morgan turned away and went to hang her bridle on the wall. Again facing me, she said, “I guess we’re going to have to have sex soon.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I said. “It’s been on my mind.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Hunt. I’ve been trying to figure just how retarded in these matters you are.”

I looked around at the neat room, the clean saddles and tack arranged in a way that made sense. “You sure you want to get tied up with a slob like me?”

“No.”

I laughed. “Your mother looks good.”

“The man-stealer,” she hissed.

“Hey, guess what I’ve got at my house? I’ve found a baby coyote.”

“Where’d you find him?”

“Over in the desert. Some asshole torched a den and killed the mother. I found two, but one died. I hope this little girl makes it. She has a burned leg.”

“I hate people,” Morgan said.

“They’re no damn good, that’s for certain. I was so pissed off.”

Morgan was silent.

“Anyway, I came over—”

She cut me off, “For sex?”

“Well, no.” She’d caught me off guard, which apparently was not difficult to do. “I came over to ask you out on a date, sort of.” I sat on a stool.

“Sort of?” she said. “Already I don’t know how I can resist.”

“Give me a break, sweetie.” The “sweetie” just came out. It felt easy saying it and I could see it soften Morgan. “There’s a memorial service for the kid who was murdered. “I just had lunch with an old friend’s kid and his boyfriend, partner I guess, and I’m going to go to this thing. Rally.”

“How was lunch?”

“It was fine,” I said. “At one point I felt a little defensive and I feel bad about that.”

“People are usually defensive when there’s something to be defensive about,” Morgan said.

I nodded.

“His being gay bother you?” she asked.

“You know, that’s the thing. I don’t think it did, but I’m not sure. I don’t care at all about that stuff, but I have to admit I wasn’t completely comfortable.”

“Yeah, but you’re uncomfortable around me most of the time,” she said.

“Point taken,” I said. “Anyway, they were okay. I’m just an old fart who doesn’t get out much.” I slid off the stool. “I’d better get moving. I’ve got a few horses to work yet.” I stepped to the door. “So, tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Dinner, tomorrow night as well. Emily’s invited, too.”

“She’ll like that,” Morgan said.

We walked back to the front of the house. Emily was talking to the white-haired kid who delivered her groceries while he leaned over the exposed engine of his little truck.

“What’s up, Cotton?” Morgan asked.

“Oh, I’m looking for this damn leak,” he said. “I gotta put antifreeze in this thing every time I turn around.”

“I told him to check his water pump,” Emily said.

Cotton ran a hand through his hair and left a streak of grease. “It’s got to be leaking, but I can’t find it. I put newspaper under it every night and nothing, not a single drip.”

I looked in the back of the truck and saw the gallon jugs of antifreeze. “Hey, Cotton, you ever see white smoke come out your exhaust?”

Cotton looked up from his engine and at me. “Yeah.”

Morgan, Emily and I said, together, “Blown head gasket.”

With that, Emily turned back to her gardening.

“Pick you up at eleven,” I said to Morgan.

I arrived home to get the latest coyote puppy update from Gus. He was sitting on the floor by the pup and Zoe. I knelt beside him.

“She’s taking more of the warm milk and she’s a lot stronger. She’s moving more but not much. She tires pretty quickly then drifts back to sleep. Still sounds like her breathing is labored. Smoke.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“She’s a cute little thing.” Gus was in love with her.

“She is that,” I said.

“I wish I could get my hands on those bastards,” Gus said.

I nodded. “I guess I’d better build a kennel crate of some kind next week. In case she makes it.”

“She’s a fighter,” Gus said. “She’s going to make it. And Zoe won’t get ten feet from her.”

“I wonder how this is going to work,” I said. “After all, this is a wild animal, Gus.”

“Right now she’s just a pound of misery,” he said.

“Okay, Gus, I read you.” I stood. “Well, I’m going to work. You’re in charge.”

“Hell, I’m always in charge. Sometimes I’m the only one who knows it, but I’m always in charge.”

I was on Felony and things were going pretty well. I felt good about the animal after the last long and desperate ride. The big horse was at ease in the open field, loping along, then coming to a jog trot.

It began with a twitch just behind the girth. I sensed it more than I felt it and I thought to turn the horse, to distract him and disengage his hind end, but my thought was slow finishing. Felony planted for a second then took off toward the fence of the big pasture. I seesawed the reins with increasing pressure, pulled on one rein and then the other, but I couldn’t pull him up or slow him down. I had another hundred yards before the fence and so I let the horse run, gave him his head and even urged him on. I just went with it. About thirty yards from the fence, and a real back wreck, I gently squaw-reined Felony left and the animal went with me, even slowing some. I kicked him a little and the horse opened up again. I let him run the length of the open area. I didn’t let him burn his tank though, but he was good and ready to stop when I asked him to whoa. I walked him some, let him lope, then took him back to the same spot where he had spooked. I had no idea what had gotten into him, but I’d made a breakthrough.

As I rode the horse in a walk back to the barn, I considered the fact that I didn’t have many wrecks left in my old body. I felt a wave of fear and then I felt the horse respond, felt the big muscles tense. I let my body melt and immediately the horse relaxed. I tightened my muscles on purpose and got no reaction. I tried to think back to what I was thinking just before Felony had blown up. I’d had an unpleasant memory, maybe of my wife’s death, I didn’t really know, but I’d had something bad go through my mind. I couldn’t believe that the horse had sensed it. I thought about Susie’s death again. Nothing. I thought about calling Wallace Castlebury’s brother. Nothing. I thought about having sex with Morgan. Felony tightened. All I could do was shake my head. I had to train this horse to tolerate the troubling thoughts of his rider. This was too much.

I took Felony back out into the field and thought through as many scary things as I could find. I thought about Gus getting sick, about getting thrown, about sex, about lunch with David and Robert, about bad snowstorms. I was confusing the hell out of the poor horse, but that was what I wanted. I’d clear my mind and he’d relax. I’d have to do this everyday for a while. My fear was, however, that all these things would cease to bother me. I gave Felony a rub on the neck, got off, loosened his girth, and walked him back to the barn.