Back of Beyond

by C. J. Box

  He continued, “You may have heard Congress passed a law that it was now legal for individuals to carry firearms in national parks, but that’s only half the story. It means if you have a valid concealed-carry permit in the state where the park is located—Wyoming, in our case—you can legally have a gun. It doesn’t mean anyone can just show up packing iron. And the releases you signed with us clearly state no firearms. Everybody clear on that point?”

  General assent. Except for Wilson, who didn’t respond either way.

  * * *

  To the left of the Glodes were Walt Franck and his stepson Justin from Denver. Walt had salt-and-pepper hair, he was short, and he looked soft. He had a kindly unimpressive face and a bulbous nose spiderwebbed with veins, suggesting he was a drinker. He wore a fishing shirt and zip-off pants, and there was a rod tube poking out of his pile of gear. Justin was in his late teens. He was tall, chiseled, and athletic looking. He had long unkempt hair and smoldering dark eyes. As Jed spoke, Justin’s eyes were on the dark-haired Sullivan girl who’d just arrived. Jed thought, This will be interesting.

  As he did with all of his clients, Jed tried to guess the motivation for Walt and Justin to come on the trip. By their age disparity, he guessed Walt was much older than Justin’s mother. That fact alone suggested Walt was bringing the stepson along to forge a bond that had been missing between them. Or was it Justin’s idea? While Justin looked fit and able, Jed thought, the kid didn’t look like an outdoorsman. He was missing all the telltale high-tech outdoor clothing and attitude. No, Jed decided, this was Walt’s deal. Take the boy on an adventure, show him how to camp and fish. Show the boy Walt had some skills besides his interest in his mother, after all. Plus, it showed the boy that Walt had serious money that he was willing to spend on him.

  “I see we have some fishermen with us but according to the registration forms, we also have some wildlife enthusiasts,” he said, nodding toward Tristan Glode and the younger Sullivan girl (he couldn’t remember her name), “And I can tell you right now you won’t be disappointed. I’d suggest you take the strap of your camera and loop it through a button hole and put the camera in a shirt pocket so you can get to it real quick. You don’t want to drop your camera or lose it along the trail, that’s for sure. The Yellowstone Thorofare is home to all of the major species in the park. We’ll see bison, wolves, grizzlies, mountain sheep, mule deer, antelope, black bear, and moose. We’ll see smaller species along the way as well—coyotes, beavers, marmots, and dozens of species of birds including bald eagles. We’ll see critters in their natural habitat doing things critters do—like kill and eat each other. We won’t interfere with them and they won’t interfere with us. In all my years of guiding these trips and all the bears we’ve seen, I’ve only lost a couple of clients and it was their own fault because they ran slow.”

  That always got a decent nervous laugh. He glanced over to see Dakota roll her eyes. She’d heard him say that so many times.

  “Just remember,” he said, grinning to show he was kidding, “you don’t have to outrun the bear. Bears are fast. You just have to outrun the guy or gal next to you.

  “I’m joshing, of course,” he said. “Nobody yet has been killed and eaten by a bear.” He paused dramatically. “Of course, attacks by wolf packs is another matter.”

  He soaked in the dark laughter, and clinically noted the exchanges of looks between the father and daughters, between Walt and Justin, between the group of three men, and the absence of sharing between Tristan and Jennifer Glode. Yup, he thought, he had that one figured out.

  * * *

  The group of three men in their thirties were the easiest to peg, Jed thought. He knew what they were about when they opened the doors of their rental car and empty beer cans fell out. They were still squinting from high-altitude hangovers. James Knox, Tony D’Amato, and Drey Russell were three gregarious buddies who worked at different firms on Wall Street who went on an annual male-bonding adventure. They were the cut-ups, the goofballs. Knox, a light-haired man with a long thin nose and brusque East Coast go-get-’em manner, was the organizer. He was maybe a few years older than the other two.

  Of all the clients, Jed had been most concerned about the three Wall Streeters. Three men like that could take over a trip and pose a challenge to him if they had the wrong attitude or expectations. But after seeing them emerge from the car and watching them josh with each other and laugh, he was relieved. They were there for the adventure.

  Drey Russell—short for André, according to his booking form—was a light-skinned black man with dark kind eyes and a quick smile. Jed didn’t get many people of color on his trips, and welcomed Drey so he could get some photos of him in the group to use on his Web site. The National Park Service loved that diversity crap, he knew.

  Tony D’Amato looked as dark and Italian as his name, and had a heavy New Jersey accent. He played the part of the perpetually flummoxed big-city boy stuck out in the country, the man who “don’t know nothin’ about horses except the ones on the carousel,” who was the butt of Knox’s and Drey’s jibes. These three would be no trouble, Jed thought. They were into themselves and their group, and they were there to fill up a sackful of memories to laugh about later when they met after work at the bar. So for them, the tougher, the crazier, the more primitive the trip the better because it would make for better tales to tell. A little high maintenance, maybe, Jed thought, even though they didn’t intend to be. Folks raised entirely in cities didn’t have perspective when it came to so many outdoor adventures. But they’d try to get along. No doubt they were all used to snappy service at resorts and lodges and probably not the grind of the trail, despite what they might think. He remembered seeing the previous male-bonding trips listed on their applications, including Mexico, Europe, and Scandinavia. Of course, that was before the economic meltdown, back when these guys pulled down seven figures or close to that. Now, as Knox had made it clear on his initial call, the circumstances were such that the group agreed to keep doing their annual adventure together, even if “they had to slum it for a couple of years.” Although Jed took silent offense to that, he also decided upon seeing them that they seemed almost normal. Jed would just play to Knox and Drey to get them on board. They’d keep Tony D’Amato in line. These three could be Jed’s allies, if he played it right. It was always good to establish allies early on.

  “You see we have mules as well as horses,” Jed said, gesturing behind him to where the animals stood tied abreast along the length of the horse trailer. “The mules are our pack animals.”

  Jed paused and smiled slyly. “For our friends from New York City, the mules are the goofy-looking ones with long ears who are fast asleep right now.”

  That got a bit of a laugh and the Wall Streeters enjoyed being highlighted. Yup, Jed thought, they’d be all right.

  Said Jed, “I’ll lead a string of three and Dakota here will follow up the rest of you with a string of three as well. In those canvas boxes on the sides of the mules will be all our equipment—tents, food, first-aid kits, cookstove and kitchen setup, plates and silverware, feedbags, everything we’ll need. That’s why I asked all of you to keep your personal gear down to no more than twenty pounds each. We just don’t have the space or animals to take any more. I know it’s tough to get all your possessions down to twenty pounds, but for the sake of the animals and the weight on them, that’s what we have to do. You’ll learn to live with and maybe even enjoy not having too many choices of what to wear each day.

  “Even though I sent you a checklist, let me just make sure you all have what you need, starting with a good sleeping bag.…”

  * * *

  As he went through the list: sleeping bag, sleeping pad, rain gear, on and on, he picked out the two remaining clients on the trip, the two singles. Singles were often a pain in the butt to Jed, since they tended to try to pal around with him or Dakota if they didn’t fit in with any of the other clients, which was often the case. Singles could sometimes be broody and s
tandoffish, and create dissension. Jed was always relieved when other clients took in the strays so he wouldn’t have to.

  The singles were a man and a woman. They stood as far away from each other as possible while still being within the group of clients, meaning they had no immediate intention of forming an alliance. The man was named K. W. Wilson. Ken. He was dark and pinched and had provided the least amount of personal information on his registration form of anyone. The only thing Jed knew about him was Ken was from Utah, wanted to fish, and that he couldn’t eat cheese. Jed would try to figure the guy out at Camp One so he’d know how to handle him and integrate him into the larger group. If K.W. wouldn’t talk, Jed would ask Dakota to sidle up to him. Men liked to talk to Dakota, even if she didn’t particularly like talking with them.

  Wilson had his camera out and was taking digital photos of everybody and everything. What was odd about it was the man never asked anyone to smile or even permission to click away.

  The other single was a woman, Rachel Mina. Aside from the dark-haired Sullivan girl, Mina was the best-looking woman on the trip. She had high cheekbones, white skin, and long auburn hair tied back into a ponytail. She filled out her jeans nicely, Jed thought. And he knew her type the minute the booking form had come through his fax machine: midforties, well-to-do, and recently divorced. The last of the children out of the home, probably, and finally able to do the things she’d never been able to do before, ready for anything, game for anything. Jed could tell Dakota had picked up the same impression right off by the way she glared at her.

  It was interesting, Jed thought, that the booking forms for Ted Sullivan and Rachel Mina arrived within days of each other back in November the year before. He assumed they might be together. But Sullivan and Mina hadn’t greeted each other or even shared a glance that he’d seen. He chalked the close arrival of the forms to coincidence. Which meant she may be in play after all.

  * * *

  “Any questions?” Jed asked.

  Tony D’Amato raised his hand. As he did, Drey and Knox coughed into their hands.

  “What do we do if we can’t get along with our horse? You know, like we’ve never even friggin’ ridden one before?”

  Jed said, “Walk.” Deadpan. Then he grinned. “You shouldn’t have to worry. We’ll match you up with the easiest and gentlest horse we’ve got. The horse knows to follow the horse in front of it. All you’ll have to do is keep balanced. The less steering you do the better. These horses know where we’re going and who’s in charge. They’ll fall right into line. We don’t allow any cowboy stuff, folks. You’re all riding trail horses along a trail. No breaking off from the line, no riding fast. We’re into safety and not rodeos. So just sit back and relax. And once we get going, Dakota and I will help you out and give you some tips.”

  “Maybe you can ride a mule,” Drey said to Tony, and both he and Knox broke out laughing.

  “I’ve got a question,” said Tristan Glode. His voice was stentorian and without humor.

  “Yes, sir?” Jed said. He knew instantly Glode was the kind of man who would expect and appreciate deference and would reward it with a big tip.

  “I’ve been following the weather and the conditions in Yellowstone for the past six months since we signed up for this adventure,” he said. Jed noted the Wall Streeters looking at each other and rolling their eyes at his out-front arrogance but looked away before Glode saw him. “It’s been unseasonably cold and wet. More rainfall than usual by a large degree. My question is if we’ll need to deviate from your established routing because of the high water.”

  Jed answered quickly, so as not to concern the rest of his clients. “You’re absolutely right about the rain, sir,” he said. “We’ve had a hell of a wet spring and early summer. In fact, I had to cancel my first two trips because of it. I didn’t want to risk taking folks or these horses through swelled-up creeks and rivers. But the rains finally let up, as you can see. The water levels are going down, and the Park Service gave me the okay. So I don’t think there’s anything you need to worry about. We can be a little flexible if we need to. If the camp we plan to stay at is washed out, there are plenty of others to choose from. This is a big damned place.”

  As he said the last part, Jed felt Dakota’s probing eyes on the side of his head. He ignored her.

  Glode stood perfectly still, absorbing the answer. For a moment, Jed anticipated Glode would say something disastrous, like, “Maybe we should come back another year.”

  Instead, Glode said, “As long as we get the experience we’re paying for, I’m okay with that. I don’t want some cheap route because of conditions. I want to take the trip into the back of beyond I paid for.”

  “That you’ll get, sir,” Jed said, grinning with relief. “But keep in mind what I said about flexibility.”

  * * *

  “What do you think?” Jed whispered to Dakota when they were back at the trailer saddling up the last of the horses.

  “Not a bad group overall. Maybe a couple of minor problems.”

  “Which ones?”

  “The older teenage girl looks like trouble but nothing we can’t handle,” she said, keeping her voice down. “The older couple look like they’re spoiling for a knock-down-drag-out with each other any minute. The three Wall Streeters seem okay, but I’d bet they’ve got more than twenty pounds of gear each on them and most of that is liquor.”

  Jed nodded. She was getting good at this.

  “I like the younger of the two sisters.”

  “I didn’t even notice her.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Dakota said. Then: “What was that about using other campsites? You know what the Park Service says about that. Why’d you say we might change up the route?”

  He shrugged. “You never know. Conditions might dictate a change.”

  “I thought it was kind of a strange thing to say,” she said, trying without success to get him to look back at her.

  He changed the subject. “What about the single man? Wilson?”

  She looked over. “He’s the one who gives me a bad vibe.”

  He nodded, agreeing. “Maybe you can get him to talk to you a little. Find out what his deal is.”

  “I knew you were going to ask me to do that.”

  “He’s likely to talk to you before me,” Jed said.

  Jed finished up on the saddle and leaned into her. He whispered, “If the situation presents itself I may take a look in his duffel to make sure he don’t have no gun.”

  Dakota arched her eyebrows. “And if he does?”

  “I’ll figure out a way to make it a nonissue.”

  He could tell his turn of phrase puzzled her but he didn’t say more. He liked to leave her hanging, make himself a little mysterious. That was good for a relationship, he thought. Plus, he didn’t want her thinking this was their last trip together.

  Which it was. Because, Jed thought but didn’t say, it was likely to be his last trip back of beyond. And if everything fell into place the way he’d planned it over the long and dark winter, he’d be set for life. Smart-ass girl wranglers like Dakota Hill—and needy clients like the ones who milled around before him—would be things in his past.

  Hell, he thought, if things worked out like he planned them, he’d be the one getting catered to.

  10

  Gracie got Strawberry, a light red roan mare with dapples of white on her sides and haunches that had the effect of making her look like a pink horse. After sitting on Strawberry’s back for fifteen minutes as the long train of riders wound up out of the parking lot into the trees on the rocky trail, Gracie knew one thing for sure: she was in love.

  Already she liked the sounds and rhythm of the ride; the heavy footfalls of the animals, their snorts, the rocking motion, even the smell of them. And she was thrilled with that big-eyed look Strawberry gave her when the old mare turned her head back and seemed to assess Gracie with a practiced eye, apparently satisfied with what she saw.

  “I like you, too,”
Gracie whispered, leaning forward in her saddle to pat Strawberry on the neck. “I like you, too. We’re a good team, I think.”

  “What—are you talking to your horse?” Danielle said over her shoulder as she rode ahead. “Don’t be kissing him, now.”

  “It’s a her,” Gracie said. “And you should talk to your horse. That’s one way to get her to like you.”

  “What’s mine?” Danielle said. “I forgot. I know the name is Peanut.”

  Said Gracie, “You’re riding a gelding.” She’d overheard Jed the outfitter and Dakota Hill brief her sister on Peanut and his particular tendencies, the worst of which was to take every opportunity available to grab a bite of grass from the side of the trail. “You know what a gelding is, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Danielle said. “He’s a unit.”

  “A eunuch,” Gracie corrected.

  “Right,” Danielle said, “a horse with no balls. A Peanut with a limp penis. Just great.”

  “You wouldn’t want a stallion,” Gracie said. “They have only one thing on their minds.”

  “I’m used to boys like that.”

  “I know you are.”

  “Shut up,” Danielle said. “Just because you took some lessons you act like you’re an expert.”

  “I’m not,” Gracie said. “But I wish you would have gone to those lessons with me like I asked you. I learned a lot, and you would have, too. If nothing else, you could have listened to Jed and Dakota tell you about him. I don’t know how you get by never listening to anyone.”

  “Yet somehow I do,” Danielle said, looking over her shoulder, smiling seductively, and batting her eyelashes.

  Gracie rolled her eyes.

  From behind her, Gracie heard Dakota Hill say, “S’cuse me while I puke.”

  Gracie giggled and looked around. Dakota was leading her three mules and mumbling to herself, and acted embarrassed that Gracie had heard her. Gracie winked. Dakota grinned and winked back, obviously relieved they had something in common.