Lionhearts (Denver Burning Book 5)

by Algor X. Dennison

  “Dad, I don’t know about this camp site,” Liam said. “Maybe we should move. Somewhere more open.”

  “Yeah,” Walt replied. “I don’t want to do too much more traveling in the dark, but if we go slow… we might find a better spot by the lake. It’s not so cold yet that we’ll freeze without the hot springs.”

  Packing their things up again, they carefully untied the horses and firmly led them on foot eastward, toward the vast shore of Yellowstone Lake. They had only walked for half an hour before they emerged from the scattered patches of pine and saw open water before them.

  “This is better,” Liam said. “Should we camp right by the water?”

  “Mmm, probably look for higher ground,” Walt replied. “Let’s head up that way a few paces.” He pointed to the north east, and Liam and Banjo led the way.

  After a couple of yards, Liam stopped in his tracks.

  “I didn’t literally mean a few paces,” Walt snorted. “Keep moving. Up by that little ridge overlooking this inlet, I think.”

  Liam didn’t move, and Walt realized he was silently beckoning to his father in the darkness. Walt hurried forward and saw what Liam had spotted: the tiny glow of a campfire, about a quarter mile up the shoreline.

  Chapter 9: Pushed Together

  “Looks like this part of the shore is already taken,” Liam whispered, aware that the sound of their voices could carry far over the water. He was staring at the fire. Someone was sitting next to it. It looked like a male figure, alone, but it was hard to tell at that distance. One thing they could clearly see was the shotgun propped up next to the figure, with firelight gleaming off its barrel. “Maybe we should go talk to the guy. It might be Mike.”

  “Might not be. He looks bigger than Michael. And what if he’s not actually alone?” Walt asked. “Either way, this fellow might not react kindly to a couple of strangers coming up on him out of the darkness.”

  “We should still try, dad. It might be Michael.”

  Walt sighed. The cost for making a mistake either way was painful to consider. “Okay, tell you what. You sneak up on him, army-crawl to within sight, and see if you can identify him without being seen yourself. I’ll cover you while I keep the horses back in the trees. Just see that you don’t get too close, okay?”

  Liam agreed, and Walt led the horses back away from the water among the pines again while his son moved stealthily forward. Walt pulled his rifle out and aimed it over Spook’s saddle at the campfire. He took care not to aim it directly at the man sitting there, and he kept his finger off the trigger. But he didn’t like the sight of the shotgun; if the man got jumpy and Liam wasn’t quite sneaky enough, the situation could get out of hand in a heartbeat.

  Walt quickly lost track of Liam’s location. He was doing a good job keeping to the shadows and moving only when he could be sure he wouldn’t be noticed, as Walt had taught him during family hunting trips. But now he was just as invisible to Walt as he was to the man by the fire, and Walt began to worry. How long had his son been out there, five minutes? Ten minutes, now?

  He was just beginning to really worry in spite of the fact that the man by the fire hadn’t moved. But the horses began getting nervous again, and soon he was unable to concentrate on the campsite any more. Banjo kept looking back over his shoulders into the denser part of the forest, and the gelding’s jitters spread to Spook so that it was all Walt could do to keep the mare from whinnying. He was just about to move back out of the woods in search of his son when Liam’s form loomed out of the night and entered the trees.

  “Dad! Hey, dad!”

  “Over here,” Walt said, relieved. “What did you see?”

  “It’s not him,” Liam said, voice choked with disappointment. “Some fat guy with shaggy hair. Should we try to talk to him?”

  “No, that doesn’t sound like a good idea. Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk to him in the morning.” Walt handed Banjo’s reins to Liam so they could move out.

  A howl sounded behind them, less than a hundred yards away in the trees. The horses screamed in fear, and Walt nearly lost hold of Spook. Banjo broke away from Liam entirely before he could get a good grip on the horse’s halter, and left the trees at a gallop.

  “Doggone it!” Walt yelled, unwilling to use the stronger words that came to mind in front of his son. “Come on, we’ve got to get that fool horse back!”

  He and Liam hurried back toward the beach, Spook not one hoof behind them. Another howl sounded in the trees.

  “Hi, hi, Banjo!” Liam yelled, but it was too late. The horse was running along the beach toward the fire, no doubt attracted by the smell of wood-smoke, which it associated with people and safety.

  “I guess we’re talking to this guy tonight after all,” Walt said.

  They approached the little lakeside camp cautiously. Liam stayed near Walt and the mare. Both men kept their hands in the open, but made sure their handguns were readily accessible. The man sitting by the fire, who did indeed look at least three hundred pounds in size, was now cradling his shotgun in his arms.

  “We mean no harm,” Walt called out. “Just coming after our horse.”

  Before the man by the fire could reply, a different voice shouted back from the darkness beyond the fire. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Is that Banjo?”

  Walt and Liam froze, caught off guard. A figure rose and emerged into the firelight from the direction of the northeast side of the inlet. It was a tall man with a rifle, but from his swagger and the way he held the gun, they could tell he wasn’t threatening. In fact, he looked very familiar.

  “Michael?” Walt asked. As the figure walked into the light of the little fire, Walt and Liam could see that it was Michael Leonhardt after all, the young man they had most hoped to find. He looked in fine health, with a square jaw and a couple of weeks’ dark brown stubble on his chin.

  “Dad? Liam? What in the world are you doing here? I can’t believe this!”

  Michael took Banjo by the halter and patted the gelding . “Hey there, boy. Long time, no see!”

  “Same to you, Mike,” Liam said, darting forward to clap his older brother on the back. “I thought it might be you! Dad didn’t think so, but I figured we’d run into you. What a great coincidence!”

  Walt hugged his older son with one arm, then gave the reins of both horses to Liam while he dug a pair of hobbles and a picket line and stake out of the saddle bags. “This is not a coincidence, son. It can’t be. We were meant to find you!”

  “Sure, dad. I don’t doubt it,” Michael said, helping Liam pound a stake deep into the sandy ground along the beach and pile rocks over it. “But I’ve been out there looking for you for the past hour! I heard your shot.”

  “That makes more sense, now,” Liam said. He strung the picket line from the stake to the hobbles Walt was attaching to the horses’ legs. “Who’s your friend? I saw him alone by the fire and nearly gave up on you!”

  The man by the fire, who hadn’t moved the entire time and hadn’t put down his shotgun, had eyes wider than some of the stones along the lake shore.

  “This is Jimmy, one of my roommates from school,” Michael explained. “Jimmy, this is Liam, my kid brother, and Walt Leonhardt, my dad.”

  Jimmy rose to feet finally and mumbled a greeting, clearly still in shock at the sudden arrival of armed visitors with horses.

  Michael sat on a sizeable rock by the fire and pulled off his hiking boots. “Man, I got these all wet when I was headed back here. Stepped in part of this lake inlet in the dark. Then I hit the deck, thinking you two were coming to attack us.”

  “Oh, thanks, man,” Jimmy said, speaking up for the first time. “Thanks a lot, Mike old buddy. You were gonna leave me to face them alone? I nearly peed my pants!”

  Mike chuckled. “No, Jimmy. I actually had my rifle trained on them, until I recognized Banjo.”

  “Have you two been fighting off the wolves?” Walt asked. “They drove us out of the trees to the lake.”

  “N
o,” Mike said, looking at Jimmy. “Haven’t heard or seen any. And we’ve been in the park for two days now.”

  “Well, we’re glad to see your fire,” Liam said. “The horses were pretty freaked out.”

  Walt checked the picket line and got out some feed for the two horses, which were calmer now than they’d been all evening. “We ran into a young couple who’d spotted you yesterday,” Walt explained as he came back to the fire and took a seat. “We hoped it was you, but I didn’t think much of the odds.”

  “Yeah, I remember them,” Mike said. “They didn’t seem to want to chat. Can’t blame them. We’ve already seen some pretty crazy stuff on the roads out of Idaho Falls, and I can’t imagine what’s going in the larger cities or interstate routes. There were rumors of violent robbers along I-15, so we decided to go through the park instead.”

  “We ran into a little of that in Bozeman, unfortunately,” Walt replied. “Got out of there just in time. So, Jimmy, were you headed north to our place, or do you have a home elsewhere you’re trying to reach?”

  “I’m from Spokane,” Jimmy said. “I was going to travel with Mike as far as your place, then head west from there.”

  Walt and Liam, who still hadn’t eaten even though the moon was now rising over the lake, dug some dinner from their packs. Michael and Jimmy eagerly accepted packets of freeze-dried stroganoff from Liam’s pack. “Oh, man,” Michael said, tearing the packet open. “We just ran out of the food we brought, and I thought we were going to have to stop and fish for a while. I’m glad you brought extra. This ought to get us all pretty far north of here before we have to resort to that.”

  Walt looked at his son. “We’re not going north, Michael.”

  Michael returned a confused gaze. “You’re not?”

  Jimmy looked concerned.

  “We’re headed to Denver, to find Tara,” Walt told them. “Meeting you was serendipity. A blessing. But we can’t go home yet, not without your sister. And we could sure use you on the journey.”

  Michael sighed. He looked at Jimmy. “Yeah, Tara. Honestly, I should have headed east for her myself, but…”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Hey, man, you do whatever you need to. I can make it.” He looked at Walt apologetically. “I mean, I hope you find your daughter. But you’ll excuse me if I keep going north.”

  “Of course,” Walt said. “No reason for you to come with us.” He looked at Michael. “Can Jimmy make it on his own?”

  It was a blunt question, but one that had to be asked. Jimmy didn’t exactly fit the profile of a wilderness traveler. Apart from his sheer girth, he was wearing worn sneakers and a Star Wars tee shirt despite the night breeze.

  “Sure, he can,” Mike said. “Jimmy, I’ll leave you whatever gear I can spare, including our map. You’ll just follow the road up past the Lake Hotel and the Upper Falls, like we planned, until it joins up with highway eighty-nine. From there it’s a straight shot to the interstate, and you know your route west from that point on.”

  Liam whistled. “That’s five hundred miles.”

  Jimmy nodded. “Yeah. It’s a long way. But that’s where home is, and it sounds like you’re going even farther. I’ll make it eventually, even if I have to hole up in little towns along the way for a few days at a time. I have an uncle in Missoula that will take me in, too.”

  “Okay.” Walt nodded at the young man. “If you’re game. You’ll find a friendly place at our ranch if you do decide to stop in there. I’d say if you haven’t reached Missoula within the next three weeks, you’d better turn around and find a safe place to winter. Those mountains won’t be easy to cross on foot once it snows.”

  Jimmy nodded. He looked tired, but determined.

  “So what’s our plan, dad?” Mike asked. “South from here, or east through Wyoming?”

  “South-east,” Walt replied. “Through the Indian Reservation. As straight a shot as we can once we’re past the mountains. We’re in a hurry.”

  Mike was somber. “Have you heard from Tara at all? Do you know if she’s okay?”

  Walt shook his head.

  “Mom said she tried to call just before the phones went dead,” Liam explained. “So as of a week ago, she was trying to contact us. That’s all we know.”

  “Okay,” Mike sighed. “Let’s go get her.”

  Chapter 10: Hometown Woes

  Six days, the men had been gone. Sarah arose early and prayed for nearly an hour, begging the Lord to keep them safe and provide for her and the girls. She prayed especially for Tara, wherever she was.

  With a long, ragged sigh, she stood up. She still didn’t know how she would last all the way until her husband returned, but she knew she had to. She had people counting on her, both at home and out on the road, and it was more than likely that in time a whole portion of her community would have to depend on her cattle for survival. She went into the kitchen to make breakfast on the antique cast iron stove from their barn.

  She had the eggs almost done and was toasting bread when the kitchen door opened and Jim Travers came in. He was an older man with a belly, a beard, and glasses, and he had kindly agreed to help with the herd while Walt was away. Sarah planned to give him a few head of cattle at the end of the season in payment, although she hadn’t discussed it with him yet. As far as he knew, he was still acting out of neighborly kindness. It was people like him that would get her and the girls through, she knew. She just hoped they’d all be able to pull together and deal with the challenges that doubtlessly loomed ahead.

  “’Morning, Sarah.” Jim sat down at the table. “Where are those girls of yours? I was going to teach ‘em how to deal with weeds the old fashioned way, now that spray is running out.”

  “I’d better go get them up,” Sarah replied, setting a plate of eggs and toast in front of Jim and throwing some sliced spam onto a skillet. “But I don’t want you spending time on weeds this time of year. I’m sure we have a hundred other more pressing things to deal with.”

  Jim shook his head, reaching for the salt and pepper. “No, ma’am. If you ignore the weeds now and let a good crop go to seed, come next Spring you’ll have more than you can possibly deal with by hand, and you’ll lose cattle to ‘em. You get those girls up, and give ‘em a hard spank if they put up a fight. When I was a boy, I was up at four thirty every single morning except Sunday, when my father let us sleep in for half an hour…”

  Sarah left Jim to his rambling tale and went to knock on the girls’ door. “Up and at ‘em, girls. Breakfast is nearly ready.”

  She knocked again until she got two sleepy commitments to get up. When she got back to the kitchen, Jim’s eighteen-year-old nephew Murph had joined him at the table and the two neighbors were discussing how best to bale the hay now that they had to do it all by hand.

  By the time the girls joined them in rumpled jeans and messy hair, the conversation had shifted.

  “The Brunson boys said their dad was kicked and half trampled by their stallion yesterday morning,” Murph reported. “They were asking how to set a broken rib, or what to do. Said his entire torso is purple and blue.”

  “What did you tell them?” Sarah asked. She was no nurse, but she had dealt with enough injuries to know how to handle most things.

  “I had no idea,” Murph replied. “Sounded like he might have internal bleeding to me. But they didn’t know where to find a doctor short of hiking out to Bozeman. And they can’t get an x-ray now anyway, so what’re they gonna do?”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Amy, as soon as you’re done with breakfast, I want you to get on your bike and go to the Brunsons’. Tell them where Janice Kelson lives and that she’s a registered nurse with more than enough experience to handle a horse kick. And tell them to leave the poor man’s ribs alone until she looks at him.”

  The group ate in silence for a few minutes, watching the sky lighten through the windows.

  “Old man Brunson is lucky,” Murph remarked. “At least he doesn’t have a gunshot wound to deal with.”<
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  Sarah dumped the spam on a plate in the middle of the table and sat down, unwilling to touch the food any more. “What is it, Murph? Who’s been shot?”

  She was tired. It was only six thirty in the morning, it had only been a week since everything began to collapse, and she was so tired she almost wanted to cry. What was wrong with the world?

  “I don’t know his name,” Murph said. “But they found his body in a ditch by the highway, twelve miles from here. Day before yesterday. Shot up, with his wallet and boots missing.”

  Jim looked at Sarah. “I heard about it yesterday. Didn’t want to alarm you. Murph, did they ever get a sheriff’s deputy to come out and investigate?”

  “Not last I heard. It’d be a full day’s work for a deputy, and from what I hear they got bigger things to worry about in town.”

  Sarah sighed.

  “We need to be vigilant,” Jim said, staring at his plate but speaking loud enough to make sure even the girls heard clearly. “If anybody comes around here, anybody you don’t recognize, I want you ladies to come get me or Murph, or Barrett Chamberlain down the road. There’s just no telling what kind of people might come straggling along the highway.”

  “Well, if Joe and Terry from church have their way,” Murph enthusiastically put in, “there won’t be any lawlessness around here soon. They’re starting up a local militia that could be called out whenever any threats arise.”

  “Threats?” Sarah stared at Murph. He was a strange young fellow and hard to read; his news might be nothing but rumor, but they were all she had to go on now. “What are you talking about? What threats do they think the sheriff won’t be able to handle?”

  Murph shrugged. “Bad guys coming in from outside the county. Maybe even from outside the country, I don’t know. At least they could hunt down whoever killed that guy, and make sure justice is done.”

  The room had gone very quiet. Everyone was done eating now, and the girls were looking back and forth between Murph and Sarah with frightened eyes.