“Will you promise me you’ll stay put and keep an eye on this guy?”
“Yes, sir.” Perry’s face looked sincere, and his voice sounded contrite.
Patrick wasn’t convinced, but what choice did he have?
He gave Perry a leg up into the saddle in front of his passenger, then mounted Reno. They walked the horses up the trail, Duke first this time, moving very slowly under his heavy, wobbly load. The wind blew like a gale behind them, pushing them up and across the mountain. Pellets of snow swirled across the ground, but none fell from the sky. Patrick was on the lookout for an alcove or standing rock that would provide good cover, but so far, he hadn’t seen anything that would work. When they neared the top of the boulder field on the last switchback, Patrick looked over his shoulder. A flicker of orange caught his attention. He stopped. Was that a flame he saw through the trees?
Ahead of him, Perry had stopped, too. He must have seen the fire, because he said, “That’s their camp!”
“It may be.”
“Trish’s there. It was her we heard.”
The memory of the scream, the fear that it was his daughter—Patrick had to get to that fire.
“We need to find you and this guy a hiding place. Fast.”
They turned at a brisker pace to continue up the trail. A cluster of rocks leaning together to create a sheltered space caught his eye. He stopped Reno and hopped off.
Suddenly, Reno shot forward. Patrick felt more than heard a WHOOSH of air. The animal’s rump tucked under. Way under. The horse whinnied frantically, twisted, stumbled, righted himself, and then reared. His front hooves were like a combination punch to the sky. Patrick scrambled to avoid them. Reno screamed in terror, fury, and what sounded like pain.
Then he saw the reason for his horse’s distress. A mountain lion had dug its claws in Reno’s neck, right in front of where Patrick had been sitting. Reno. Perry. But it was Susanne’s face that he saw. She’d been right. This trip had been a horrible idea.
Patrick launched to his feet as he grabbed his sheath knife from his hip scabbard. Working on a surge of pure adrenaline, he dove at the now-snarling cat. Its eyes were rolled back in its head, and it struggled to hang on to its frenzied prey. As Patrick lifted the knife over his shoulder, his mind flashed an image of Perry on the back of the gravedigging kid, swinging wildly—the courage of a lion. Then he drove the blade into what he hoped was a soft spot below the back of the lion’s skull. The animal yowled and let go of Reno at the same time that Patrick’s momentum drove him on top of the cat. He twisted the knife, holding the handle now with both hands. The weight of the lion and the torque on the handle snapped the blade off. It stayed lodged in the back of the cougar’s neck.
No longer tethered to the cat, Patrick crumpled to the ground, landing awkwardly on his ankle. The muscular lion tottered a few steps before collapsing at Patrick’s feet. A spurt of joy raced through him. Everything would be all right. His chest heaved, his heart raced, his insides raged, yet he had saved his horse and son from a lion attack. And the scream wasn’t Trish being raped or murdered. It was this animal. And then he looked more closely at it. This beautiful, tawny creature who’d done nothing more than pick the wrong meal at the wrong time.
“Are you okay, Perry?” he shouted.
“I’m good.”
He stole a glance at Perry and Duke. Duke was panting and standing with his legs wider than usual, but he was stationary, and Perry and the kid were still on his back. Good.
But before Patrick could utter another word, Reno took off, bucking wildly. In his panic, he threw himself into the edge of the boulder field. Patrick heard a sickening crack, and Reno bellowed. Patrick knew that sound. Bone breaking. Reno thrashed even more wildly, bawling and squealing with every step.
“No,” Patrick shouted. “Stop, Reno. Whoa.”
He pushed himself up and his ankle buckled. No. Mind over matter. Limping, he struggled against the wind toward his horse. He worried for a moment about the noise he and Reno had made, but the wind was whipping sound up and away from the camp. He turned all his attention on his horse.
Holding his hand out palm down, he murmured. “Hush, boy. Shhh, you’re okay.”
Reno flailed and kicked, but otherwise he stilled. From five feet away, Patrick could see what his ears had told him. Reno’s lower right rear leg was definitely broken. The line looked ominous, like the bone might have broken the skin, too. Patrick had to stop him before he completely destroyed his leg. But those lethal hooves—how was he going to keep Reno calm? First, he had to calm himself. Breathing deeply, he allowed himself a second of intense sympathy for his friend. Of sadness. Then he was down to business, years of emergency medicine training kicking in. He disassociated his own feelings and concentrated only on solutions.
He took another step forward. Reno pawed with his left front hoof, his horseshoe like an anvil on the stone. Patrick had seen him strike another gelding with that hoof before, lifting his upper leg parallel to the ground and fully extending the rest of it, ending with a wicked downward swipe. He stepped in closer. Reno’s nostrils flared. The whites of his eyes flashed in the dark. The coppery scent of blood mixed with sweat and fear. Patrick leaned down slowly, scooped the thick mecate rein into his hand, then straightened at the same nonthreatening speed. He pulled on the rein now. With a snap of his wrist, he tried to wrest the animal’s attention away from his pain and fear. At the same time, he carefully removed the spare flannel shirt from around his waist.
Reno threw his head skyward, but he quit pawing. He stood on three legs—his right rear resting on the ground with no weight on it—blowing hard, and locked eyes with Patrick.
“Hey now, boy. Let me help you out.” Patrick poured confidence and compassion into his voice. Horses respond to human emotion, even more than some people do. He didn’t know how, but they did, and he needed the big guy to trust him. Three feet away now, he moved slowly closer, hand out with the flannel shirt balled up in it.
Reno huffed. His eyes were wide and unblinking, fixed on the shirt.
Patrick was close enough for the horse to crush him now. If Reno pulled back on a rein, the bit could gouge the roof of his mouth. He stroked Reno’s neck, then fashioned the mecate into a lead rope. Then he began rubbing the flannel shirt on Reno’s neck in slow, circular motions. Reno’s muscles twitched and hardened. Patrick gave him time to get used to it. When he relaxed, Patrick slid the shirt around his face and over his eyes. Reno snorted. Patrick tucked the shirt into the browband and cheek straps of the headstall, then tied the sleeves under his chin. He rubbed him some more, all the while murmuring comforting nonsense to him.
Softly, he called to his son. “Perry, come hold Reno, please.”
“What about Duke?”
“Bring him with you. It will help Reno.”
Perry did as he was told, the first time, with no arguing. Patrick was thankful for small miracles. And even though Perry lacked Trish’s easy way and fearlessness with horses, he had enormous empathy. He stood almost underneath the head of the giant horse, holding his lead in the same hand that held Duke’s. He stroked Reno’s lathery neck.
“That looks like it hurts, Reno. But my dad is a doctor. You’ve got to trust him. He’s going to help you.”
Patrick felt a flicker of emotion, and he pushed it back down. Now he just had to figure out how to help his big buddy enough that he could leave him safely with Perry and get back to his primary mission—finding his daughter. He’d worry about getting everyone down to safety later. Reno wasn’t likely to make this easy, either. Patrick didn’t have a nose twitch, so he’d have to work on the back leg with nothing to distract Reno or keep him from lashing out in pain.
Patrick leaned over and looked under Reno’s belly. His worst fears were confirmed. Bone jutted through the skin. Blood ran down the leg, almost the same color in the dark as the black hair.
“Shit.” His medical kit—with antibiotics and painkillers—was in the stolen truck, b
ack in Woodchuck Pass.
“Will he be okay, Dad?”
“I don’t know, son. It’s a compound fracture.”
“What’s that?”
“A bad break where the bone sticks out of the skin.”
“Poor Reno.” Perry sounded close to tears. “Can you fix it?”
“Not here. At least not completely. I can splint it so he can walk out with it.” I hope. Reno walking out was a long shot. Patrick fought back a wave of despair. Focus.
Still limping, Patrick found a stubby tree and hacked it down with the trail ax he kept in the saddlebags. Good green wood. Nice and hard. He eyeballed the horse, then cut the wood until it looked to be the right length. Abdominal cramps gripped him again, and he paused, holding his breath, then forced himself past the pain. He took off another shirt, then put his coat back on over his last layer, a T-shirt. He soothed Reno and gently wrapped the shirt around his leg. The horse lifted it and threatened to kick. That would be very bad, for Reno and him.
He petted Reno’s side as he spoke to his son. “I have another idea. I need you to lift his left front hoof and hold it up.” Patrick said a word of silent thanks to Joe Crumpton for handing off veterinary call a few days before. Because of it, Patrick had met Mildred and had occasion to learn this trick.
“Why?”
“So that he’ll hold still. He won’t be able to move if we have two legs up.”
“Oooh.” Perry tied Reno to one of the big rocks, then pressed the chestnut on the inside of the horse’s leg. The horse didn’t respond immediately. Perry did it again, then grasped the feathery hair on the back of the leg near the hoof. He pulled for several seconds. Finally, Reno lifted his hoof, and Perry caught it and held it off the ground in both hands. The leg weighed nearly as much as he did, but he didn’t say a word about it.
“Good, Perry. Now, let’s try this again, Reno.”
Patrick wrapped the shirt quickly, careful not to jar the broken bone, ripped skin, and torn muscle any more than he had to. Then he taped it to hold it up, above and below the break, as well as at the top and bottom of the shirt. Reno swayed, but he remained in place. Patrick wiped sweat from his brow. The easy part was over. Now he had to get the splint on. He needed the hoof to just barely touch the ground. The splint wouldn’t bear Reno’s weight, but it would have to stand up to considerable counterforce.
Reno already had his back leg cocked at the correct angle. Patrick positioned the section of green tree trunk against the outside of the leg. Reno quivered and groaned. Perry hiccupped, and Patrick knew he was crying. Luckily, the bone had snapped forward. If it had been sticking out to the side, there was no way Patrick could have splinted him without painkillers and sedation.
“I’m so sorry, boy. This has to be done.”
Patrick pulled the stick away and stuck strips of tape to it at the top and bottom. Then, with one hand, he held the stick in place. With the other, he wrapped the top piece of tape as fast as he could, just enough to secure the stick. Reno made a hideous high-pitched yawp and shifted his weight forward onto Perry.
Perry squeaked. “He’s heavy, Dad.”
“Smack him on the shoulder with your fist, but don’t let go of that hoof.”
He heard the small fist make impact. Reno straightened back up. The horse’s coat was slick with sweat.
“Good job, son.”
Patrick wasn’t sure how much longer Perry could hold up Reno’s hoof. He secured the tape on the lower half of the stick. It looked right to him, so moving rapidly, he added more and more and more tape. Reno was either delirious or the support of the splint was giving him relief, because he relaxed some as Patrick worked. When he was done, Reno looked like he was wearing a cast, and the roll of tape was empty. The last thing Patrick did was unsaddle him carefully and remove his bridle, replacing it with a halter and lead, but leaving the blindfold in place.
“That should do it, Perry. You can put his hoof down.”
Perry did, and he came around to where Patrick was standing. Patrick turned to his son and put his hand on the boy’s face. It was as wet as Reno’s coat.
“Reno can’t move yet, son. I hate to do it, but I have to leave you out here. I’m trusting you with these animals.”
“And the bad guy.”
“And the bad guy.”
Again, Patrick wondered if this kid was a friend of Trish’s. If he’d find his daughter in a tent with another teenage boy, high, and God knew what else. Or was she a captive of one or more men?
He pushed his thoughts aside. “If I get to Trish and someone has her, this kid might be important, which makes you watching him very important.”
“Why?”
“Well, for starters, it’s one less person for me to fight. But also, they might trade for him.”
“Trade Trish?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh.” The clouds had passed, and the whites of Perry’s eyes shone in the starlight.
“You can’t lose him. We can’t lose him.”
The boy’s shoulders straightened, and he rose two inches in height. “I won’t lose him.” He glanced at the lion. “At least the cougar won’t get us.”
Patrick followed his gaze. It looked like a male, although he hadn’t examined it closely. He was counting on the solitary nature of the animals to mean there were no others around. “Now, here’s the hardest part.”
Perry swallowed.
Patrick retrieved extra ammo, the flashlight, and the rope from Reno’s saddlebags. He patted his revolver and pocketknife. How he wished he hadn’t lost the sheath knife to the lion fight. “Do you know how to find your way back down? In case you have to go alone?” He’d said roughly the same thing to him at Woodchuck Pass, but everything was amplified out here in the wilderness. And there was no road.
Perry’s voice was anguished. “Dad, don’t say that.”
“You’re nearly a man, Perry. Just answer my question.”
“Yes, sir.” Perry’s voice cracked. He swiped at his eyes.
“Duke will know the way, too, so trust him. I want you to hold the horses from in here.” Patrick motioned to the little shelter between the rocks that had originally caught his attention and got him off Reno. With Perry still up here in this cold and altitude, hypothermia was a real fear. “Put Reno’s blanket over you, and the saddle outside the opening to block the wind. There’s a jacket and another shirt in the saddlebags if you want them. And you’ve got the bow and arrows. Keep the bow out with an arrow, okay?”
“Okay.”
He ruffled his son’s hair. Perry didn’t duck away. Patrick’s voice grew thick. “See you when I’ve got your sister back.”
And he struck out into the darkness, leaving one child alone to go find the other, God help him.
Chapter Thirty-eight: Pray
Southwest of Bruce Mountain, Cloud Peak Wilderness Area, Wyoming
September 21, 1976, 12:35 a.m.
Trish
Ben had been gone a long time. Too long, Trish thought. Of course, she didn’t know how far he had to go or how long it took to dig a grave. But any length of time alone with Chester and the uncle was too long. The wind howled. Snowflakes melted in midair as they fell toward the fire. She shrunk away from the firelight, wishing they couldn’t see her. Not that they were looking at her. Chester was muttering to himself and swigging from his bottle. The uncle was sitting on a rock, sharpening a knife.
She traded off putting each of her hands in her jeans pockets to warm them. She pulled the left hand out of one and stuffed the right hand in the other. The rock was still there. She clutched it. It made her feel safer. She didn’t know how she was going to use it. She just hoped that when the time came, her fighting spirit returned. Right now, she was just numb.
Numb and sad. Her head slumped forward under the weight of her emotions. She hadn’t been nice to her dad on this trip. She’d been hard on her mom last time she saw her, and had teased the shrimp too much. She’d give anything to be home with
the three of them now. Or anywhere. Even at the camp on Walker Prairie. She knew she needed help from someone, and since her dad hadn’t shown up and she hadn’t been able to convince Ben to run off, that left nobody. Except God, but she couldn’t remember what the rules were for praying. Despite her years of Sunday school and Vacation Bible School, she hadn’t prayed much before. Was she just supposed to talk to him like he was sitting beside her? It seemed like there was another way to do it. The memory came slowly in her cold, sluggish brain. Chanting with fifteen other elementary school kids. A Sunday school teacher in front of the class, over-enunciating the words, bright red lipstick on her teeth.
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
She paused for a moment. God, I really hope it’s not your will that these guys murder me or do awful things to me. I want to go home. I promise to hug my parents, and I’ll try to be nicer, to everybody.
Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
She’d never really been sure what that trespass thing meant, but she understood she was supposed to forgive other people. Also, God, I don’t think I’m supposed to forgive these guys for kidnapping me.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for Thine is the kingdom and the power, and the glory forever.
There, that was the part that fit. Deliver us from evil. To her, that sounded like it meant “Get me out of this mess. Get me away from this evil.” She vaguely recalled her teacher talking about it, and her interpretation had been different than Trish’s was now, but Trish didn’t care.
Deliver me from these evil men, God. Please. If you do, I promise to start going to church even when Mom doesn’t make me.
“Amen.” Too late, she realized she’d said it aloud.
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