And then, old Abe, pulling that stunt with the wolf. Hell, what a performance. Money couldn’t buy that kind of publicity. Buck would never forget the look on Helen Ross’s cute little face when the wolf landed on the table in front of her. Boy, what a night.
He zipped up and made his way back through the crowd. He handed Lori behind the bar a fifty-dollar bill to buy everyone another drink and then said goodnight, promising the Harding boys he’d make some calls and get their daddy home as soon as possible. Poor old Abe was probably sharing a cell with a load of AIDS-ridden drug addicts down in Helena.
First, though, Buck had other business to attend to.
He’d seen Ruth at the meeting, but she was sitting too near to Eleanor and Kathy for him to have a quiet word. Eleanor’s lunatic idea of going into business with her was starting to cramp his love life a little. God, it was nearly two whole weeks since he and Ruth had been able to steal so much as a kiss. She always seemed to have some excuse not to see him and often as not it was to do with Eleanor, going through accounts or whatever.
Well, anyhow, he was going to put that right tonight. Rabble-rousing always got his juices flowing.
The rain was thinning. He drove past the gift shop and was pleased to see it was all shut up for the night. It meant she’d be at home, maybe even hoping he’d drop by. Waiting for him, all naked under that black robe of hers. The thought made his loins stir.
He wove the wet gravel out of town and soon saw the lights of Ruth’s house up ahead. He would take her against the hallway wall as soon as she answered the door, like he’d done that other time. As he came nearer, he saw the curtains were open and he swung the car into the driveway and parked in his usual place. She must have heard him because she was opening the door as he got out of the car. She was clearly as hot for him as he was for her.
‘Buck, you’ve got to go.’
‘What?’
‘Eleanor’s coming over. Right now.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t stand there gawping. She’ll be here any minute.’
‘What the hell’s she doing, coming here at this time of night?’
‘There’s a meeting with the accountants tomorrow and we need to go over the figures. Now, GO!’
‘Jesus.’
He stalked sulkily back toward his car and heard her shut the door on him. Without even saying goodnight! It was starting to rain heavily again. Buck stuck his half-smoked cigar between his teeth. It was all wet and had gone out and he flung it angrily away across the driveway, got into the car and slammed the door.
He turned the car, sending the gravel flying, and skidded back out through the gates. So as not to bump into Eleanor, he drove up to the end of the road and waited there, out of sight, with his lights off, until he saw the beam of her headlights turn into Ruth’s driveway.
Buck shook his head. Jesus, he thought. What was the world coming to, when a man couldn’t bed his mistress because his wife was with her? Scowling through the rain and darkly detumescent, he drove home.
The house was silent as a morgue when he got there. Luke must have already turned in, he figured. His hunger had shifted from sex to food and he went to the refrigerator, hoping there might be some leftover supper. But there wasn’t. He opened a beer instead and took it through to the living room, without turning on the lights. He sat down heavily on the couch and used the remote to switch on the TV. Jay Leno was joking with some unshaven young actor or singer or something, who looked like he’d just climbed out of bed. To Buck’s jaundiced eye, they both looked a lot too pleased with themselves.
He’d hardly settled when the phone rang. He killed the sound of the TV, leaned across and picked up.
‘Is that Calder?’
It was a man’s voice he didn’t recognize. It sounded as if he was calling from a bar.
‘Buck Calder speaking. Who’s this?’
‘Never mind who it is. Scum like you deserve to die.’
‘Not man enough to give your name?’
‘Man enough to wipe scum like you off the face of the earth.’
‘You were at that meeting tonight, right?’
‘I saw you on the fucking TV and saw what your psycho pal did to that wolf. And we want you to know—’
‘Oh it’s we now?’
‘We’re going to kill your cows.’
‘Oh just my cows?’
‘No, pigs too. Pigs like you.’
‘And I guess you’ll do all this in the name of the wolf, the greatest killer of them all.’
‘That’s right. You’ve been warned.’
There was a click and the line went dead. Buck stood up and put the phone down. The answering machine was beside it and he noticed there were four messages. He pressed the play button.
‘So the wolves killed your calves, huh? Oh, dear!’ It was a woman’s voice. ‘Before you had a chance to kill them. That’s so unfair! You’re a dying breed, pal, and the sooner you die, the better.’
Buck heard a noise and looked up to see Luke standing at the top of the stairs. He was still dressed.
‘Did you hear that?’
Luke nodded.
‘And the others? Are they all like that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jesus.’
He fast-forwarded to the next. It was a man this time and started with a howl.
‘This is Wolf. With a message for Buck Calder. You’re dead meat, motherfucker.’ There was another howl.
The next one sounded like the same man he had just spoken with and the last, another woman, was a screaming tirade he could only partly decipher. Buck shook his head and took a drink of beer.
‘Did you see it on TV?’
Luke nodded.
‘Speak, Luke, speak.’
‘Y-y-yes.’
‘Did they show Abe dumping the wolf?’
‘Yes. Th-the whole . . . thing.’
‘They don’t hang about. Did it say what’s happening to him?’
‘He’s in j-j-jail, in Helena.’
‘Guess I’d better get on the phone. He’ll need someone to stand bail for him. Boy, what a night. Who the hell are all these crazy people, calling me like that?’
‘I d-d-don’t know. I’m g-g-going to bed now.’
‘Want a beer?’
‘N-n-no, sir.’
Buck sighed. ‘Okay, Luke. ‘Night then.’
‘G-goodnight.’
It was a sad thing when your own damn son wouldn’t share a beer with you. Buck switched off the mute TV and went to find the phone book. He slumped himself down with it on the couch, thumbing the pages to find the number of the jail in Helena.
Maybe it hadn’t been such a great evening after all. Abe’s wolf stunt had seemed pretty good at the time, but now Buck could see it wasn’t a smart move. The guy should have just followed the old rule: shoot, shovel and shut up. Well, he hadn’t and now they had a war on their hands.
Buck was damned if he was going to be frightened off by a bunch of pot-smoking bunny-huggers, threatening him over the phone. But they’d got him wondering.
Maybe he wasn’t playing this wolf business the right way. Originally, he’d thought the way to go was to make a big public issue of it. That was the whole idea of the meeting. Hell, he was real good at all that publicity stuff. And he’d been sure that if he made life hard enough for Dan Prior and his gang, they’d be forced to take action.
But now he could see that Abe killing that wolf would probably have the opposite effect. They were going to dig their heels in. And if Buck was going to get a stream of abusive phone calls every time he gave an interview, maybe he should think again.
Rather than wage war in public, maybe he should play things a little closer to his chest; come up with some more subtle stratagems; fight on several different fronts at the same time, like you did in a real war.
He resolved to give it some thought.
The trail up through the forest was frozen hard and where it was steep Moon Eye’s feet wou
ld sometimes slip and he would check his pace and find a safer route among the rocks. The rain had stopped a little after midnight and the sky had opened to coat the land with the first true frost of the fall. It had come suddenly, seizing the rain that dripped from the trees in a million miniature icicles that now glinted and rain-bowed as they began to melt in the slant of the early sun.
Luke reached the creek and rode up beside it toward the lake, passing the place by the shallows where he used to leave Moon Eye to graze before he knew Helen. The grass there now was starched stiff with frost and the horse’s feet crunched prints in it. At the creek’s edge where the water lingered and eddied, curls of steam rose into the still air.
All the way up from the ranch, Luke had been trying to make sense of what his father had said over breakfast. After what happened last night at the meeting and then all those threatening phone calls, it was almost unreal, so that at first Luke thought it was some kind of sick joke.
‘I’ve been doing some thinking about this wolf business,’ his father had said, through a mouthful of bread and bacon. ‘And I reckon maybe I’ve been a little hard on those Fish and Wildlife guys. What do you reckon, Luke?’
Luke shrugged. ‘I d-don’t know.’
‘Way I see it, they’re only doing their job. Maybe, it’d be better for us all, if we cooperated a little more. Help sort this wolf thing out. You know, finding them, keeping an eye on them and all.’
Luke didn’t say anything. He was always wary when his father came on all reasonable like this. Sometimes he only did it to lay a trap, tempting you to relax and walk right in and then - snap, he had you by the neck. Luke took a spoonful of cereal and looked at his mother across the table. She was listening as warily as he was.
‘You know what that Helen Ross girl was saying the other day? How much she appreciated your help, catching that wolf. Fair singing your praises she was, saying how you had a real feel for that kind of work.’
He paused, waiting for a reaction, but got none.
‘And it got me thinking, once we’ve shipped the calves off to the feedlot, maybe you should give her a hand.’ He gave a great laugh. ‘So long as you don’t put any of those radio collars on our cows!’
Luke looked again at his mother. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.
‘Don’t think she’ll pay you much, mind. But seriously, if you want to help her out some, well, it’s okay by me.’
Luke couldn’t wait to break the news to Helen. He went right out and saddled up. But although he’d turned it inside and out in his mind, he was still no closer to understanding why his father had said it. Maybe those phone calls had really freaked him. It was possible, but Luke doubted it. There was probably some other, more sneaky motive. But Luke wasn’t going to argue.
He came to where the land leveled now and heard Buzz barking. He coaxed Moon Eye out of the trees toward the lake, which lay mirror still and steaming like the creek. Above, on the slope up to the cabin, the sun was already melting patches of green in the silver of the frost. The cabin door was open and Buzz stood on the doorstep, staring at something inside and barking uncertainly.
Helen’s truck was there, its windshield all frozen over. He had thought she might have already left to check the traps. Buzz turned and saw him and Moon Eye and came bounding down the slope to greet them.
‘Hey, Buzz-dog. How’re you doing?’
The dog pranced and circled them, then led the way up alongside the stream. In the frosted grass Luke could see the fresh tracks and droppings of deer who had come earlier to drink there. He expected Helen to emerge from the cabin, but there was no sign of her. He got off his horse and walked to the door.
‘Helen?’
There was no answer. Maybe she was around the back, in the outhouse. He waited a few moments outside the cabin door and then called again. And again there was no answer. So he leaned forward and knocked gently on the open door.
‘Helen? Hello?’
Buzz, beside him, barked again, then brushed past his legs and ran inside. Luke took off his hat and followed him. It was dark inside and it took awhile before his eyes adjusted. Across the room, he could just make out Helen, lying on the bed.
He didn’t know what to do. Perhaps he should let her sleep and come back later. But there was something about the way she looked that made him stay. One of her arms was dangling down, the fingers slightly curled, her nails touching the floor. A mug lay on its side in a pool of spilled liquid. There was an open bottle of pills there too. She lay perfectly still, even when Buzz nuzzled her and whimpered. Luke put his hat down on the table and took a cautious step toward her. He told Buzz to go out.
‘Helen?’ he said softly.
Closer now, he could see there was mud on her arm and on her hand and he looked farther down the bed and saw where her knee stuck out from the sleeping bag that it too was caked with mud and blades of grass. Another step now and he could see the same was true of her face. But she wasn’t asleep.
Her eyes were open and she was staring blankly ahead.
‘Helen? Helen?’
Then something flickered in her eyes, like life itself being switched on. She looked at him, without moving her head. It scared him.
‘Helen, what is it? Are you okay?’
She blinked. Maybe she was sick, had a fever or something, he thought. Tentatively, he stepped closer and reached down to touch her forehead. Her skin felt cold as stone. He lifted the edge of her sleeping bag and saw her T-shirt was dirty and soaking.
‘Helen, what happened?’
Silently she started to cry. The tears made tracks through the mud on her face and he couldn’t bear to see such wretchedness and he sat on the bed beside her and hoisted her up in his arms and held her. She was so cold and wet and he cradled her and tried to warm her and just let her cry, telling her it was okay, he was there, everything was okay.
How long they stayed like that, he couldn’t tell. He felt that her life was but the smallest flame that might be snuffed out if he were to let go of her. Her crying seemed to warm her a little and at last, when she had stopped, he found a dry blanket and wrapped her in it, then went to the stove and lit it, to get some heat going in the place.
Behind the door, when he closed it, he saw a screwed-up piece of paper. It was that same pale blue as the airmail letter he’d found and given to her last night. He picked it up and put it on the table, then lit the little Coleman stove and heated some water to make tea. And all the while she sat hugging her knees, with the blanket over her, shivering and staring at nothing.
He found a washcloth and soaked it with some warmed water and then went and sat on the bed beside her again and, without asking, gently cleaned the mud from her face and from her arms and hands. And she didn’t say a word, just let him do it. Then he found a towel and dried her.
Her blue fleece and a longsleeved undershirt were hanging on the little washing line she’d rigged up and he took them down and said maybe she should put them on instead of the wet T-shirt, but she didn’t seem to hear him. He didn’t know what to do, only that she needed to change, so he took the blanket off her and turned her gently by the shoulders so that she was facing away from him. Then he sat behind her so he wouldn’t see her breasts and pulled the wet T-shirt over her head.
Below the band of suntan around her neck, her skin was pale and smooth. And as he pulled the undershirt over her head he noticed the notches of her spine and the faint curve of her ribs and it made her seem fragile, like a wounded bird. He had to lift each arm in turn, feeding them like a doll’s into the sleeves. He pulled the shirt down over her body and did the same with the fleece.
He prepared the tea and made her drink, helping her hold the mug and guiding it to her lips. Then he stayed beside her, holding her in his arms, for a long time.
It must have been an hour or more before she spoke. Her head lay against his chest and her voice sounded small and faint, as though it came from a great way off.
‘I’m sorry,’ s
he said. ‘I’m not worth the effort.’
He knew better than to ask what had happened. Perhaps it was something to do with the letter. Perhaps someone she knew had died.
All he knew at that moment, or cared to know, was that he loved her.
22
The two weeks that followed Abe Harding’s arrest were the toughest of Dan Prior’s entire career and by a long way the most bizarre. As if in revenge for the killing of the alpha male in Hope, wolf packs throughout the region seemed suddenly to be wreaking havoc.
A sheep rancher north of Yellowstone lost thirty-one lambs in one night to wolves that had wandered out of the park. They ate hardly anything, simply killed them and left them. Another pack killed a pair of thoroughbred foals just east of Glacier. And a lone disperser, from a pack in Idaho, killed three calves near the Salmon River and left a fourth so badly maimed that it had to be put down.
Bill Rimmer was hardly ever out of his helicopter. In ten days he shot and killed nine wolves and darted fifteen more, mainly pups, who were relocated where they would hopefully keep out of trouble. It was Dan who had to sign the death warrants and he did so each time with a sense of personal failure. He was supposed to be in charge of wolf recovery, not liquidation. He had little choice, however. Being prepared to use ‘lethal control’ was a firm promise in the plan that had allowed wolf recovery to happen in the first place. And because of what had happened in Hope, the media was watching his every move.
Reporters were calling him every hour of the day. At home he left the answering machine on all the time, except those nights Ginny stayed when she answered for him and pretended to be a Chinese takeout or a home for the criminally insane, which wasn’t too wide of the mark. At the office, Donna handled most of the media calls, only putting through to Dan those journalists he knew or those who might be important.
It wasn’t only the local media who’d suddenly renewed their interest in wolves, it was national and even international people too. There was one call from a German TV reporter who kept talking about Nietzsche and asking all kinds of deep philosophical questions Dan couldn’t understand, let alone answer. More surreal still was the guy from Time magazine who said they were thinking of doing a cover story on Abe Harding.