Snaggle Tooth

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  The furry black and white draft horse sat back on his haunches, coming to a near sliding stop inches from the boy. His nostrils were flaring, his head tossing, and his ears flicked separately backwards, forwards, and side to side as he assessed threats. One foot of broken lead rope swung below his halter. His flanks were frothy white with sweat around his pack saddle and blanket. Trish could smell his strong horsey scent even from ten yards away.

  A second horse trotted up behind him.

  “Atta boy. Atta boy.” George approached Yeti slowly, hand out and down.

  Yeti danced from foot to foot like a hotblooded horse, setting the long hair around his fetlocks in violent motion. He whirled in a half circle, then turned back to his friend. George put a hand on the horse’s muscled neck and rubbed in slow circles. Yeti lowered his head and huffed in George’s scent.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” George’s back heaved.

  Was he crying?

  The other horse stared at them all, wide-eyed, flanks heaving. A broken set of reins hung from its bit.

  “Who is this one?” Trish said.

  George seemed to notice the second horse for the first time. “The one Luke was riding.”

  “Do you think Luke is . . .”

  George didn’t answer. But Trish knew. He’d shot one of the bad guys. It was why they’d used the machine pistol. It was good news for her dad. One less of the horrible men for him to deal with. But where was Luke’s body? Maybe the other men took him. He could just rot out here or get eaten by bears. She didn’t care. He and his friends had killed John.

  Ben helped Trish and Perry up. The three of them walked back onto the trail, Perry under his own power this time, where they met Henry.

  George wiped at his eyes. “Anyone have an extra lead?”

  “Our horses are just around the bend. I’ll bring you one.” Henry jogged down the trail.

  “I should never have left you with them,” George whispered to Yeti.

  Trish pretended like she hadn’t heard him, but his words choked her up. She looked at Ben. His face was pinched, like he was holding back tears, too. She put her arm around Perry. She was giving him that hug, whether he liked it or not. He didn’t resist, just stared into the distance at nothing.

  Henry reappeared, leading Spot and another horse Trish hadn’t seen before. He unclipped the lead from Spot, then handed Trish Spot’s reins and the other horse’s lead.

  He took Spot’s lead to George and Yeti. “Here you go.”

  George unclasped the broken line and attached the new one. Henry walked to the second horse, palm down. The horse backed a few steps, then stopped. Henry untied its lead rope from the saddle horn and brought it to Trish as well.

  Yeti shuddered and sighed. His agitated movements were slowing down.

  George kept stroking his neck. “I think the big guy can help us with John now.”

  Henry nodded. “Seems like the best alternative.” He raised his voice. “Ben, can you give us a hand with John and Yeti?”

  They’re going to carry John out on Yeti. With us. For a moment, Trish felt sick. Hiking out with a dead person. But she hadn’t considered the logistics of John’s death. They couldn’t leave him up here. Someone had to carry him down. A wave of calmness washed over her. A big, gentle draft horse. It was the best alternative. It’s just that no alternatives were good when someone you cared about was dead.

  Suddenly, Trish thought of her own horse. Yeti had come back to George, but Goldie hadn’t come back to her. She released her brother and turned to Henry. “What about our horses? Goldie’s not a mountain horse. She lives in a pasture. With a stable. We feed her every day. She could die out here alone.”

  Henry’s voice was soft, his expression kind. “Horses are self-preservationists. Two things I know because of that. First, those three are going to stick together. Second, they’re going to follow the scent that George’s horse laid down on the trail climbing up. That will lead them straight to his trailer. And I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts that’s where we’ll find them. Grazing near that trailer, which will smell nice and familiar to them.”

  “Really?” Her pitch rose. She wanted to believe him.

  He gave her a thumbs up. “Wait and see.”

  Then he turned back to George and Ben and their grim task. He retrieved his sleeping bag from Spot’s saddle bag and unrolled and unzipped it beside John. Henry took the slicker and jacket off John. Then the three of them lifted the boy onto the bag and wrapped it snugly around him. Trish knew the bag would protect John from protruding tree limbs or the hard, rocky ground if he slid off Yeti, but it was still hard to watch. Seeing his face and mouth covered made her feel like he was suffocating. Like she was. But he wasn’t, of course. He would never breathe again. He didn’t need air.

  She did, and she gasped for it, relief mixing with the guilt of surviving when it entered her lungs.

  Henry said, “If you could get on the other side of the horse, Ben. I’ll put John on the pack saddle, and you can help me adjust him.”

  Trish swallowed a lump in her throat.

  “Yes, sir.” Ben’s voice sounded thick. He moved to the other side of the horse. Yeti was so tall that Trish couldn’t see him anymore.

  George held Yeti’s head. Henry grimaced, then he crouched down, slid his arms under the package that used to be a living, breathing John, and hoisted him high in the air. Henry’s face turned red, and Trish realized how heavy John must be. Ben’s hands appeared above Yeti’s back and caught John. Then the two men maneuvered the boy into position with his stomach hinged over the saddle. Trish pressed a fist to her mouth, still holding the horses in her other hand. She couldn’t watch John tied like a field-dressed deer. She turned and stared off into the forest at nothing with Perry.

  Henry and George started talking fast and low. She ignored them. Then Henry took two of the horses from Trish. His and Ben’s. She was left with only the scared horse Luke had been riding.

  Her eyes had wandered off, but her brain couldn’t escape the horror as easily. The gunshots repeated in her head. She winced at each one. Why had this happened? How had everything gone so wrong? And how were they ever going to tell John’s parents their son had died? She wanted her dad back. She wanted her mom. She wanted none of this to have ever happened.

  She wasn’t going to get any of that.

  A crashing sound jerked her back to harsh reality. She turned toward the noise. Henry and Ben had moved their two saddle horses up the trail. With George, they were now moving a big pile of downed timber onto the trail at a pinch point between two rock walls.

  “You’re going to block my dad in,” Trish said to Henry.

  He smiled at her. “Your dad will know what to do. He’s handy. It will barely be a speed bump for him. But for those city folks, it will be quite an obstacle.”

  Ben cried out, “I found him. The guy.”

  Henry trotted over to Ben. The two of them gazed at something on the ground in the trees.

  “Is he dead?” George said.

  Henry turned, nodding.

  “What do you want to do with him?”

  Henry pressed his lips together. “We’ve got to leave him for law enforcement.”

  Trish’s mouth dropped. Just leave him? But what if some hikers came upon him? They’d be scared out of their minds. She searched the area and saw the coat and slicker. “Can’t you cover him up with those?”

  George looked, and she pointed. He nodded. “Good idea.”

  Ben retrieved them and laid them over the body. Then the men got back to work on the timber like nothing had happened. Like they hadn’t found a dead man who was lying on the ground a few feet away. She watched, numb, as they added log after dried log to their stack until they’d created a barrier four feet high that blocked off all access to the lower trail.

  When they had finished, Ben walked over and claimed her free hand. “Hey.”

  She leaned into his side, not even caring that Henry could
see them. “What are you doing here?” She tilted her face up to see his.

  “Besides helping?” He crooked an eyebrow.

  “No, I mean why are you here?”

  “I came looking for you. I couldn’t stand how we left things.”

  Guilt made her tear her eyes away from him. What if something had happened to him? He could have died, and she never would have had the chance to apologize. Which she needed to do before another second passed.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “I am, too. What I said came out wrong.”

  Her forehead tightened. “Wrong in what way?”

  “Well, I meant what I said about you not graduating early, but not for the reasons you think.”

  She jerked away from him, stung, but he kept his grip on her hand. “I thought you’d changed your mind, Ben. I thought because you came here . . .”

  “Trish.” He moved in front of her and the horse, his voice low, his eyes deep. “You are amazing. You have everything going for you. You could be valedictorian of your class. You’re really good at cross country. You could go to state. I don’t want you to give any of that up. I can’t be responsible for ruining your life.”

  She jerked her hand away. The horse stepped back. “That’s ridiculous! You are what I want.”

  “You say that now. But if it’s meant to be, we’ll be together anyway. . . Don’t you see? You won’t have to be any less of who you are to make it happen.”

  “I just have to give up time with you.” And risk you finding someone else in Laramie.

  “Not that much time.”

  “Too much. I can’t do it.”

  “But I can’t be part of making you less.”

  Perry’s flat voice jolted Trish. “Will you two just shut up, please?”

  She looked over at him. He hadn’t moved and was still staring into the trees with glazed eyes. She clamped her mouth shut. Heat burned her cheeks.

  “Time to ride out, Ben.” It was Henry. He was right behind them.

  How much had he heard of their conversation? Trish was horrified.

  George called to Trish and Perry. “We’re heading in the other direction. We need to get moving if we’re going to make it to the truck by dark.”

  Trish looked from George to Henry. “Wait. Henry and Ben aren’t coming with us?”

  Henry put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to stay between you and the bad guys, and head up to help your dad. George and I talked. He has everything covered.”

  “I’m going with you.” Perry stood, fists balled.

  Henry shook his head. “Your mom would never forgive me. I’m sorry, son. Not this time.”

  Perry glared at Henry, at George, at Ben, and finally at Trish. Then he wheeled and ran down the trail, reckless and out of control.

  Trish wanted to go after him, but this was important, too. “But what if they come after us again? They think those guys they’re looking for are with us.” Trish was scared. She also couldn’t stand the thought of Ben riding away. They weren’t done. They were far from done. And if Henry thought they needed protection, he and Ben would have to stay.

  George patted his chest. “I’ve got my revolver right here. But they won’t be back, Trish. There’s only one trail in and out of here. Henry’s going to make sure they don’t take it. And if they do, the logs will slow them down.”

  “They have a machine pistol.” Her voice was shrill. “You guys don’t.”

  “It’s going to be okay, Trish. They’re flatlanders. Greenhorns. I’ll bring Ben and your dad back safe and sound, I promise.” Henry walked to the log pile, signaling the end of the discussion.

  She made one last desperate plea. “So that’s it, Ben? You’re just leaving?”

  He pushed his hands in his pockets and looked down. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to say anything, he took two quick steps back to her and kissed her on the lips in front of George and Henry. Then he and Henry scrambled over the logs.

  Trish stood in the trail with the scared horse, mouth open, heart thudding to the sound of hoof beats as Ben rode away from her.

  Chapter Thirty-six: See

  Story, Wyoming

  Friday, August 12, 1977, 7:00 p.m.

  Susanne

  The drive up I-90 from Buffalo was torturous for Susanne. Her eyes were bleary from squinting into the distance to keep Barb’s truck in sight, then refocusing on the road directly in front of her to watch for deer. If anyone ever wondered if there were deer in Wyoming, they just needed to drive seventy miles per hour down a road in the late afternoon or early evening. It was a failsafe test. And there were deer by the droves within a few miles north of Buffalo. Her fingers ached from her ten and two death grip on the steering wheel.

  An eighteen-wheeler pulled around her to pass, slowing beside her. She could feel eyes on her, and she shot a quick glance over at the truck.

  A man with thick glasses and greasy hair that needed a trim leered at her.

  She jerked her eyes back to the road.

  The giant bazooka sound made her jump in her seat. Pain shot through her left eye and her head. The migraine. It’s getting worse. She pressed two fingers against her eyelid. What made a man think honking and scaring a woman would make him attractive? And what did he think she would do? Follow him to the next exit and climb into his rig?

  If she was her daughter, she would have flipped him the bird.

  Instead, she kept her eyes straight ahead and accelerated, leaving him behind her. A red light started blinking on the right side of Barb’s bumper. Barb was exiting into Story! Susanne was gaining on her because of avoiding the guy in the big rig. She was close enough to see the license plate on the Chevy. Something about it looked different. It was just a normal Wyoming plate, but she was almost sure that hadn’t been what was on the truck earlier. Hadn’t it had Virginia plates? Virginia plates didn’t make sense. Barb wasn’t from Virginia.

  Susanne had the sinking sensation that her brain wasn’t clear. She wished her head wasn’t hurting so bad. Everything was suddenly confusing. Maybe she’d just imagined the Virginia plates earlier.

  In her rearview mirror, the eighteen-wheeler was catching up to her again. She couldn’t wait to exit. Then the red blinker on the Chevy stopped, Barb sped up, and the exit came and went. The big rig bore down on her. Susanne pressed her accelerator, her eyes glued to her mirror.

  Without signaling, the truck took the exit.

  Susanne blew out a loud breath. Thank, God.

  Her migraine was intensifying. She pressed the heel of her palm into the socket above her left eye. When she lowered her hand, she realized Barb had pulled far ahead of her. As Barb crested a rise, Susanne lost sight of her. Terror gripped her. Barb could pull off the interstate onto a dirt road. In seconds, she could disappear into the rugged hills and gulches. Susanne could lose her and Will and never find them.

  She increased her speed, drumming her fingers on the wheel. Where is she? Then she spotted her, half a mile ahead. Tension released from her body. It seemed like a safe following distance, and she matched her speed to that of the Chevy’s.

  Miles and deer passed. Barb reached the outskirts of Sheridan. Doesn’t she need gas? And to feed the baby?

  Susanne eyed her own gas gauge. Less than an eighth of a tank. In an area where gas stations were few and far between, that was dangerously low. It wasn’t even enough to get her back to Buffalo from Sheridan. Not enough to keep following Barb much further, and she had a feeling Barb was making a run for the northern border and the great expanse of Canada beyond. It was a long drive. Susanne would have given a kidney for her purse. Her wallet, her cash, not to mention her glasses and pills.

  But she might have money in the Suburban. She stashed loose bills and change in the ashtray, since she and Patrick didn’t smoke. She pulled it open, hope expanding in her chest. Keeping her eyes on the road, she dug her fingers in it, scooping out the contents. She turned her hand over and eyed the spoils
.

  A dollar bill and a handful of change. Not enough for gas and food. Her heart sank.

  But it was enough, at least, to make some calls. That was a positive, and she had to hold on to anything positive she could dredge up.

  She thought through the calls. A call to the police, to give them an update. Them first, before Barb could get too far away. Then a call home for help. She dreaded making it, although the time she’d have to was coming soon. An eighth of a tank soon. Patrick wouldn’t be home yet. Maybe Patricia would pick up. If not, who could she call? Not Ronnie, whose child had been snatched while in Susanne’s care. She’d probably be cloistered with law enforcement, anyway, monitoring the search for Barb. Susanne would call Vangie.

  Barb’s blinker started flashing. Susanne’s pulse accelerated. She was going to stop! The Chevy exited the interstate and pulled up to a self-service pump in front of a gas station. Susanne followed, parking on the opposite side of the building and leaving her engine running and the nose of the Suburban pointed toward the exit. She lowered the sun visor to hide her face, then surveyed her surroundings. There was a pay phone in front of the station, but it was in clear view of the pumps. She didn’t dare use it.

  Barb got out of the truck and walked to the station carrying Will. Susanne’s heart leapt at the sight of the boy, looking like he was fine. The two disappeared inside. Should I make a run for the phone now? Not enough time, she decided.

  It turned out to be a good decision. Barb and Will were back in less than a minute. She put him back in the truck and started pumping gas, then kept glancing into the truck, smiling. It made Susanne’s head hurt worse and her stomach burn. How dare Barb try to bond with Will? She’d forfeited the right to a relationship with him when she’d murdered Jeannie Renkin and come after Susanne and her family. And she was a horrible mother anyway. Will hadn’t had his diaper changed in hours. He hadn’t been fed in at least that long. Barb was so worried about snatching him and getting away that she wasn’t even taking care of him.