CHAPTER 4
DC Powers backed his Cadillac out of the driveway and waved to his wife standing on the porch. She rarely went with him on his trips to the Casablanca, preferring to stay at their 9,000 square foot luxury home on the outskirts of Cody. Serving his second term as a Wyoming Senator, he rarely got a chance to visit the ranch located in the rugged scrub country just east of the Yellowstone National Park border. He trusted the men who ran things for him; Rum Feldon, Abe Elliot, Rich Oyster, and even that colored woman Pilaf. They were all capable enough of carrying out the agenda, but he still liked to check on things himself once in a while. Besides, it gave him a chance to visit his other interests.
A few miles west of Wapiti he pulled off the main highway onto a dirt road and drove past a series of squat tanks and vertical pipes, all painted sand beige in an attempt to camouflage the natural gas extraction equipment.
Powers headed for a large white portable trailer serving as an office. Her red Hummer was parked outside. He pulled up, hit the horn a quick one. The door of the trailer opened and Holly appeared on the stair landing, waved, then turned and locked the door. She stopped at her car and pulled a suitcase out of the trunk. Powers got out and took the bag from her, threw it in his trunk and opened the passenger door. He gave her a crooked smile and she kissed his jowly cheek before slipping in to the front seat.
They made an odd looking pair, she was young, tall, glowing with a rich tan, her pretty face framed by long straight golden hair. He was shorter, heavyset, pale, what little hair he had left was white. But the relationship was more than just physical. The impending introduction of his energy bill to the state legislature would give Holly the opportunity to expand her Burton Fuel empire. In return, she bought all of her equipment from CarlCorp, in which Powers was a major stockholder.
DC turned into the long driveway leading to the Casablanca and pulled up in front of the main house, a long rectangular two story with white siding and a gray shingled roof. A wide planked porch running the length of the building was furnished with several wooden chairs and benches. Shading the porch, a shed roof was held up by eight slender round posts. A set of stairs led to the main double door in the center and there were two smaller doors at either end of the building that gave access to the east and west wings of the house.
Rum Feldon heard the car in the driveway and looked out the window. He knew Powers didn’t like to be bothered with ranch business until he’d taken care of the business sitting beside him in the front seat. He was about to get back to work when he saw Walker come sauntering out of the house, heading toward Powers’ car. Good grief, thought Feldon, I forgot to warn that yahoo about this situation.
Powers got out of the car and went around to open the passenger door, but Walker intercepted him.
“Howdy” he said and thrust his hand out. “Welcome to the Casablanca Ranch, I’m Walker, what can I do for you?”
Powers stared a moment at the duded up spectacle in front of him.
“Ah yeah Walker, DC Powers,” he took Walker’s hand, gave it a brief pump and dropped it.
“Oh, heh heh, yeah, hi, uh Mr. Powers, uh DC…been awhile, I didn’t recognize you,” Walker’s stammering was interrupted by Rum Feldon calling from the door of his office, “Walker! I need to talk to you.”
Powers had turned his back and was escorting a woman from the front seat of his car, so Walker strolled over to Feldon’s office. He opened the door and walked in, took a chair facing Feldon and said casually, “You wanted to see me Rummy?”
Feldon’s perpetually sour expression had a particularly grim tight jawed look at the moment. The way his gray hair was slicked back over the top of his head made him appear even more severe. He took off his wire rimmed glasses and eyed the man in front of him, then said, “Walker, when the boss visits the ranch we let him come to us.”
“Yeah, I didn’t, I was just…” Walker sputtered.
Feldon cut him off, “He’ll get around to seeking us out when he’s ready. Give him some room.”
“Yeah sure, no problem, heh heh, I get it. The lady, she ain’t his wife right?” Walker winked.
Feldon suppressed the urge to choke him, “Right. You got the picture now so next time…”
“Oh yeah, I got it, give the boss some room, let him do some settlin’ in. I got it.”
“Good. That’s all then” Feldon said, indicating it was time for Walker to leave.
As soon as Walker was out the door, the phone rang. It was Connie Pilaf, “I saw the car. Is she here?”
“Yeah” Feldon answered.
“OK then, I’ll order up some dinner for them. Two hours?”
“Yeah sounds about right” Feldon confirmed.
Connie hung up and called the cook with the instructions, then went to make sure everything was tidy around the ranch. She ran in to Abe Elliot at the stable.
“See the boss has come for a visit” he said, “Where’s the old man now?” Abe grinned at her expectantly. Connie gave him her best fake smile, “Oh Abe, you know that right about now, DC Powers is in bed with Holly Burton.”
Walker was relaxing after dinner, watching TV in the living room of the west wing. He was hoping to catch the boss for a chat, so he kept the volume low and listened for his chance. Around 8pm Walker heard Powers leave the house by the front door. He stood up and went to the window. The boss was walking over to the foreman’s office. Feldon stepped out to meet him and the two had a brief conversation, then Feldon returned to his office, and Powers turned back toward the house.
Walker grabbed his hat, left the west wing and swaggered across the yard, acting as if he was on some important errand. Sure he’d been warned not to approach the boss, but could he help it if they happened to run into each other in the yard?
“Evening” Walker touched two fingers to the brim of his hat as he crossed Powers path.
“Evening” Powers grunted and kept right on walking.
Walker’s step faltered and slowed as he watched Powers climb the stairs and go into the house. Realizing he didn’t have anywhere to go, he snapped his fingers pretending he’d forgotten something and turned around.
Powers was standing at the kitchen door arranging tomorrow’s breakfast with the cook when Walker came in. He waited until the boss had finished, then stepped up and said; “Uh sir, Mr. Powers, could I have a moment?”
Powers hesitated then said; “Let’s go into the office.”
Walker followed him into the high ceilinged room furnished only with a red velvet couch facing a massive dark wood desk and matching chair. Bookshelves lined every wall and mounted above them were Powers hunting trophies, ranging from pheasant to the heads of various horned mammals, including a bison. Walker wasn’t sure if he should take a seat in his usual chair behind the desk or leave it for the boss. When Powers sat on the sofa, Walker took the chair.
“What is it?” Powers said.
“Well, uh, I’d kind of like to know what it is I’m supposed to be doing. I’ve been here for over three months now and all I’ve done so far is sit here at this desk a few times and sign papers. I haven’t even had a chance to read any of them. Feldon just brings them in and tells me I need to sign, so I do.”
DC pressed his thin lips together. The left side of his mouth turned up while the right remained almost motionless, making it hard for Walker to read his expression.
“That’s right, I told Feldon not to bother you with the details. Those papers are just orders for equipment and such. You see, I’ve made you the official representative of the Casablanca Ranch.”
Walker looked surprised.
“I, I’m the official representative? Not you, or Feldon?”
“No, I’m too busy politicking to be here much and Feldon’s got his hands full running the daily operations. I needed someone to handle the paperwork and make an occasional public appearance on behalf of the ranch.”
“Public appearance?” Walker’s heart raced. He was ok in a gathering of a few friends and family, in fact he could be quite charming. But whenever he’d been called upon to speak in front of a crowd of strangers, he’d gotten nervous and often made a fool of himself. Powers caught the vibe.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “it’ll just be neighbors and maybe some reporters now and then.”
“Re…reporters? Uh…”
“Just keep on doing what you’ve been doing. Feldon tells me you’re working out just fine so far.”
Walker swallowed hard. He’d thought he was going to be a cowboy. Even though he didn’t know anything about ranching, he’d seen enough Westerns to feel confident in playing the part. But public speaking, that was a different story. Still, he couldn’t admit defeat, not again. He couldn’t go back to Texas and face his father having let down DC Powers.
He managed a weak smile and said, “Thanks.”
Powers got up and reached his hand out, took Walker’s and shook it.
“Good man,” he said, “it’s getting late. I hear you like to take an early morning ride. Better get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” Walker said. He rose to go.
“Uh Walker,” DC said, “Holly Burton is a good friend of mine, but no one outside of this ranch needs to know that, right?”
“Right,” Walker grinned, “Right. Just between us, our little secret.”
“No,” Powers scowled, “not secret. Just discreet.”
“Discreet. I can be discreet. I’m as discreetish as they get.”
“Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight.”
Walker returned to his den in the west wing, kicked his boots off, turned on the TV and settled into his easy chair, just in time to catch a rerun of Rawhide on the Western channel.
At 10pm Rum Feldon quietly exited his office through the back door and headed around the east end of the main house toward the big white barn. The double doors in front were locked up for the night, so he entered through a side door at the front of the building, walked past the row of tractors and harvesters and climbed the wooden stairs to DC Powers’ small private office.
Powers sat hunched behind an antique oak desk in an oversized chair covered in burgundy leather, the edges studded with brass tacks. Rum took the tan suede wing chair to the right of the desk next to the only window. Opposite him, at either end of a brown and white cowhide sofa sat Abe Elliot and Rich Oyster, each with their bootheels resting on a leather ottoman, one arm stretched over the back of the sofa, the other dangling over the side. They look like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, thought Rum. He looked out the window. Connie Pilaf was crossing the yard. She entered the room, perched her denim clad behind on a slim spindled mahogany chair and sat with her back perfectly straight and her legs crossed at the ankles. Her hands, clasping a pen, rested on a notepad on her lap.
“Anyone seen Colwell?” Powers quacked out of the side of his mouth.
Connie raised her pen, “He’s not coming.”
“Why the hell not?”
“He said something about business in Cody.”
“Well we don’t really need him I guess,” Powers shifted his weight forward and interlaced his fingers on the desk.
“Things are gonna get a little hotter now with this energy bill in the works” Powers informed his crew. “Some of our neighbors are pretty pissed off about the possibility of drilling on public land. Not to mention those hippie treehuggers are probably going to come sniffing around. Anyone gets too close, I want you to nip it in the bud.” He looked around the room, everyone was nodding except Feldon who was peering over his shoulder out the window.
“Sir?” Connie raised the pen in front of her and flashed a nervous smile, “I’m concerned about Walker, he doesn’t seem to have much experience.”
Powers replied, “That’s the idea. He doesn’t know enough to figure out what’s going on. Keep him in the dark as much as possible. Feed him only what we want him to know and let him regurgitate it to the public. That’ll leave you all free to do your jobs.”
Feldon turned from the window with a scowl, “He’s an arrogant fool.”
Elliot and Oyster looked at each other and snickered.
“His arrogance works in our favor,” Powers countered, “If he really believes he knows what he’s talking about, others will too.”
Connie nodded and wrote something in her notebook. Powers caught Feldon’s attention and cocked his head. Feldon rose, walked over to her and gently lifted the notepad from her lap. He walked back to the desk and tossed it in the trash.
“No paper trails,” Powers explained and gave her a lopsided smile.
“Of course,” Connie replied and clicked her pen shut.
CHAPTER 5
Mark’s constant pacing around the inside perimeter of the fence had worn a deep dirt rut in the grass. While the cows grazed and the other calves played together, Mark daydreamed about adventure, and looked for a way to escape the confines of the pasture. He tried talking to the other calves, but they seemed utterly without curiosity.
“Don’t you want to see what’s Out There in the Wilderness?” he asked his friends Mahood and Hedden.
“Why?” Mahood said, “We’ve got everything we want right here.”
“Yeah, we’ve got everything we want,” echoed Hedden.
“But we’re not free,” Mark insisted.
“I’m free,” Mahood said, swishing his tail to flick a fly off his ribcage, “free to eat, free to play, free to take a crap anywhere I want.”
“Yeah free to take a crap,” Hedden laughed and yelled, “Field dump!”
He turned his rear toward Mark and pushed out a load. The gooey green poo thudded to the ground a few inches from Mark’s front hooves.
“At least I still have balls” Mark mumbled as he walked away.
One afternoon when he was feeling particularly restless, Mark circled his mother while she grazed.
“Please stop Dearie, you’re making me dizzy.”
“I’m bored” he told her.
She looked up at him, munching a mouthful of grass, finished chewing, swallowed and said, “Cattle don’t get bored, we’re naturally content.”
“Well, I’m not.” Mark said.
The cow pulled another mouthful of grass and began chewing.
“Did you hear that mother? I’m not.” Mark insisted.
“Hmm? If your hot go stand under the tree,” the cow replied.
“Not hot. Not! I’m not content. I’m bored,” Mark insisted, then added, “I want to go Out There.”
His mother swallowed another mouthful of greens and said, “Out where Dearie?”
“Mother, I’ve told you a million times. Out There in the Wilderness, on the other side of the fence,” Mark tossed his head toward the offending barbed wire barrier.
The cow looked over at the fence, blinked twice, and said, “Don’t be silly. Why would you want to leave the pasture?”
She never seemed to remember what he had told her, so he started to explain again, “There’s animals, bisom and delk and…and ravens.” He wished he’d gotten a little more information from Clowers so he could sound convincing.
This was the point where his mother usually wandered off, but this time she raised her head, looked at him curiously and said, “Cattle don’t belong in the wilderness Dearie. We can’t defend ourselves. That’s why we need the Ranchers. They put the fence there to protect us from danger.” She chomped at the grass, began chewing again.
“The Ranchers!” Mark sputtered, “Mother don’t you remember how badly they treated me? They threw me down, hurt my ears, burned me, tried to castrate me.” Mark looked at his mother’s tagged and tattered ears and the scarred hairless brand on her side.
“They hurt you too didn’t they?”
“Oh I know it seems harsh,” the cow replied, “but it’s for our own good. For our safety.”
Mark was stunned. How could his mother prefer the cruelty of the Ranchers to the freedom of the Wilderness? She must really believe it was dangerous Out There. But Clowers had never said anything about danger. He had made it sound exciting, mysterious, but not dangerous. Maybe his mother was wrong, maybe she didn’t really know what she was talking about.
“I don’t think…” Mark began.
“That’s good Dearie, don’t think,” his mother said, “Cattle aren’t supposed to think. That’s for the Ranchers to do. We’re just supposed to consume grass and hay and if we’re lucky, some grain now and then. Go on and eat. You’ll feel better.”
Mark was more confused than ever. Did he really need a fence to keep him safe? Did he need the Ranchers to take care of him? If all of the other animals could survive in the Wilderness, why couldn’t he? And was his entire life only about consumption? Was that the extent of it? He wished the raven were here to answer his questions.
Mark left his mother and walked toward the center of the pasture, he laid down on a little mound of dirt to chew some cud and think on things. A high pitched whistle startled Mark out of his daydreaming. He turned his head and looked behind him where a fat prairie dog sat on its haunches frowning.
“Hey fella, would you mind moving your behind off of my front door?” said the critter.
“Oh sorry!” Mark stood up, walked over to the rodent and asked; “Who are you?”
“Name’s Franklin, and you?”
“I’m Mark.”
“Pleased to meet you Mark, now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get home. Early to bed early to rise makes one healthy, wealthy and wise!”
Wise? Maybe this little guy could help sort things out. Franklin was moving toward the hole where Mark’s butt had recently rested.
“Wait, can I ask you something.”
The rodent paused, looked up at the curious calf. This was new. None of these bovines had ever wanted to converse with him or his kind before, let alone ask for advice. Here was a chance to share his vast wealth of knowledge.
“Sure, what is it?”
“Well,” began Mark, trying to sort out the jumble of questions in his mind, “To begin with, what do you know about the Wilderness?”
“Ah the wilderness. Feeling a little claustrophobic are we?” Franklin rubbed his chin. “Just remember; distrust and caution are the parents of security.”
“Huh? What does that mean? What I want to know is; why can’t I leave this pasture whenever I wish?”
“If one could have half of his wishes, he would double his troubles.”
Mark took a step closer as if that would help him decipher the prairie dog’s cryptic quotes. “Are, are…you talking about the fence? I’m trying to find a way to get Out There. Can you tell me how?”
“Mmmm, I’ve seen the way you walk along the fence day after day, hour after hour. But, one should never confuse motion with action. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”
This was getting more confusing by the moment. Why couldn’t he understand what Franklin was saying? “Look, all I want to know is; why am I… and my family, confined to this pasture? What are we doing here? Why do the Ranchers treat us so badly? Why can’t we be free?”
“Free!” Franklin gave a little chuckle, “My boy, what do you know about freedom?”
“Nothing!” Mark shouted, “That’s what I’m asking you about!”
“Well that’s a good start. The doorstep to the temple of wisdom is knowledge of our own ignorance.”
Mark opened his mouth, he blinked, and blinked again. “You don’t really know anything about the Wilderness or freedom or the Ranchers do you?”
“They that will not be counseled, cannot be helped. If you do not hear reason she will rap you on the knuckles.” Franklin smiled, thoroughly pleased with himself.
Mark was on the verge of exploding in frustration. Franklin seemed to be saying something important, but Mark couldn’t understand any of it. Did this guy know something or not? Speaking very slowly and clearly Mark tried again, “Is there any reason I shouldn’t be able to do as I please, go where I want, be free?”
“Why sure there is! It’s called the fence.”
“Aaagh!” Mark reared up on his hind legs and came down, stomping the dirt a few inches from the prairie dog. Franklin scampered away, then turned. “Easy there guy, passion governs, and she never governs wisely you know.”
“No I don’t know! I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t think you do either. You can’t help me. You’re not wise at all, you’re just a, an old…an old, fat, fool!”
Franklin frowned, pressed his lips together. All he was trying to do was give some sage advice and this calf was getting downright insolent. “I guess I don’t so much mind being old, as I mind being fat and old. Life’s tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late. Experience is a dear teacher, but fools will learn at no other.”
Mark sighed, “OK I give up, I was just hoping you could help, but forget it.”
“Hoping? He that lives upon hope will die fasting. Just remember, energy and persistence conquer all things.”
“Yeah right, thanks.” Mark turned to go.
Franklin waved a paw, “You’re quite welcome. Any time. And keep in mind; if your head is wax, don’t walk in the sun,” he said as he slipped into his hole.
“Ugh! Whatever,” Mark broke into a trot, heading again for the tree where he’d met the raven. Now he wished more than ever to find his clear speaking friend waiting there for him. But the tree was empty.
CHAPTER 6
Kerry Johnson and Dean Howe of Bar W rode out to the pasture one morning to check the herd. Johnson leaned down from the saddle and pulled the loop of rope over the post that held the wooden gate shut, he nudged his horse forward and swung the gate open. Howe walked his horse through and when he was clear, Johnson swung the gate closed, looped the rope back over the fencepost and followed Howe into the pasture. Neither of them took any notice of the raven sitting on top of a tree stump a few yards away.
As the pair approached the herd, the cows rose up from their relaxed positions and placed themselves between the ranchers and their calves, mooing a warning to their offspring. Soon the air was filled with the sound of agitated cows worrying over their calves and the calves answering in frightened bleats. Johnson and Howe moved among the cattle taking stock of their general condition.
“Hey look at that,” Howe pointed at the Red Angus calf that belonged to the Casablanca. It was moving away from them along the fenceline, its tail swinging back and forth as it walked.
“Well I’ll be” said Johnson, “How do you suppose he got that elasticator off ?”
“Beats me, never seen that happen before” Howe replied. “Better call Feldon and let him know. They’ll want to do something about that as soon as possible. That calf’s getting near weaning age.”
Johnson nodded and added, “They’re gonna have to take ‘em off with a knife this time. Make sure it gets done right.”
The two men turned their horses back toward the gate. Fifteen feet overhead, a raven soared in tight circles.
CHAPTER 7
The raven flew over the pasture, eventually spotting the restless calf walking slowly with his head down toward the old tree. Clowers got there first, and perched himself in the oak, waiting for Mark’s arrival.
“Hey Mark,” the raven called out when the calf got within hearing range. Mark looked up, then trotted over and stopped directly under the big black bird.
“Hey Clowers,” Mark’s usually sullen demeanor changed to happiness at the appearance of the winged adventurer. At long last, he would get his questions answered!
“Got something to tell you,” the bird said.
Mark wondered at Clowers seriousness. Usually the raven would have opened with a joke and raucous laughter.
“What?” Mark asked.
“You want the bad news first or the good news?”
That was more like it, thought Mark, this sounded like the beginning of a joke. He relaxed and played along, “I’ll take the bad news first.”
“Your balls are on the line again.”
Mark looked puzzled, Clowers still wasn’t laughing. So far, this joke didn’t sound too funny.
“My balls…what?”
“I overheard the Ranchers talking about taking your balls off” Clowers explained.
Mark felt sick, remembering the throbbing pain of the elasticator cutting off the circulation to his testicles.
“Uh, what’s the good news then?”
“I think I can get you out of here.” Clowers said.
Mark’s painful memory turned to joy. A thrill ran through him and he couldn’t contain the rush of adrenaline. He reared up, pawed the air and shouted, “Out There! Out There in the wilderness? Let’s go. Let’s go now!”
“Haw Haw Haw!” laughed Clowers and for a moment Mark’s heart dropped. Was Clowers only joking? Was this his sick idea of humor? Oh please no.
But the raven reassured him, “Not now, when it gets dark, meet me at the gate ok?”
“OKOKOK!” shouted Mark.
“Shhh. Keep it quiet. Act normal.” Clowers warned.
Mark immediately obeyed, he lowered his head to eat and pretended to be one of those contented cattle who never think about anything beyond the pasture. But inside he was quivering with delight and anticipation.