Buffalo Summer

by Nadia Nichols

  “Okay,” Caleb said. “This is the deal. As soon as you sign that bill of sale, I’ll call my friend in New York and tell him to forget all about Mayor DeVier and his legacy of hate and discrimination in a small Wyoming town, which would probably be a very good thing for you if you intend to remain in politics!”

  DeVier returned to his chair and sat abruptly, as if all the strength had gone from his legs. He rested trembling hands on the arm rests and his voice shook when he spoke.

  “Jonathan was a brilliant boy. He had a great future ahead of him.”

  “I’m sure his loss was terrible for you,” Caleb said. “But practicing racism is no way to honor his memory.” He glanced at Pony. “Are the boys okay?”

  “Fine,” she replied quietly. “And the buffalo are loaded.”

  Caleb nodded. He glanced back at DeVier and studied the man for a moment. “Thirty thousand,” he said.

  DeVier’s eyes raised to his, startled.

  “I’ll pay you thirty grand for the buffalo and the trailer. And I’ll donate the other thirty grand to a scholarship fund on the Crow Indian reservation. In your name, of course. The only reason I’m paying you anything at all after what you did is because my herd manager would want me to, and I respect her opinion very much.”

  DeVier’s expression revealed weariness and defeat. He nodded his acceptance of the terms. “I did nothing wrong,” he said softly.

  “Neither did I. Now, if you could please find me a pen?”

  The mayor reached into his vest pocket and brought out a gold pen. He laid it on the coffee table. Caleb made several alterations and then pushed the papers toward DeVier. “Just initial the changes and sign the bill of sale,” he said. “I’ll write the check.”

  DeVier’s hand trembled as he signed. He gave the pen to Caleb. “I’ll be sure to send you official verification of your generous donation to the scholarship fund,” Caleb said, handing the check to the mayor. “It’s tax deductible.”

  “Please, just leave. Take the damn buffalo and go!”

  Caleb stood, reaching up the sheaf of papers and the bill of sale. “I won’t say it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mayor, because it hasn’t. But I will tell you that those buffalo will have a good home in Montana.”

  Ten minutes later they were driving home, towing twenty buffalo in a gleaming silver Featherlite trailer. For a long while they drove in silence. When they entered the boundaries of Yellowstone National Park, it wasn’t long before they spotted the first wild buffalo. Caleb slowly pulled the Suburban to the side of the road and stared. “Look at them,” he said to Pony. “Look at them. Am I crazy, or do they look different from the buffalo we’re hauling?”

  “They look different,” she agreed with a patient nod. “They’re free,” she explained, as if he were a child who should know such a basic truth. “And a wild creature that is free has its own beauty.”

  IT WAS DUSK when Guthrie heard the sound of a vehicle climbing the gravel road that led to the ranch. He limped slowly down the porch steps and heard the screen door slam behind him as Jessie, Badger and Roon followed him outside.

  “It’s them, all right,” Badger said. “Get a load of that fancy trailer.”

  The Suburban’s headlights swept across the face of the ranch house, and Caleb pulled to a stop and leaned out. “We’ll drive them right up back,” he said. “Climb aboard if you want to watch the show.”

  “The gate’s open,” Guthrie said as they climbed into the vehicle, headed up the road toward the holding corrals. They passed through the open gate and paused while Jimmy jumped out and closed it behind them. Twenty minutes later they reached the high meadow. Caleb braked to a gentle stop and cut the engine. In the twilight the mountains loomed against the sky like black sentinels. He sat for a few moments absorbing the peace and beauty of the place while the rest waited quietly for his cue.

  “It was a long ride,” Caleb said at length. “Let’s let these buffalo out.” He reached for the door handle and paused. “You may think this sounds crazy, but I’d really like to take the tags out of their ears,” he said.

  Guthrie nodded. “We can do that, but we’ll have to unload them into the corral. We can remove the tags in the morning and turn them loose.”

  “If we hold them in the corral overnight we’ll need to bring some hay up for the night feeding,” Jessie pointed out.

  “We can do that, too, can’t we, boys?” Guthrie asked, and they nodded. “Okay then. Let’s back the trailer up to the corral. Jimmy, open the gate.”

  After several minutes, they were dropping the back ramp of the big silver trailer and standing back as the buffalo burst out in one thundering stream. They hit the ground in their strange, stiff-gaited lope and curved around the perimeter of the corral, grunting and snorting and shaking the ground.

  “They’re good-lookin’ buff,” Badger said.

  “They’ll look a whole lot better when they’re running free,” Caleb replied.

  They leaned against the corral, watching until it was nearly dark. “Ramalda’s keeping supper for you,” Guthrie said. “We figured you’d be home late. Looks like you had quite an adventure.”

  “Yeah,” Caleb said. “We did.” He glanced at Roon. “How’s Absa and that wild mustang doing?”

  “Good.”

  Caleb looked at Guthrie and Jessie. “How’s Blue and her pups?”

  “They’re doing just fine,” Jessie said.

  Caleb crossed to where Pony leaned across the corral fence watching the buffalo and draped his arm companionably across her shoulders. “Damn,” he said. “It’s good to be back home.”

  WHEN CALEB WALKED into the kitchen, Ramalda turned from the sink and froze. She stared at him for a few horrified moments. “Dios mio! Que te paso! Parece que estas muerto!” She lifted her apron over her face and burst into tears.

  He had no idea what she’d said, but her actions required no translation. He crossed the room and hugged her awkwardly. “I missed you, too,” he said. “We’re hungry. I hope you made a lot of food.”

  Ramalda had outdone herself. She brought dish after dish to the table, hovering with that ever-present scowl and wiping tears from her cheeks repeatedly with her apron. Caleb told the story of what had happened that morning on the Rockin’ DV, but after that there wasn’t much talk around the table. It had been a long day, and they were all exhausted.

  Caleb couldn’t eat much. The heat, his fatigue and his aching body all conspired to make Ramalda’s tears flow faster and faster as he failed to clean his plate. He got slowly to his feet and reached for his hat on the peg beside the door. He looked at the faces that stared back at him somberly and said, “Long live the Bow and Arrow, and good night to you all.”

  As he washed up at his cabin he studied his reflection in the old mirror above the sink and grimaced at the stranger that stared back at him, “No wonder that poor old woman cried. You’d scare the soul out of a holy man.”

  He carried a bottle and a glass onto the porch and sat in the darkness, sipping whiskey and listening to the creek. He thought about the twenty head of buffalo with the red tags in their ears who were milling around up in the holding corral, spending their first night beneath a star-studded Montana sky. He remembered how cold DeVier’s eyes had been, and thought about how easy it would be for someone like that to justify any kind of crime in the name of revenge for his murdered son.

  And get away with it, over and over again.

  “Here’s to your generous thirty-thousand-dollar donation, DeVier,” he said, taking another sip. “I hope one day you can let go of all that hate before it burns you up inside.”

  PONY HELPED Ramalda and Jessie tidy up the kitchen and sat at the computer for a little while afterward, thinking that she should enter all the data on the new buffalo. But she didn’t turn on the computer. She was tired and she couldn’t stop thinking about Caleb McCutcheon and all the things she needed to say to him. When he’d left the kitchen after supper, she’d wan
ted follow him.

  She wanted to be near him, but being near him the way she had been for the past two days wasn’t enough. She wanted more than that. Much more.

  She wanted something she could not have, and the pain was like having the blade of a knife drawn through her heart. She would have to leave here soon; being so close to him was a torment she could no longer endure. Jessie’s questioning glance before she and Guthrie had said their good-nights had only made Pony feel worse. She was a failure on all fronts.

  She stood and lifted her heavy braid off her shoulder. It was so warm. Maybe if she took a swim, it would help her to sleep.

  Maybe. But she doubted it.

  IT WAS TOO HOT to sleep. The air was stifling. Caleb carried the bottle of whiskey with him and walked down along the edge of the creek to the swimming hole. The pool was deep, and in the darkness the water sent a liquid murmur along the edges of the bank that was barely louder than a whisper. He heard the splash of a trout rising and set the bottle down in the cradle of a tree root. Moments later he had stripped out of his clothes and was plunging into the cool water. In just the right spot a person could float in circles forever, and he found the place and lay on his back, letting the current spin him slowly around and around while he caught glimpses of the shining stars through the interlacing branches of the willow and cottonwood.

  He would never survive the rest of the summer. He wanted Pony so badly that he was sure the whole world could see the torment in his eyes. He had no right to feel this way. She had been blunt and honest with him, and he had to respect her for that, but to work alongside her was killing him.

  The water was soothing. He could easily spend the entire night like this, floating on his back in this swimming hole and contemplating a future that had Pony in it….

  Footsteps. He heard the soft tread of approaching footsteps and back-paddled beneath the overhanging arm of a giant cottonwood on the opposite bank. Who…? He peered through the darkness and saw a shadowy human shape materialize and stand motionless for a moment, not ten feet from the clump of bushes that hid his clothes and the bottle of whiskey. Suddenly the shape began to move, stripping off clothing and laying it piece by piece over a clump of brush.

  Well, now, this was a quandary. Should he speak up? He cleared his throat loudly, then, realizing that the resulting noise sounded rather bearlike, he said, “Hello?” When he spoke, the shadow toppled off the edge of the bank and into the pool with a startled and decidedly feminine-sounding cry.

  “Pony?” he said when her head came up, sputtering. “It’s Caleb.”

  He heard her gasp. “You might have said something!”

  “I just did, and you fell in.”

  “I mean, before I took most of my clothes off!”

  “And spoil all the fun?” When she started scrambling out he said, “Don’t go. Please. The water’s great, and I promise I’ll stay over here. You can have one whole half of the pool. If that doesn’t work for you, I’ll leave. I’ve been here long enough.”

  She paused in the act of pulling herself onto the bank. “Your poor body needs the cool water more than I.”

  “Well, actually, my heart’s in much worse shape than my body.” He cursed himself silently the moment the words tumbled out. “I mean, I feel bad for what happened in Wyoming. You and the boys could’ve gotten hurt, and it was my fault.”

  “Your fault? For making that man let go of me? Should you have just let him throw me and the boys out on the street?” She spoke tersely, her words swift and angry.

  “No. That’s not what I meant. He shouldn’t have touched you, and I’m not sorry I hit him. I’m not sorry I attacked any of them, and as mad as I was, it’s a wonder I didn’t commit murder.”

  “Then why are you sorry?”

  He drew a silent breath. “I’m sorry this world is so screwed up.”

  “That’s not your fault, Mr. McCutcheon,” she said, her voice gentling. “That’s just how it is. When we leave the reservation, we know things like that can happen.”

  “Things like that should never happen.”

  “There are lots of things that shouldn’t be. I feel lucky that we’re here in this place for the summer. I can notice a big change in the boys. But the summer is more than half over.”

  Half over! Caleb felt that familiar surge of anxiety. “What will happen this fall?”

  “We’ll go back. I’ll teach school, the boys will learn their lessons and take their GED’s and hopefully find paths that will lead them to good places.”

  Caleb looped his arm through a protruding cottonwood root. “What if there was a school right here, so you didn’t have to leave? What if the ranch was a school, a place where kids could work and learn at the same time, sort of a work-study program. They could do their lessons and learn how to successfully manage and market a buffalo herd. How to raise and train and worm and vaccinate and hot-shoe horses. Maybe there could be a special scholarship fund set up for them to go on to an agricultural college, or any other kind of college, for that matter. Roon could go to vet school. Jessie and Doc Cooper would vouch for him if his grades were good enough in college.”

  Pony had slipped back into the water and was swimming gently into the current. “What are you saying, Mr. McCutcheon?” she said.

  Caleb drew a deep breath. “I’m saying that maybe the end of summer doesn’t have to be the end of everything. I want you to stay.”

  “I’m a third-grade teacher on the reservation,” she pointed out.

  “Couldn’t you teach older students? You’re doing it now, and you do it well.”

  “Why?” she said. Her strokes were smooth and graceful and they were bringing her closer and closer. She was straying onto his side of the pool. “Why do you want to do this?”

  He opened his mouth to respond but could not find the words. She was close enough now that he could almost reach out and touch her, and the water began to feel electrically charged.

  “Is it pity?” She stopped moving forward. “Is it because you feel sorry for us?”

  His heart rate had trebled. “I didn’t feel sorry for you when I hired you. I didn’t feel sorry for you when you stood off that charging buffalo with a thimbleful of BB’s. And I didn’t feel sorry for you when you came to the sheriff’s office to demand my release. It’s not pity. If anything, it’s pure selfishness. I want you to stay because I like having you around. You’ve been a big help with the buffalo. With the fences. And what’s the point of owning that big fancy Suburban if I can’t squire the whole bunch of you around in it?”

  She was within reach now, and he let his free hand drift toward her, surprised and gratified when she gripped it with her own and pulled herself up against the bank beside him. “I think what you are trying to say is nice, but it isn’t real,” she said. “You don’t need us here to ride around in your big vehicle. You don’t need us here to help with your fences, or with your buffalo. You don’t really need us here at all.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said. “And maybe you think it’s not real, but it is.” He tightened his grip on her hand and forted up every ounce of his courage. “You see, Pony, I’m—”

  “Shh, listen!” she said suddenly. “Someone’s coming.”

  He craned to hear and his heart plummeted. “Sounds like a whole tribe of someones. Must be the boys. Quick! Those bushes, my underwear!”

  “You mean you’re—”

  “Yes, dammit. You would be, too, if I hadn’t spoken up when I did!”

  She swam to the opposite bank, and he could have sworn he heard her laugh. Within moments she had reached the bushes where his clothes were hidden. She dived back into the water, hand delivering his cotton boxers as five shadowy forms appeared on the bank.

  “Thanks,” he muttered to her. Then he raised his voice. “Come on in, boys, the water’s great.”

  There were multiple explosions as they hit the water, reveling in the refreshing cool of it. “Say, Mr. McCutcheon,” Jimmy said, splashing his way across
the pool. “Where did you learn to fight like that? I’ve never seen anything like it. If you hadn’t got hit with that bottle, you would have wiped all of them out!”

  “Let’s just pretend that never happened.”

  “But I want to learn how to fight that way.”

  “Then you better get born all over again and grow up in the Chicago slums.”

  “You could teach us.”

  “Why would I want to teach you how to get hit over the head with a beer bottle and thrown into jail?”

  “But—”

  “That’s what happened, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter how good you are at anything. If the odds are against you, you’re going down, and if you go down fighting, it sure as hell won’t be because I taught you how. The only thing I’ll teach you is how to throw a baseball. End of conversation.”

  “But—”

  “And now I’ll leave you to your swim. But don’t forget. Dawn tomorrow. Breakfast. And then we’re going to take the red tags out of those buffalo ears and set them free. Dawn comes at what time, Jimmy?”

  “Early,” Jimmy said, his voice resigned.

  “That’s right. So don’t be late.” Caleb swam for the opposite bank, pulled himself out and carried the bundle of clothes and the bottle of whiskey back to his cabin.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WAS CALEB who was late the following morning. He stood beneath the weak stream of cool water in his gravity-feed shower, willing the muddiness from his head. He took a handful of aspirin, drank a cup of strong coffee, climbed into his pickup and drove to the holding corrals, groaning aloud at every jolting bump. The contractors were there. Pony and the boys were there. Guthrie and Jessie and Badger were there.