by Alan S Evans
JB took a deep breath and replied, “That son of a bitch had it coming. The lives of all of those pricks aren’t worth one of those mustangs they just slaughtered. They just shot them down for no good reason. If you hadn’t held my horse back when you did, I would have ridden in and shot a lot more of ’em.”
“It’s a good thing he stopped you,” Hawk said. “You would have been killed, and we would have an even bigger mess than we do now.”
Shane had no way of knowing that Nethers would send his crew in so soon to try to eliminate the herd. He had rolled the dice, gambled that Megan Tillie and the activists would be able to throw a monkey wrench in Nethers’s plans before he went after the horses. Nethers’s success revolved around the idea that no one outside their small community would give a damn about the Indians or their mustangs. All of this might have changed if Shane’s people had arrived a day or two earlier. He wondered, perhaps, if this tragedy would have happened if they had confronted Nethers and told him they were onto his plan. But, he and Tigee felt strongly that the potential for more problems would be lessened if Shane’s plan to expose Nethers’s intentions to the outside world was a surprise.
The situation was complicated. There was also the fear that the rest of the Shoshone leaders would jump at the chance for a big lease deal to bail them out of the financial bind that Nethers was already putting on the tribe.
Shane’s friends were due tomorrow. Luckily, he, JB, and Hawk were able to save Naatea and most of the mustangs. As long as the main part of the herd survived, Shane’s plans still had a chance to work.
Once Kate O’Hanson and her activists saw pictures of this gruesome scene, she would have an army of her peers all over town protesting to stop this senseless killing. Shane’s biggest concern, at the moment, was that a man had been shot. If Thomas was badly hurt and the authorities became involved, it would be his, JB, and Hawk’s word, against Jack and Thomas, as to who pulled the trigger first. The last thing Shane wanted was to see JB get into trouble for saving his life. With all this going through his head, Shane was also concerned about the two wolves. Butch had been kicked hard by Thomas’s horse during their heroic attempt to, once again, help Shane out of trouble. He could only hope his friend was okay.
As Shane sat next to JB at the creek’s edge, a call came over the radio from Tigee. Hawk told the old Indian what had happened to the mustangs, and they agreed to meet back at Jasper Canyon. By now, enough time should have passed and the horse slayers would be gone. At least heading back to the canyon would give Shane a chance to look around for the injured dog.
He followed Hawk and JB’s lead as they dismounted their horses and tied them up about a quarter mile before they reached the pass at Jasper Canyon. They planned to slip in quietly and unseen, just in case any of the shooters were still in the area.
When they reached the place where JB had shot Thomas, the three men stopped to look around. There was blood everywhere. The two Shoshones studied the signs and concluded that Thomas had been put on his horse and led off. They guessed the man was not conscious when this happened.
With patience and careful observation, Hawk and JB slowly worked their way through the thick trees and into the canyon pass. Shane followed their every move, trying to emulate the smooth, swift silence the two Shoshones used to slip through the woods.
As they made it into the canyon, Shane felt an eerie stillness in the air. All the men and dogs were gone, and there was nothing moving. The small part of the herd that had run by them and into the canyon had come in hard and stayed close together. As soon as the mustangs heard the first shots, they attempted to scatter. None of them made it very far. There were nine carcasses scattered over about one acre.
“There must have been at least a dozen rifles,” Hawk said.
JB added, “At least these guys could shoot. Most of the horses went down quickly and didn’t suffer. Only two ran a little way before they fell. Those were the ones we heard screaming. Look over there, one may still be alive!” He pointed at some tracks that showed there was one horse moving out in front of the others at high speed. These tracks continued toward some cover about a hundred yards from where the dead horses lay.
The three men were still on foot and followed the tracks through the small stand of trees where the horse had run to escape the line of fire. Emerging on the other side, Hawk pointed across an open area to the back edge of the canyon. It was the young palomino stallion that Hawk and Shane had watched trying to challenge Naatea. Somehow the colt made it through the shower of bullets and hid under a ledge without sustaining a single scratch.
The young horse was dazed and scared, but his only injury seemed to be the slight limp he still had from yesterday’s fight with Naatea. Hawk said, “Let’s see if we can slowly move him out of the canyon so he can catch up with the rest of the herd.”
The young stallion, still in a survival mode, snorted loudly as they eased up behind him. At first, he seemed to cooperate and moved calmly toward the opening. Things were going well until they were about halfway out. That’s when the horse caught the smell of his slain group and bolted off in their direction. The three men stood in the distance and watched the large palomino sniff and paw the ground at each one of the nine dead horses.
Shane was carrying his small digital camera in a pouch on his belt. “I’m going to slip in closer and get some pictures of this,” he announced.
“Why would you want pictures of a sad thing like this?” Hawk asked. Of course, Hawk and JB knew nothing of Megan Tillie, so Shane could understand that the two would think this was strange.
“A picture is worth a thousand words, and a good shot of this could help me turn some heads in our direction. If people can see this senseless mess, it may just help save the rest of the mustangs.” Shane eased up closer to the gruesome scene, and although they still didn’t understand, Hawk and JB trusted Shane enough not to question him further.
Eventually they were able to move the colt out of the canyon so he could find Naatea and the rest of the herd.
Ten minutes later, Tigee, Tara, her two brothers, and the same tribal authorities who were at the first shooting all drove up in a four-wheel-drive police Jeep. They had met at the north entrance and rode out together in the only vehicle that could get into the canyon. Tigee hadn’t bothered to call the sheriff from town.
As the three watched the Jeep drive up, Shane looked over at Hawk and JB then said, “Why don’t we keep quiet about the little shoot-out we had with those two Arapahos?” They agreed.
The two tribal police were genuinely sympathetic about the killing of the horses, just like the first time. In their defense, there wasn’t much they could do about it.
Tigee knew even if he told the authorities the whole story, they wouldn’t have enough evidence to arrest Vince Nethers or anyone else involved for that matter. He knew now Shane’s plan would be the best way to outsmart this guy.
“How did you get that wound on your arm?” one of the policemen asked Shane.
“I’m pretty sure it was a ricochet,” Shane answered. “We got here just in time to turn the main herd before they made it into the pass. There were a lot of bullets flying around those horses. I guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The officer didn’t question it further.
Tara pulled Shane aside while the rest of the men were talking. She wet a clean cloth with some water from a canteen and wiped the dried blood off his arm. The troubled look on her face revealed how she felt. But she didn’t say a word. Tara looked Shane in the eye, laid her open hand on his chest, but still did not speak. She just forced a smile, then walked back to the Jeep. She glanced, only once, at the dead horses and couldn’t bring herself to look again.
The tribal police department was adequately managed but sorely understaffed. They promised to send out some patrols to try to head off any further poaching on the mustangs. Since they had no way of knowing the true situation, the authorities felt any presence they co
uld provide in the area might prevent a recurrence. The truth was it was a very big valley, and they didn’t have the manpower to keep a constant presence way out here. They suggested that Tigee keep his men in the valley to watch the herd until all this blew over.
“You think?” Hawk questioned sarcastically. Tigee gestured to him to be quiet.
JB told the group about the young stallion that had somehow survived the shooting. This brought some life back into Tigee’s grim face. He proclaimed this colt was special and deserved a name. “We will call him Gabaimi’a Kuna.” Hawk turned to Shane and translated the Shoshone words, “In English, this means walks through fire.”
As the Jeep drove off down the narrow trail, Shane, JB, and Hawk headed toward their horses. There was nothing that could be done with the carcasses lying in the canyon. Like the others that were shot, these horses would simply become food for the predators while the meat was fresh, and then feed the scavengers, once it began to rot.
They felt it was unlikely that the poachers would be back in the next couple of days. The three men were tired and hungry, as were their horses. They would ride back to the truck and trailer to stay in a real bed tonight. Tara’s brothers would come out tomorrow for their shift and keep an eye on things.
They had not ridden far when JB noticed two sets of wolf tracks. The tracks were definitely Butch and Jessie’s. JB pointed out that one was dragging a back leg. “They’re probably headed for water,” Hawk said. “There’s a small creek in the direction they’re traveling.”
It didn’t take long to locate the dogs. They were lying near the water, just as Hawk said they would be. Shane stepped off his horse and handed JB the reins. He walked over and could tell right away that Butch was badly hurt. Jessie was lying beside him and sat up as Shane knelt down next to the injured wolf. “Hey, bud,” he said, as he gently patted him on the top of his head. “Maybe I can carry you in on Tory and get you some help.” Shane tried to carefully rub his hand down the dog’s body to see how bad his injuries were. He saw no blood, but with only the light touch of his finger tips on the dog’s ribs, Butch yelped in pain and knocked Shane’s hand away with his nose.
“There’s no way you’re going to be able to carry him,” Hawk said.
“I guess I’ll have to leave him here and hope for the best.” Shane had seen the two dogs share their kills before. He figured Jessie would bring his brother food, and there was water nearby. Shane and JB constructed a sturdy lean-to from some nearby downed trees over the injured dog to help protect him from the weather. Since Tara’s brothers would be coming out to watch over the herd, he would ask them to check on Butch. It was hard for Shane to leave him. The two dogs had saved his life more than once. There was just nothing more he could do right now.
Meanwhile, back at his ranch, Vince Nethers heard the news from his son, Bo, about the botched attempt to get rid of the mustangs. “Damn it, boy, how many did you kill?”
“Not many, Dad, that guy Shane and two Shoshones made it to the pass just in time to turn ’em away.”
“Who the hell is this freaking guy?” Vince yelled. “If my partner knew all the trouble he is causing, he’d be a dead man by tomorrow.” Vince was furious, and he could tell by the look on his son’s face, that there was more bad news. “Boy, you’d better tell me everything. Now.”
“It’s Thomas,” Bo said, sheepishly.
“What about him?” Vince yelled.
“He was shot! I don’t know what happened for sure. I wasn’t there when he got hit.”
“Son of a bitch,” Vince screamed. “That Indian better keep his mouth shut.”
Bo took a deep breath, with a worried look on his face, and said, “I don’t think he’s going to be talking to anyone, Dad. He’s dead.”
Vince grabbed his son by the collar and pulled him in close. “Where’s the body? Damn it.”
“I dropped his partner off with it near one of their old hunting camps. I made sure they were off the reservation land and told Jack to stay put until I talked to you.”
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“No, Dad, it happened outside of the canyon. None of the hired guns saw it.”
“What about the guys who shot him?”
“It was that Shane and two Shoshones. Jack told me the three of them took off on horseback right after the shot. So they don’t know he’s dead.”
Vince grabbed a bottle of bourbon and poured himself a shot over some ice. He drank it quickly. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“I don’t think so, but if Jack gets a chance, he says he’s going to kill that Shane guy on sight.”
“Oh, shit!” Vince growled. “Take me out to where that Indian is. Now!”
Nethers had time to think things over during the ride out to where Bo had dropped off the two Arapahos. His foremost concern was how to keep anyone from finding out about the dead man. He knew no one could connect him to the killing of the horses. None of the hired guns had any idea Vince was involved. Bo had set everything up and told all of the men that the reason for the hunt was because of all the trouble over the last year between the young men in town and the Shoshones. All of the shooters were boys from town whom Bo had grown up with. They had all easily bought into the story because they were aware of the history of bad blood between the two groups. To these rowdy guys, getting paid to piss off the Shoshone was like getting paid to go to a bar on Saturday night. It just sounded like fun.
Vince knew the Shoshones would never lease him the land as long as the horses were on it. He stayed deep in thought all the way out to the Arapahos’ hunting camp. He didn’t speak a word to Bo during the hour drive. The only people who knew of his scheme were his partners, his son, Bo, and the two Arapahos. The crews from the oil company didn’t know they were on reservation land when they were conducting the seismic tests. If his strong-handed business partner, John Rosolli, or his oil company man, Barry Russell, knew there was any trouble going on with this scheme, they would surely back out.
Especially, since at this point, they didn’t have any money invested. Because of this, it was crucial that he keep anyone from finding out about the dead Arapaho and, of course, keep his sidekick, Jack, quiet about it. There were millions to be made with this scheme and Vince would do whatever was necessary to keep Jack’s mouth shut.
Chapter 23
The light of day was quickly fading away into dusk as they arrived at the place where Bo had dropped off Thomas’s body, Jack, and their two horses. From the road, it was about a half-mile walk into the woods to their camp. This was a secluded spot, far away from any ranches or main drags. Vince felt comfortable this was a safe place to deal with the situation. Bo had done at least one thing right today when he dropped the Indians off way out here.
As they walked into the open area of the camp, Vince saw Jack sitting on a chair near the old hunter’s shack. His face was blank as he stared off into the woods. He was aware the two men had walked into the camp, but he just kept staring into space. Jack had wrapped his dead friend in a blanket and laid the stiff, lifeless body next to the shack’s entrance. The blanket was soaked with blood.
Vince walked over to Jack and pretended to show remorse for Thomas’s death. “I’m sorry about your friend.” Jack continued to look straight ahead as if Vince wasn’t there. Vince commanded, “We need to keep this quiet for now, do you understand? We can’t call the authorities.
“Jack slowly changed his line of vision over to Vince and nodded his head. “I don’t need any law involved. I’ll take care of the bastard that’s responsible.”
“Not now!” Vince insisted. “Listen to me, there is a lot of money at stake here. I’ll pay you well to wait for your revenge. If you don’t wait until this land deal goes through, I’ll have your neck. Now, do you want to be a rich man or a dead man?”
Jack looked Vince in the eye and answered, “I can wait until you have your lease, but I want some money now!”
Vince anticipated this, and had brought
along some cash. He reached in his pocket and handed Jack a bundle of money. “There’s ten thousand dollars there. That’s just a drop in the bucket to what you’ll get if you dispose of the body and keep your mouth shut.
Does Thomas have any family or people who will be looking for him?”
“He had no one but me. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them he went to Utah. There are a few who know we had a job offer there to guide some elk hunts later this year.”
Vince looked Jack in the eye. “Once this is over and you’re paid off, that would be a good place for you to go. Do you understand?”
Jack nodded. “I understand. I’ll need to disappear, but not before I get that son of a bitch, Shane.”
“As long as you wait until I get my lease, I hope you do kill that piece of shit. Until then, you lay low, all right?” Jack nodded. “Now, you make sure no one ever finds your partner’s remains.” Then he and Bo turned to walk toward the truck. They could hear Jack calling out the Arapaho death chant as they left.
Later that night under a clear sky with a quarter moon, Jack took his lifelong friend deep into the wilderness and sent him off in the old traditional Arapaho way. When this lonely ritual had ended, he buried Thomas in a shallow grave, just as his tribe had always done with their dead. Then, suddenly, in a fit of rage he fired his rifle several times into the dark night sky, vowing angrily under his breath, “You’ll pay for this, Shane Carson. I’ll make you wish you had never come to the Wind River!”
Shane, JB, and Hawk arrived back at the ranch around five. They unloaded their horses and gear, then went their separate ways in a solemn mood. There was no way anyone could have been through what had happened today and not be affected.
Tommy was just starting to feed up when Shane walked into the barn with Tory. The boy’s face lit up when he saw him. “Can you help me with the horses tomorrow?”