by Rhona Weaver
He was relieved when the trail finally crested the hill and they stood side by side, staring down at a small area of white earth and thick steam. The new thermal area was within a narrow ravine surrounded by lush forest. Luke hadn’t spoken during the fifteen-minute hike to the site, but when they reached the area of dead shrubs and dying trees surrounding the hot spot, he switched into teacher mode.
“You know most of Yellowstone is sittin’ on top of one of the world’s largest volcanoes, right? There’s a forty-five-mile-wide caldera, and the lava from the underground volcano sits from three to twelve miles below the surface.” Luke glanced at Win. “You seen the caldera rim?”
“Naw, never been here before,” Win admitted, “but I got the volcano part from TV.”
“Well, the north rim of that caldera is ’bout twenty-five miles south of here. There’s a fault line from the underground magma, or lava, at the Norris Geyser Basin that runs all the way up here to Mammoth. That’s what heats the water in this part of the park and causes the thermal features here. You wanna really watch yourself if you see white crust on the ground—that tells you there’s a hot spring underground or an old one has died out. They kin pop up from day to day. . . . Pretty things, the little pools—blue, green, orange, blackish, mostly. Sometimes you can sorta tell the temperature by the color of the pool, sometimes you can’t. They’re fascinating to see, but you gotta show ’em some respect—they kin kill ya.”
Win made himself comfortable on a damp rock and settled in for more of Luke’s lecture. After a short course on Yellowstone’s geography, wildlife, and vegetation, Luke circled back to discussing the thermal features.
“I’ve studied up some on the geology of this place. Mammoth doesn’t have geysers like other parts of the park. That’s because the Mammoth area sits on top of limestone instead of igneous rock, uh, hard rock, like granite. The hot water dissolves the limestone into calcium carbonate, and it bubbles through cracks in the rocks to the surface as a mineral called travertine—that’s the shiny white stuff you see around here. The travertine holds the hot water, and as it cools it forms the terraces. They kin grow a foot or two each year. The water pressure decreases here because the limestone is soft and gets broken up. There’s nothing to trap the pressure like at Old Faithful, which sits on top of igneous rock. So, this hot water forms terraces instead of being forced into the air as geysers.”
“That isn’t a geyser?” Win was eyeing a two-foot-high jumble of grayish-brown rocks spewing hot water and steam into the air.
“Nope, these here are steam vents, or fumaroles. Can get right active and throw water a few feet, but they don’t do much more’n hiss and stew. Some of ’em smell like sulfur, some have boiling mud surrounding ’em. Isn’t it amazing to think this little spot that sprung up a few years ago could look just like the hot springs terraces in a couple hundred thousand years!”
Luke seemed almost embarrassed by his exuberance. “Guess I get a little carried away with the magic of this place. It is magical . . . you know. I reckon I get into a zone talking ’bout it.” He was smiling as he stood up, and the white swirl of the blowing steam enveloped him, partly obscuring his dark features. In that instant Luke Bordeaux seemed bigger than life—his eyes twinkling in good nature, his smile radiant and genuine. Still, there was something about this man that challenged Win’s soul. He couldn’t decide if that was a good sign—or a very bad one.
After Luke’s half-hour introductory course, they sat down on the dry part of a log beneath a huge tree that Win now recognized as a Douglas fir. The drizzle had picked up, and Win pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. Luke dug a ham and cheese sandwich out of his jacket pocket, unwrapped the wax paper, and handed half to Win. They unclipped their water bottles and shared the early lunch.
Luke turned his head just enough to watch Win’s eyes when he spoke. “Ellie was real impressed with you when you was out at our place last week. She thinks you’re honest.”
“What do you think?”
Luke reflected for a while and chewed the sandwich. “Welp, reckon that’s partly why I followed you out here this morning. Wanna get a better feel fer you. Not working today, and Ellie was taking the kids to a birthday party in town, so I had some time on my hands.” He paused and studied the spitting fumarole. “After us visitin’ the other night, it seemed sorta important that you know I didn’t poach that deer. I was cuttin’ up a deer a bear had killed—wanted to see what kinda fat reserves the deer had after winter. I reckon the hikers thought I was skinning it out. Didn’t shoot that deer. Don’t hunt out of season or in the park. Never have.”
Win considered that while he munched for a few moments longer on one of the better sandwiches he’d had in a while. “Okay, then. Why shoot at Chief Randall?”
Luke glanced away and grimaced, then looked back and sighed. “Alright, that wasn’t the smartest move on my part. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be comin’ up the trail with a gun drawn.” He sighed again. “Ahhh, I blame that ranger fer part of the mess with my guide license—decided to put the fear of God in him. Don’t guess he was expecting me neither, so it sorta went downhill from there. . . . But ya know, Win Tyler, I never shot at anyone that day.”
Win was thinking back to the reports he’d heard on Luke’s marksmanship skills and figured that was true. The man could have easily shot Randall. Win just grunted, nodded a little, and finished the sandwich. He took a sip of his water before he continued the discussion.
“Suppose that’ll be up to the court to sort out.” Win pulled his damp hood back a little. “I’m guessing here, but I’d think as a condition of you posting bail on poaching and federal firearms charges, you wouldn’t be allowed to carry a weapon into the park. Or anywhere else, for that matter.”
Luke smiled slightly and stared straight ahead at the little steam vent that was sputtering to life a bit more. Then he shifted on the log as he slowly pushed the right side of his rain jacket back and dropped his right hand to the top of the pistol grip. “Yeah, well, maybe I shoulda read the fine print in that release a little closer.” He narrowed his eyes. “You gonna have a problem with me carrying out here?”
Win hesitated as the man pushed back his hood. Luke’s look was suddenly menacing. The mist and steam formed little silver flecks that lighted on his dark hair and close-cropped beard. His eyes were coal-black in the gloom under the tree’s canopy. Luke’s quick change in demeanor reminded Win of a snake that had awakened and instantaneously coiled to strike. He was acutely aware that he was sitting within three feet of a man who was capable of killing him in a heartbeat. He was also aware that he had no weapon to defend himself.
Luke let the tension build for several more long seconds. Then he slowly moved both of his hands to his knees and his gaze back to the hissing fumaroles. Win struggled to breathe normally and to slow his heart’s pounding. He wanted to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. He was thinking Luke’s efforts at intimidation were very effective—he was scared. He was also thinking he was fixing to find out the real reason Luke Bordeaux had followed him up this hill on this dreary Saturday morning.
Luke seemed to be studying the clouds of rising vapor in front of them. He spoke softly, just over the sound of the steam spewing from the small vent. “Yeah, Ellie was mighty taken with you the other night.” He nodded and paused for a second. “She said she run into you in Gardiner yesterday mornin’ and you was right friendly.”
Should have told him I saw her in town. Uh-oh . . .
“Might just be a coincidence, you running into her at the hardware store—just like me running into you up here on this hill.” He spread his hands in front of his knees and shrugged before he continued. “Ellie is a trusting woman. I wouldn’t want it no other way.” He paused for a long moment, turned his face back to Win and locked eyes with him. He dropped his voice a notch. “But I ain’t so trusting, not with a Fed, that’s for damn sure. So it would be
real smart of you not to run into her again when I ain’t around—coincidence or not. Don’t much matter to me what you might be after—information or . . . or something else. You keep your distance, boy!”
He held his piercing gaze until Win dropped his eyes and looked away. Win felt more anger at himself for allowing Luke to shame him than fear of the man’s threat. The worst of it was he knew he wouldn’t feel the shame if there weren’t some truth in Luke’s veiled accusation.
Win cleared his throat and finally answered, “I hear what you’re saying, Luke.” His voice sounded guilty even to him, but he plodded on. “I respect your relationship with your wife.” He finally met Luke’s eyes again. “As for information, as you put it, that’s in your hands. You’re the one putting Ellie and the kids at risk by hanging out with suspected criminals. I could likely do something on the poaching charges if you’re willing to talk to me about—”
Luke’s quick movement cut him off in mid-sentence. Luke was leaning toward him, and Win had no idea how the man had drawn the gun so quickly. A Beretta 92FS had appeared in Luke’s right hand. The black barrel of the 9mm weapon shimmered in the blowing steam; for the moment it was pointed toward the fumarole. Win’s eyes jumped from the gun back to Luke’s intense face. He had no clue where this was headed.
“You’re not really hearing me, Win Tyler! Some of the men I’m working with have made mistakes, but they’ve paid their dues, and all of them been good soldiers—put their lives on the line fer our country. Now you and the federal government think you kin dictate how we worship, what we believe, who we associate with! Told you the other night I was no snitch. You see anything that’s happened to change my mind?”
“I’m not gonna talk civics or theology with you, Luke, not, uh, not while you’ve got a gun in your hand!” Win heard his voice shake just a little.
Luke twisted to face him and leaned in even more—they were less than two feet apart. The Beretta was still pointed away, but Win watched Luke’s finger move to the trigger. Win wanted to move back, but there was nowhere to go. He felt completely cornered. He forced himself to breathe, but beyond that he had no idea what to do.
“You threatening me? You trying to scare me?” Win knew he sounded afraid. The guy had caught him totally off guard.
“Damn right! Is it working?” Luke spoke forcefully, but the deep-brown eyes had softened and there was a hint of a playful smile at the corner of his mouth. Win felt Luke’s anger lifting with the mist.
“Yeah, yeah it is!” Win summoned his courage and forced himself to grin back at Luke as he raised his hands in mock surrender.
Luke leaned back, nodded in response, then faintly smiled. “It’s hard not to like you, boy.” He holstered the Beretta nearly as fast as he’d drawn it, but Win saw the flicker of a conflicted look in his eyes as he secured the gun.
Win managed to swallow hard before he spoke again. “Can I ask you to think about something?” He went on before Luke could answer. “I’m betting your daddy taught you to never draw a weapon unless you were gonna use it, same as my daddy taught me. So what is it in you that makes a weapon one of your first responses? Rather than think it through, talk it through, or pray it through? Happened with Chief Randall, happened twice with me—liable to not have a good outcome one of these times. You have no intention of shooting me.”
Luke stood up, flipped up his hood, and blew out a deep breath. “No. . . . Not today, anyway.” He arched his eyebrows and shrugged. “Follow me down to the main trail. We’ll be gettin’ on back.”
Luke kept up a pretty good pace going back down the ridge to the main trail. They were halfway down before the adrenaline in Win’s system began to level off. The drizzle and wind had picked up, and big cold drops continually fell on the men as they moved through the deep woods. Win spoke first as he stepped onto the main trail. “I suppose we’ve both got some things to think on, you reckon?” He watched the rain slide off Luke’s hood. Bordeaux’s dark eyes were veiled and impossible to read.
“Yeah, seems that we do. It’s a damn shame, really. . . .” Luke took another deep breath and blinked a few times, but never finished the thought. “Behave yourself, Win Tyler.” He raised a hand, turned up the trail, and disappeared into the steady drizzle and fog.
* * *
Win knew that Jim West wasn’t going to be thrilled with his Saturday-afternoon telephone report on his unexpected visit with Luke Bordeaux. That was an understatement.
“You were unarmed, but you willingly hiked miles off the public trail into the wilderness with an armed felony suspect—no one knew where you were—no communications, no possibility of backup? What were you thinking!”
Win knew it wasn’t really a question, but he meekly tried to answer anyway. “I just had a gut feeling the guy wasn’t a physical danger to me—”
“Were you still thinking that when he pulled the Beretta? Good Lord, Win!” His supervisor took a deep breath before continuing. “Look, I know you’re at a disadvantage up there. Johnson won’t be back in the office for another week, and you haven’t had any advanced work in informant development or violent crime. I know I approved your contact with Mrs. Bordeaux yesterday. That was a mistake on my part, considering you have so little support up there—not to mention the fact that her husband obviously knows exactly what we’re up to. And instead of us having surveillance on him, he’s got it on you! As for your gut feelings, it’s important to pay attention to them, but you’ve got to realize that good instincts come in large part from experience, and you don’t have the experience with armed subjects to put yourself in that kind of danger on a hunch.”
He went on like that for a good two more minutes. Win held on to the phone, scribbled on a notepad, and acknowledged from time to time that he was listening. Jim finally wound down with the suggestion that they arrest Bordeaux for violating the conditions of his bond on the poaching and firearms charges, not to mention witness tampering, assaulting a federal officer, and several other pertinent charges. Win didn’t agree.
“I know I wasn’t real smart today, Boss, but Bordeaux is probably our best chance at developing an informant in this deal. Nothing may come of it, but if those militia guys are up to no good, Bordeaux is right in the thick of it.”
Jim had apparently finished chewing on Win and he switched to the situation at hand. “Well, something may actually come of it. I had a videoconference with Denver this morning, and the ASAC says the Secret Service and the Park Service folks in Washington are jumping up and down because so little has been done to investigate the possible threats the group poses to the park. Everyone’s been a little out of pocket the last few days, but with the Attorney General coming back home from his European tour tomorrow, we could get the go-ahead to do more serious surveillance on Shepherd’s group—as early as next week. So maybe we leave Bordeaux out for the time being. You manage to stay clear of the guy, okay? Do you know how much extra paperwork I’d have to generate if my new agent in Yellowstone got shot?”
Win hadn’t met Jim West in person yet, but he knew he’d like the guy. Jim had given him a pretty thorough reaming out over this morning’s adventure with Bordeaux, but he hadn’t been harsh or gone overboard. In any normal Bureau office, he’d be sitting at a desk or cubical within a few feet of the guy. There’d be lots of interaction, lots of opportunities to learn the ropes from the supervisor and other senior agents. As it was, they were more than 150 miles of mountains and impassable roads apart. Getting to the six-agent RA in Jackson was a daylong excursion, and the Denver office might as well be on another planet. An unexpected wave of loneliness swept over Win. Given his low standing in the Bureau, the distance he felt was far greater than could be measured in miles.
Chapter Eight
Gus Jordon, the Deputy Chief Ranger, made good on his offer to buy Win a drink and took him to dinner that Saturday night at one of the few open spots in Gardiner, the Bull Moose Bar and Grill. Gus
pulled off his coat and moved through the loud, crowded room to an empty table in a quieter spot near the corner. Win trailed behind, checking out the huge elk and moose heads adorning the rough wood-paneled walls, while the ranger ordered a bourbon and Coke from a waitress with purple hair and more earrings than Win could count.
In this setting, Gus was laid back and easy to be around. Win thought he looked much younger than his forty-four years in hiking boots, jeans, and a heavy wool shirt. He was bareheaded and the wind had blown his short, light-brown hair in every direction. He had a scrubby, half-grown beard; apparently the Park Service had no grooming code. The Bureau no longer required a clean shave either, but that memo had never made it to Charlotte’s White Collar Crime Squad. Win knew the rugged, outdoorsy look appealed to the women. Shelby would have said Gus was “just darling.” Win ran a hand along his smooth chin, sighed, and ordered a beer.
Gus leaned back and surveyed the crowd before he spoke. “We didn’t exactly give you a warm welcome when you first drove into the park.”
Win shrugged it off. “No problem.”
“Well, actually it was—not that it makes much difference, I suppose. But you ought to know that isn’t Chief Randall’s normal way of doing things.”
Win nodded. “He came over and apologized on Monday.”
“I’d been surprised if he hadn’t. Randall’s a good man, a good boss. He wasn’t supposed to be working that day—it was the anniversary of his wife’s death last spring. He was having a hard time with it. Shouldn’t have been in the field.”