CHAPTER 20

          General picked his way through the shrubs and trees blanketing the steep hillside, his iron shod hooves clinking against the stony protrusions of the uneven ground. Rum Feldon sat astride the bay gelding’s back. He was searching for that blasted calf. Again. Connie was injured, the rest of the crew otherwise occupied, and Walker was just plain inept, so the retrieval of the breecher had fallen to him.

     The park service had called that morning with a report of a Red Angus calf traveling with a young bison cow near the east entrance. Rum had a pretty good idea of where they were headed so he’d hooked the hauler to his Yukon, saddled up General and loaded him into the trailer, then drove out to the dirt access road where Connie and Walker had run into the park ranger.

     Snaking through the thick dry underbrush in the noonday heat on horseback, Rum thought; “More trouble than it’s worth. Should’ve shipped that calf off to the feedlot when I had the chance.” Dinero darted ahead and flushed a quail out of the brush. The dog barked happily as the frightened bird fluttered up to a low branch.

     Rum was hoping to locate the calf and get back down the mountain before dark. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the night out here. “Damned slow animal,” he yelled and kicked General hard with his spurred boots causing him to jump forward and briefly quicken his step, but the dense forest prevented the horse from making any faster progress.

     By Rum’s reckoning, that clearing should be just over the next ridge. He guided General up the rocky slope, crested the ridge and was heading down through the trees when Dinero stopped suddenly, ears alert, nose sniffing the air, then barked three short yaps. General stiffened, snorted and scraped the ground with one front hoof. Rum reached down and unbuckled the strap on his rifle holster attached to the saddle, ready to defend against a large predator. Without a permit, it was illegal to shoot an animal in the national park except in self defense, but even if it never came to that, in his foul mood Rum wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

     Fearing for his companion, Rum commanded Dinero to heel at the horse’s feet. The dog reluctantly obeyed, slinking through the dense undergrowth beside General and emitting a long growl. General’s anxious pawing continued and Rum had a hard time urging him forward toward the clearing where it sounded like some kind of scuffle was going on. 

     Rum smelled the blood before he reached the edge of the forest.  In the middle of a grassy meadow three wolves were tugging at the mangled carcass of a freshly killed bison calf and two others were stalking something else in a patch of tall grass. A frightened bawl from the cornered calf caused Dinero’s instinct to kick in. “Dinero!” Rum hollered, trying to call the dog off. He’d sacrifice the bull calf before his dog, but it was too late. Dinero raced into the clearing and placed himself between the wolves and their intended prey.

     Forgetting the calf, the two wolves rushed at the dog. They slammed into him and all three rolled across the ground in a frenzied mass. Rum went for his gun but General reared, twisted and bolted away. Rum yanked the reins hard but couldn’t stop the panicked horse from retreating toward the trees. Grabbing his gun he jumped out of the saddle, charged back into the clearing, rifle aimed at the sky, and fired two quick shots. The wolves tearing at the bison scattered into the forest, but the other two continued their attack on Dinero. Rum fired another shot into the air. One wolf broke off from the fight and faced Rum, teeth bared ominously. Rum whipped his rifle down, aimed and pulled the trigger. The wolf fell.

     Growling and snarling, gripping hard with razored fangs, the two canines continued their furious struggle, until Dinero gave a yelp and the wolf let go. Without thinking, Rum shot it dead and ran to his dog’s side. He dropped to his knees, laid his hand over the deep bloody gash on Dinero’s neck and murmured; “It’s ok pal, it’s ok, it’s ok,” as much to comfort himself as the dog. Dinero lifted his head weakly and looked up at the man, then laid his head down again and closed his eyes.

      When Rum felt the dog’s body go limp, a dizzy sickness overwhelmed him. His chin dropped to his chest and he uttered a low groan, then he stood quickly and wheeled toward the calf, still standing and bawling in the middle of the clearing. His first thought was to kill the beast, strangle it with his bare hands. Instead, he marched over to the calf’s side and kneed it hard in the ribs. The animal coughed out a surprised “merp” turned its head toward Rum and rolled its eyes.

     Rum found General standing in a thicket, bobbing his head and shivering all over. Without a word to the nerve racked horse, Rum lifted the reins and led him back to where Dinero’s wartorn body lay still oozing dark red blood into the grass. He picked the dog up and laid it gently across General’s rump. The horse huffed and moved his back end away from the mess of tangled wet fur, but Rum grabbed the reins and steadied him, then secured the dog’s body with the leather straps of the rear saddlepack. Taking the coiled rope from his saddle, Rum tied one end to the saddle horn, then looped the other end and slipped the lasso around the calf’s neck. He mounted General and nudged him forward, the calf obediently followed.

* * *

    Rum wrapped Dinero’s body in a piece of canvas tarp and set it on the front passenger seat of his truck, then loaded his horse and the strangely docile calf into the trailer. He phoned Connie to let her know he’d be returning shortly. On his way out of Yellowstone, Rum stopped at the park service office to fill out a report regarding the two wolves he’d laid out. The young female ranger placed the three page form on the counter in front of him.

“Sounds like that calf has caused some serious problems for you and your crew,” Maya commented, “not to mention prematurely reducing Yellowstone’s wolf population.”

She smiled sweetly but Rum detected a note of accusation.

He looked up from the form at the pretty park ranger. His jaw was clenched and his face held a sour expression.

“Shouldn’t have reintroduced them to the area in the first place,” he said.

Maya crossed her arms in front of her and defended; “No. They shouldn’t have been eliminated from the park in the first place. By people like you.” She uncrossed her arms and turned away swiftly. Her long blond ponytail swung wildly as she stomped away down the hall.

Rum’s cell phone rang. Smoothly unclipping the silver star buckle of the tan leather case attached to his belt and lifting the phone to his ear, he grunted; “Yeah?”

It was DC Powers.

“Feldon, understand you had some problems retrieving that stray. Sorry about the dog.”

Rum ground his teeth together, “Uh huh”

“I know you’ve got a lot to deal with right now. Just wanted to make sure you’ve got everything ready for the barbeque.”

“Taken care of.”

“Good, good. See you Saturday then.”

     Rum snapped the phone shut and slid it back into the holster. He was in no mood for celebration, but the annual Casablanca Ranch BBQ was a big affair in these parts. Friends from Cody and neighboring spreads were all looking forward to dancing, drinking and consuming plenty of Casablanca’s famously tender barbequed beef. The party was just a few days away and there was only one thing left for Rum to do. One that he considered more of a pleasure than a duty.

     CHAPTER 21

      The Rancher stopped the truck and got out. He walked into a small green building. General turned his head away from the window and poked his nose over the low divider of his compartment in the trailer. He arched his neck and looked down at the calf in the next compartment that stood with its head hanging, overcome every once in awhile by a fit of trembling. General could still smell the calf’s fear. He put aside thoughts of his own moment of terror and tried to comfort the boy.

“It’s over now.”

Mark was mute.

“Battles can be traumatic,” the horse continued, “I know you lost a companion. We lost one of ours too. But we won, we accomplished our mission.”

Mark looked up at the long serious face of General.

“I loved her,” he said and sniffled.

“She wasn’t our kind. She was an outsider,” the gelding answered, “an unfortunate case of collateral damage. What matters is, we rescued you from the enemy.”

“I don’t know who my enemy is anymore. I thought it was the Ranchers.”

“Nonsense!” General boomed, “You should be grateful you live in a place where you’re well cared for. Some cattle don’t have it so good you know. I’m proud to wear this saddle and the Casablanca brand. Proud to serve.”

The horse tossed his head and whinnied loudly.

“Why did the Rancher save me?”

“Because it’s his job. It was Dinero’s job too, he’s the real hero. You should honor him because he sacrificed his life to keep you safe.”

“I’m safe now?”

“As long as you stay on the Ranch, and obey orders and don’t go snooping around places you don’t belong.”

Mark nodded, then hung his head and began sniffling again.

     The Rancher came out of the building and walked over to the truck, slid into the front seat and started the engine. The trailer lurched forward and Mark lost his footing. He stumbled and fell to the floor.

“Pick yourself up and pull it together, everything’s going to be all right,” General said.

“I’ll try,” Mark said. He stood, turned and wiped his wet face on his shoulder. He lifted his nose to the window opening and gulped a few breaths of air whooshing by outside of the speeding vehicle. It was all so confusing. But he wanted to trust General. He wanted to believe that it was going to be all right.

* * *

     Alone in a small corral behind the barn at the Casablanca, Mark took a nibble from the pile of hay in front of him. He wasn’t hungry, but if he could just do something normal and familiar, maybe he could forget what had happened. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t erase the horror of watching Libertia being torn apart by wolves. The blood, the screaming, her helplessness. If it hadn’t been for the Rancher, that would’ve been his fate also. He’d never been so terrified.

     It looked like the cows and bulls had been right all along. Which meant that everything he’d done and thought and felt about freedom and the wilderness and the Natural Order had been wrong. The wilderness was brutal, he knew that now. The bison had made him fear the Ranchers, but it was a Rancher who saved him from the terror of the wolves. He no longer believed the stories the bison had told him about the Ranchers killing and cutting and burning and eating cattle. Obviously the humans had cared a great deal about his safety to have gone after him twice. They wouldn’t go to all that trouble to save him just to kill him themselves. It wasn’t logical.

     “Mark!” Clowers circled down from the sky and landed on the top rail of the corral. “I can’t believe it. My pal Hoffman said he saw you in here, but I though he must’ve made a mistake.”

     Mark didn’t even raise his head. This was partly that raven’s fault anyway. If he hadn’t come around talking about freedom and the wilderness, Mark never would’ve left the pasture in the first place and Libertia would still be alive, running and playing with the other bison calves among the flowers in the high meadows.

“Hey Mark, what’s going on son, you okay?” Clowers hopped down to the ground and looked up into the calf’s face.

“Just leave me alone alright,” Mark mumbled.

“You don’t want me to get you out of here?”

“NO! Just go away!” Mark pivoted and walked to the far corner.

Clowers skipped over to Mark and said, “Look, I don’t know what’s wrong, but you gotta get out of here or the Ranchers, well…you know.”

“I don’t know, that’s just it,” Mark said, “Maybe it’s all a lie. Maybe I never should have left the ranch. Maybe cattle need the Ranchers to take care of them. Maybe we weren’t meant to be free.”

“Whoa there son. Are you saying you’d rather stay caged up?” Clowers cocked his head and peered up at the calf.

“Yeah, That’s right. I don’t care if the ranchers burn my fur, or tie me up, or poke me, or put me in a box. That’s nothing compared to what can happen without their protection. I want to be safe. That’s all. I don’t care if I’m free. I just want to be safe.”

Mark stomped a front hoof, sending a cloud of dust swirling toward Clowers who quickly flapped up to the top rail. He looked back over his shoulder at the defiant calf.

Mark went on, “I just didn’t appreciate what I had. I’m not going to complain anymore. I’m going to be a good consumer. I’m never going to leave the ranch again as long as I live.”

“Well all right Mark, have it your way. I hope it works out for you.”

He took off calling “Haw Haw Haw,” in a rather mournful tone.

* * *

     Clowers was flying over the meadow toward the old tree where he’d first met Mark, when he heard a shrill whistle from below. The Raven swooped and landed a few feet from a mound of dirt where a prairie dog sat on his haunches next to his hole.

“Greetings noble bird,” Franklin called.

“Hey there,” Clowers answered.

Franklin continued, “I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to that young bull, the one I’ve seen you talking to at the tree over there.”

Clowers hesitated. “You knew him?”

“Well yes,” the prairie dog nodded, “The lad and I spoke several times. Seemed quite agitated and intent upon escaping to freedom if I recall.”

“Yeah, that’s him.” Clowers hopped a little nearer and said, “The Ranchers have got him penned up over near their dwellings.”

“Oh dear,” Franklin said, “Do you suppose he’ll be able to get free again?”

“Doesn’t want to,” Clowers replied, “he had a bad experience in the wilderness and now he says he’d rather be safe than free.”

Franklin shook his head, “Anyone that would give up their freedom to gain safety will deserve neither and lose both.”

“I’m afraid you may be right about that, friend,” Clowers said as he lifted off. “Bye now.”

“Farewell,” Franklin waved and disappeared down the hole.”

CHAPTER 22

          Saturday afternoon the Casablanca barbeque was in full swing. Laughing guests filled the checker clothed tables, their plates piled with beans, potato salad, homemade bread and barbequed beef slathered in a thick red sauce. Walker sat between Mrs. Powers and Connie, regaling them with his exploits in the Texas oil business. He took a bite of bread, chewed and kept right on talking at the same time. Connie looked away in disgust. When Walker started telling a bawdy joke, Connie stood up and said, “I’m going to go get some more beef.” She walked over and got in line behind DC Powers.

“How’s that arm of yours?” Powers asked. “Must be kinda hard to work with one hand.”

“It’s ok, I can manage,” Connie said frowning and smiling and shaking her head all at once. The line moved and they both stepped forward. Powers turned back to Connie.

“That calf’s caused a lot of grief. First your arm and then Feldon’s dog.”

     Connie nodded this time, but still with a frown and a smile, as if she couldn’t quite decide what response Powers was looking for. The line moved again and Powers stepped up to the barbeque grille where Abe Elliot was turning over big chunks of heavily seasoned charred beef with large metal tongs.

“Throw me one of those Elliot,” Powers said, “slice it thin, slap it right here on top of this bread and give me some sauce.”

     Abe lifted a thick slab of meat, set it on a cutting board, took a large carving knife and a barbeque fork and cut it into quarter inch slices. He grabbed the pile of meat with the tongs and placed it on one of two pieces of bread on Powers’ plate then picked up a ladle full of sauce and poured it over the top. DC covered it with the other slice of bread. Plate in one hand, glass of beer in the other, he walked over to the corral where Rum stood leaning against the fence with his arms folded tight across his chest. The boss set his beer on the fence post and shook Rum’s hand.

“Feldon, you ok?”

“Fine” Rum lied.

     Powers lifted a forkful of potato salad to his mouth, chewed slowly, then put the fork down. He picked up the barbequed beef sandwich, took a bite and wiped the red sauce dribbling from his lips with a napkin. He took a swig of beer, picked up the sandwich again and turned to Rum.

“Sure a shame about that dog of yours. That calf’s been one heap of trouble. What’d you decide to do with him?”

Rum smiled for the first time in days, “You’re eatin’ him”

Powers looked down at his sandwich, chuckled and took another bite.

The End