"No way. I wouldn't miss this for the world."
The eighteen wheeler drove slowly through the wide open pipe gate and fifty feet into the pasture. Mr. Pete climbed down, but left the motor running. "Okay, boys," he said. "Close that gate and let's get that tailgate open. Y'all stand behind the doors. Wouldn't want nobody hurt while they're investigating their new paradise."
I noted that Uncle Sam had already taken shelter behind a shiny red crew-cab pickup truck.
The man who had been finishing the gate and the cowboy who had met us at the front of the store shut the gate behind them, and with Mr. Pete's help, they hauled open the doors of the stock trailer. For a long moment nothing happened. The buffalo had room to turn around in the trailer, so they weren't forced to back out. I could see them jostle for position once they realized their prison gates had been thrown open.
Then they leapt down from the trailer almost as a unit.
"Holy shit! Look at the size of'em," said the fence builder.
"Beautiful," Mr. Pete shouted. "Just beautiful."
"Oh, Lord preserve us," Uncle Sam shouted from his place behind the truck.
The buffalo dropped their huge heads and began to crop the late fall clover. Mr. Pete climbed back into the cab of his truck while the two men closed the tailgate and climbed in beside him.
Rick and I watched him turn the rig carefully in the pasture. The ground was dry except around the water trough, so there was little chance of his bogging down.
As they reached the gate, one of the men jumped down and opened it, then shut it after the trailer drove out.
Mr. Pete climbed down and sauntered over to Rick and me with a beatific smile on his face. "See there. Told you so."
Crack! Mr. Pete spun to see his fine new six by six slowly topping toward the ground and carrying one end of the gate with it. The largest buffalo, the one that had obviously shoved her shoulders and head against it and split it like a sapling, gazed down at it while she considered her next move. Her sisters, however, did not hesitate. They crashed straight into the fence beside the gate, and flattened it, posts and all. Then all three galloped around the building toward the road.
"Rick," I shouted. "Get this truck started. We've got to turn them to the right or they'll wind up on the interstate."
Rick drove out onto the country road and slammed on his brakes. His truck was nearly long enough to cover both lanes. One buffalo attempted to turn into us, then decided on the line of least resistance. All three bolted down the road away from the interstate.
"Glory! Stop 'em before they get killed!" Mr. Pete screamed as he and his helpers hauled themselves into the bed of Uncle Sam's truck.
Uncle Sam pulled up beside Rick. "Want me to follow'em?"
"Heck, yes. We'll call the cops."
The buffalo were rounding the first curve in the roadway, and so far had not deviated from the blacktop.
"For heaven's sake, don't lose 'em!" I shouted. Then I called 911 on my cell phone.
'What is the nature of your emergency?" The voice sounded cool.
"I'm at the comer of 1-55 and Jayce Road chasing three buffalo who are headed east. Call the highway patrol, the local cops, the sheriff and anybody else you can think of to get in front of them and set up roadblocks."
"Ma'am, is this a joke? There are rules... "
"Lady! Do what I'm telling you before somebody gets trampled. Then start calling people along the road, tell them to get their children and their dogs inside and stay inside themselves. I am not, repeat not, joking. Four tons of buffalo are stampeding down Jayce Road."
"Ma'am, could I have your number?"
"This is Dr. Margaret McLain." I gave the dispatcher my cell phone number. "Alert the sheriff and the highway patrol now."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Rick, turn around and get back on the interstate headed toward Jackson.
"We're just going to leave them?"
"No way. We're going to see a man about a buffalo."
Chapter 42
In which Maggie saves several creatures of the bison persuasion
I called the 911 operator again. "Can you patch me through to one of the officers who's setting up the barricade?"
"Yes'm." The girl sounded excited. Probably more fun than she'd had in years.
"This is Sheriff Sims. Is this Dr. McLain?"
"Sheriff, Sam Jones is following the herd in a red dually. He knows about buffalo. And ifyou can find a couple of gentle cows, the buffalo may follow them into somebody's pasture and settle right down. Watch your squad cars. I warn you, buffalo can jump as high as a horse and they can bash straight into you. You do not want that, believe me."
"We'll have to shoot them."
"No, you will not shoot them, dammit. Listen to me. Get those cows. I'm on my way to talk to a man who knows all there is to know about buffalo cows and has the fences to hold them inside if we can get them to him. If we can coax them back into their stock trailer and drive them to him, I'm sure I can convince him to keep them at his place until Mr. Pete can build a safe enclosure for them. They're not dangerous, for pity's sake."
"We can't risk any of the public getting hurt."
"You won't risk a darned thing ifyou listen to me and Sam Jones. These bison weren't raised on the plains. They're not used to running. They're fat and out of condition and probably worn out by now. All they'll want to do is rest and eat. Think of them as big woolly cows. You know cows?"
"Raised a few. Never had a stampede."
I thought I detected laughter beneath his words. Good. The funnier he thought the situation, the less likely it would turn tragic.
I gave him particulars. "Rick, take the next exit, go north and take the second dirt road on your left. Sheriff, I'll call you. Don't you dare hurt those buffalo."
Ten minutes later we pulled up in front of a tidy yellow farmhouse with green shutters. Rick honked, and I climbed out as a gray-haired woman in jeans and a T-shirt came out the front door and down the steps. "Why, what on earth? Dr. McLain, haven't seen you for a coon's age. Did Jedediah call you?"
"No, Lorena, this time I need his help. Where is he?"
"Finishing up a piece of pie in the kitchen," came a bass voice.
"Hey, Jed, we've got an emergency. Do you still have your holding pens for your buffalo?"
"Sure do. Got rid of my buffalo cows, but shoot, I still got old Ranger."
"Good." I turned to Rick and introduced him. "Jed and Lorena got into the beefalo business ten years ago. I treated their buffalo."
"Yeah, and got out five years ago," Jed said. "Figured I'd lost enough money."
"Then he got into emu," Lorena said. "Got out of that three years ago along with everybody else who had a lick of sense."
"Half the poor souls who'd invested in birds simply opened their gates and turned them loose." Jed shook his head. "It's bad enough to hit a deer on the highway at night, but an emu? Probably scared a few drunk drivers into staying sober for the rest of their lives."
"Jed'll probably go to raising something like deer next."
"Now, Lorena, there's plenty of folks in New Zealand making a killing farming deer."
"You try it, Jedediah Blackwell, and you won't be the one making the killing, I will."
"But you still have Ranger?" I asked. I turned to Rick, "He's Jed's buffalo stud bull."
"He's just a big old pet. Couldn't sell him for love nor money, didn't want to slaughter him. My grandkids would kill me. They love the old fool. Y'all come on around back and say hello. Y'all can tell me what's cooking on the way."
"I've got biscuits in the oven," Lorena said. "I'll come soon as I take 'em out."
I told the buffalo story as we walked around the house and back toward the big yellow metal barn behind it.
Jed shook his head. "Mr. Pete must 'a stuck his entire head in a bottle of bourbon to do something that stupid. I've been by that store a million times. Never stopped. I can see why he'd like to have some kind of attraction. But b
uffalo?" He shook his head. "Don't know what I can do to help." Jed pointed past the barn. "Say hello to Ranger."
The paddock in which Ranger grazed was constructed strong enough to contain the average African elephant. Where Mr. Pete had used ordinary metal fence posts, Ranger's paddock was constructed of eight-foot tall six-by-sixes set in concrete, and the wire was heavy steel construction fencing.
"Wow," Rick whispered the instant I saw Ranger. "Now that's big."
Ranger trotted around his pasture like a happy puppy. Instead of tossing a Frisbee, however, he was tossing a five-hundred-pound tractor tire. He caught the rim on one of his horns, tossed his head and threw it back over his shoulder to land eight to ten feet behind him. Then he'd trot around and do it again.
"Come on," Jed said and unhooked the heavy chain that held his gate dosed. "He's just a big of pussycat."
"No thanks," Rick said, then whispered to me, "I don't know about you, but I don't have a death wish."
"Aw, come on. He loves people."
Jed walked toward him. We followed warily.
Ranger lifted his head, spotted company, snorted and trotted toward us, the truck tire momentarily abandoned in favor of more interesting company. He stopped four feet away.
"Come on, Maggie," Jed said. "Just scratch behind his ears and he'll love you for life."
I inched forward, reached across his horns, and scratched. Ranger sighed. He obviously loved the attention.
As a matter of fact, he loved it so much that he felt it was his duty to reciprocate. He gave me a fond little nuzzle.
His forehead connected with my rib cage with the force of an anvil.
I bounced off the fence and made dying fish noises while I tried to gulp air back into my lungs and stay on my feet.
Rick moved behind Jed. Ranger blinked in hurt surprise. I could feel his breath against my chest. His huge head and hump towered over me.
"Nice Ranger," I gasped. "For God's sake, Jed, tell him not to snuggle."
Jed poked Ranger in the side. "Go on, Ranger. You git now."
Ranger blinked again, then deciding that he might get into trouble if he tossed me, he wheeled, trotted back to his tire and gave it one long throw for good measure.
"Can we leave now?" Rick asked.
When we were safely back on the other side of the gate, Jed said, "Sorry about that, Maggie. He's a little near-sighted."
"Now you tell me."
As we drove away from Jed's place ten minutes later, Rick said, "Maggie, if it wasn't for you knowing everybody under the sun, those buffalo would be dead meat right now."
He was probably right.
"You can't just up and retire." He shook his head. "You're not gonna be much help walking around some museum when crap like this happens."
"Eli..."
"You know stuff Eli doesn't, and she knows stuff you don't. We need you both. How s she gonna manage without you?"
"She has Shep."
"He's not a vet. Y'all been friends and partners too long, Maggie McLain. Don't go doing something dumb. Morgan left holes in other people's lives too."
My short ride-a-long with Rick lasted most of the day and gave me plenty to think about. Eventually, the three buffalo cows were enticed back into their trailer with the assistance of a couple of Jersey heifers and some sweet feed.
An entourage consisting of the stock trailer, Sam Jones's red dually, Rick's truck, and assorted law enforcement types and general hangers on made the trip to Jed's place without further incident.
After Jed settled the buffalo temporarily in a paddock that would probably have contained Godzilla, Lorena fed our entire entourage homemade peach pie and iced tea.
As we turned back onto the interstate and headed for home, Rick said, "Mr. Pete's lucky he only got a citation for loose livestock. Poor man looked like a deflated balloon."
'Thank God for Sam Jones. He knows how to take care of them. When I left him, Mr. Pete was talking about maybe getting him fitted out with some kind of Wild West costume."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. And Sam seemed delighted with the idea so long as he could have a six-shooter."
"May I never see another buffalo as long as I live," Rick said.
"I don't want to see any more loose livestock as long as I live," I said. "Goat, emu, or buffalo. They all get into trouble the minute they get loose."
"And usually they're the ones that end up dead."
Rick and I had barely reached the Tennessee border when his cell phone rang. I picked it up for him.
"Oh, Maggie, thank God," said Heather's voice. She sounded frantic.
"Is the baby all right?" I asked, and Rick nearly put the truck into a ditch.
"The baby's fine, I'm fine. It's that Barrows man and his bull again."
"What now?"
"He swore he'd keep him up and build a decent fence. I don't know what he calls decent, but..."
Rick pulled offthe road into the parking lot for a rest stop. I handed him the cell phone. He listened to Heather while his face got redder and redder. He clutched the wheel so hard his knuckles were white. He said, "He knows damned well that once a bull gets out of an enclosure, the best thing to do is sell him, because he's going to keep doing it." He glanced at me. "Do you have to go straight home?"
I called the clinic to tell them where I was. Tonesha said Eli was handling the walk-ins. Everything was quiet. "Nothing waiting for me at home. I'll ride with you."
Rick drove like a madman. The gravel road in front of the station was blocked by a patrol car. On the road beyond, the lights of half a dozen patrol cars strobed.
Rick pulled to the side of the road. We both grabbed our bags and raced toward the closest barricade.
"I'm Dr. Rick Halliday," Rick told the state policeman at the bar ricade. "I'm in charge of the station. This is Dr. McLain. My wife called me about a bull."
"He's down there." He pointed past the ambulances.
I had to hurry to keep pace with Rick's long legs.
"Oh, God," I whispered, as I realized what I was looking at. A purple SUV stood upright in the center of the road. From the back it looked undamaged. As I came closer, however, I saw the front was bashed in, the windshield in pieces.
Mr. Barrows longhorn bull lay on the shoulder of the road. His head was covered in blood. He was unconscious, but I could see his sides move. He was breathing. Someone-Rick's men, probably-had lashed his legs together with heavy rope.
With Meg strapped into a carrier on her back, Heather ran toward us and flung herself into Rick's arms.
He hugged her and baby together, then thrust her away. "What the hell happened?"
"Fool kids done killt my good bull." Barrows detached himself from the group of uniformed sheriffs deputies and slouched toward us.
"Your bull nearly killed them, you mean," Heather snapped. "And he's not dead."
"Not yet."
Three young men huddled in the back of one of the squad cars. I peered in at them. They were all three spattered with blood. One turned frightened eyes up to me. His teeth were chattering.
The doors of both ambulances slammed simultaneously with an echo like a rifle shot. A moment later they tore off with sirens blaring and lights blinking.
I felt sick. I gestured at Rick. "Who's in the ambulances?"
"Couple of fraternity punks, is who," Barrows said. "Drunk as a passel of skunks on bootleg hooch."
"Please, Mr. Barrows," I said and started toward the bull. "Heather? You sure the bull's tied securely? I'm not interested in connecting with those horns if he wakes up."
"He's safe."
"Hey, didn't nobody give you permission to treat my bull!" Barrows said.
I stopped and turned to face him. "You are without a doubt the meanest, dumbest piece of work I've seen in a good many years as a veterinarian. Now, do you want two veterinarians who are here to treat your bull? Or wait until we call your vet, assuming you have one? Or do you want to leave him on the side of the roa
d to die?"
"Ain't no woman never talked to me thataway."
"Pity. Oh, the heck with it. I'm treating that bull whether you like it or not."
"Better not send me a bill! "
I shot him a glance. "Come on, Rick. Let's get the blood cleaned up." I dropped onto my knees beside the bull. "What on earth happened here?" I asked a highway patrolman hovering close by.
"Those five young morons left a party in Collierville last night after midnight and drove down into Mississippi to find a bootlegger. He sold them a quart of tequila out the back door of a juke joint. They were heading back to the party when they got lost. They were driving flat out down this road to get to the highwaywhen..."
"When they hit my damn bull."
"Mr. Barrows," I said. "Hush up right now."
"Heather says sometime last night that bull of his jumped his unrepaired fence again," Rick glared at Barrows. "Then he broke down mine..."
"Didn't neither," Barrows said and spat into the gravel. "Jumped it clean."
"When the bull started chasing my cows this time, they ran from him, straight through the hole he'd made in the fence and right onto this road."
"Dear God. How many dead?" I asked and looked around for more carcasses.
"That's the thing," the patrolman said. "When they saw the car heading at them, the cows peeled off to the sides. That stupid bull plowed straight ahead. The kid in the back seat said the driver saw him and slammed on his brakes. Skidded all over the road, but managed to keep the car upright."
I looked behind me at the two long streaks of black in the center of the gravel.
"Apparently, el toro here saw the SUV as a rival for the affections of his lady friends. He charged. Horns went straight through the windshield when he rode up over the hood."
"Oh, no."
"Go take a look." The patrolman grinned. "It's worth seeing."
I walked over to the SLIV, peered in the side window and gasped.
"Yeah." He grinned. "Horns grazed the driver, missed the passenger in the front seat, and rammed into the back seat. An inch to the right and it would have gone straight through the driver and impaled the kid in the center back seat like a shish-ke-bab."
All God's Creatures Page 31