Ty hardly saw the country they were driving through.
“How did Tommy take it?” He’d gone to see him in Indian Town.
But he didn’t think Tommy recognized him.
“He roused himself when they shipped Spec back. He took that flag
all folded up. Watched them lower the coffin. But he never thought
Spec was in there. Not for a minute. Just started in to drinking again.” “Might not have been in there.” Ty looked out the window again.
“Not much left when a man gets hit right on.” They were getting close
to Seeley Lake. Ty was remembering when Spec had driven him in the
other direction, celebrating Ty’s first year in the mountains. He’d been
so honored to have a hunter like Special Hands take him to town he
probably would have gone to The Bar of Justice even if he’d known
what it was.
“I guess those kamikazes think it’s an honor.” Ty saw Horace needed
an explanation. “They’re different from us.”
“You must of seen some bad things.” Horace looked over at Ty.
“Etta and me are sure glad you come out of it all right.”
They went by the bar at Seeley Lake and Ty remembered when Spec
had bought him beer there, wouldn’t let him pay, the bartender seeing
Ty was too young but serving him anyway—because Spec told him to. “I’m not sure any of us came out of it all right,” Ty said. He saw two
men drinking on the porch where he’d first seen Gus Wilson, chairs tilted back. He also saw the worry on Horace’s face and thought he’d
better change the subject.
“We’ve all changed over those years.You and Etta too.” “Does slowin’ to a crawl qualify as change?” Horace asked, still
concerned about Ty.
He began asking Ty questions: what Ty’s medals stood for, how the
Germans acted when they surrendered. He asked questions all the way
out to the pack station, offering his own answers when Ty grew quiet. “Mostly it was confusing,” Ty said. “Everyone going different directions. Roads out. Waiting. Then rushing for somewhere else.” He didn’t talk about the frightened boys they took as prisoners. He
didn’t talk about his wound, or about the smells of Gunskirchen
Lager—the starved people reaching out, needing someone to touch.
Cody Jo came out when she heard the truck. She’d been baking and had flour on her jeans. She looked so natural and happy Ty had to swallow away his feelings. She hugged him and made him walk for her, told him that Dan and Rosie were coming for dinner. Buck and Angie too. That Fenton was putting in a hunting camp and wanted Ty with him right away.
“Hold on,” Ty said, as they went into the house. Music was playing. Music always seemed to be playing when Cody Jo was cooking. “I’m not even sure I can ride.”
“You can dance, Ty. If you can dance, you can ride.”
Ty saw the big house was finished at last: the floors polished, railings in on the stairs. Over the mantle was a painting of an Indian packer. A long, shiny table was where the makeshift one had been.
Cody Jo told him to take the guest room, but he took his things out to his old room off the barn. Someone had put a bed where the cot had been. And there was electricity, a lamp to read by.
The army had shipped a sleeping bag back with him. He spread it on the bed and went through the corrals to see what horses Fenton had left, pleased to see Smoky Girl sunning herself out in the pasture. Cottontail and Loco were there too. He got a nose bag and went to them, worried that his limp might make them wary. But they came to him right away, Loco peering around Cotttontail to make sure before nosing in for feed, trying to get it all.
He saved the last for Smoky, then led her back to the corrals, knowing the sooner he found out if he could ride the better. He began brushing her, wondering how Fenton was and why no one talked about that. It was hard to imagine anything wrong, though. Fenton seemed too permanent.
He looked up at the high ridges of the Swan. The sun was warm on his face and he felt at home at last—or at least near enough to see where home was, up where the air was thin and the nights cold.
He’d saddle Smoky after lunch, see if he could ride without too much pain. But even as he walked into the kitchen for lunch, he knew there would be no waiting, that no matter the pain, he’d be headed for the pass in the morning. He wanted to see Fenton, needed to see the country. He just wished Spec were there to see it too.
“ Yo u’re older, Ty.” Rosie put a bag of homegrown tomatoes on the table. “ Yo u’re getting some of that sad look Will used to have.”
“Just makes him more handsome,” Angie said. “Mysterious like.”
“You been breaking any hearts, Ty?” Rosie was going through Cody Jo’s records. “Hear those nurses were trippin’ over themselves to get you on your feet.”
“They sure tried to get me rid of this limp.” Ty felt awkward with all the attention. “The doctor says it’ll go away—in time. Says to do whatever I can. Just not too fast.”
“That’s what Fenton said after you were half-frozen.” Cody Jo passed out the drinks Dan had made. “I thought we’d never get your blood moving again. ‘Take it slow,’ he said. And for once he was right.”
“He’s right about a lot of things, Cody Jo.You tease him too much.”
“I don’t think I tease him as often now, Ty.” She looked at him. “And we miss it. It was one of the ways we made love.”
Then she was busy, making a cheese sauce, frying elk sausage. They drank, dipping their bread in the sauce and listening to the songs she’d collected during the war years.
“Those songs meant a lot to us,” Ty said. “Made us happy and sad all at once.”
“Well let’s be happy listenin’ to them now.” Buck got another round for everyone. “It’s best to be glad about who’s here, not sad about who ain’t.”
Things picked up a little after that. They listened to Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller and Artie Shaw. Ty thought they might start dancing, but nobody did. They just listened and drank, eating the sausages with the tomatoes from Rosie’s garden.
It was all right with Ty that nobody wanted to dance. It hadn’t been easy getting on Smoky in the first place, and it wasn’t much better after he did. Not until he’d worn her down a little and loosened himself up. Ty guessed she hadn’t been ridden at all since he left, a suspicion Horace verified that afternoon before he drove back to town.
“At first we didn’t get on her because of you bein’ away,” Horace said. “And then we didn’t cause she wouldn’t let us. By the time Fenton got her, she wasn’t fit for anyone but him. And he was busy with Easter. ‘Wait till it’s over,’ he says. Which most of us were doin’ anyway.”
Horace got in his truck. “And we did. We all waited. A lot stopped while you boys was gone. Didn’t change, just stopped. Hope you can start things up again.”
Ty watched him drive away before going back to Smoky. It took three hours. But when he finished, they were reacquainted. And he knew he could ride. At least that much was started up again.
They had a lot to drink that night, but not even Buck got boisterous. Mostly they listened to the music and tried not to worry about Ty’s limp.
“I can haul them supplies in for Fenton,” Buck said. “No reason for you to be on the trails until that leg heals.”
“And let you knock over all those saplings?”
“Been workin’ on conservation since you left.” Buck sounded hurt. “Cottontail and me.”
Ty saw being funny was no good. “Truth is, Buck, I want to go. Want to see Fenton. Find out if my leg is good enough so I can help.”
Buck got more drinks and Angie and Rosie cleared the table, all of them making nice to Ty, saying they were sure his leg would hold up, saying how much help he would be. . . . What they weren’t saying was what bothered him.
“I want Fenton to see you,” Cody Jo said. “He’ll be so glad to see you.”
Billie Holiday was singing “In my solitude ...you haunt me . . . “ Cody Jo took it off and played “Daybreak,” saying it was the last record because daybreak was when Ty had to get going. She got Ty up to dance with her, but it wasn’t at all like that night they’d danced on the terrace at the hotel. The song seemed sad.
He went out to his room and pulled his sleeping bag over him. He lay there thinking of his favorite camps, wondering what fords had washed out, thinking about all the things that could have changed . . . and thinking about Spec. It wouldn’t be the same in the woods without Spec.
“Spec may be gone,” Fenton said. “But he’ll stick with you the rest of your goddamned life. You’ll see.” He was sitting by the fire with Jasper, drinking the whiskey Ty had brought in. Gus Wilson was there too, and Ty could see why Gus was needed. He’d pulled Cottontail and Loco into camp in the late afternoon, Fenton there to meet them and looking so much thinner and smaller Ty hardly recognized him. If Fenton’s voice hadn’t held up, steady and insistent, Ty was afraid he would have been staring at him still, making sure it really was Fenton.
“Them you learn from are always with you,” Fenton said. “Telling you things. Helpin’ you see.” He shifted to get more comfortable. “That’s all the immortality a man gets, far as I can tell.” He sipped his whiskey. “When you think about it, it ain’t a bad kind to have.”
“Let’s talk about somethin’ cheerful,” Jasper said, enjoying the whiskey Ty had produced. “Like havin’ Ty back. I feel safer already.” He patted Ty’s arm. “You always looked out for me when them chips was down.”
“He might have to do more of that if I don’t shake this goddamned ache.” Fenton started to get up for another drink, but Gus brought the bottle over, watching as Fenton settled himself back down.
“Been off my feed, Ty. Off my industry too. With you here maybe we can catch up to where I let Gus down.”
“If you’d see the doc you might not worry about who you let down,” Gus said. “Or fret over what you shouldn’t be doing in the first place.”
“I know what I should be doing. What pisses me off is I can’t. With Ty here I just may go see Doc Haslam. Not that he’ll tell me anything new.”
“Don’t let ’em poke you with their knives,” Jasper said. “Costs all that money and not a nickel worth of repair.”
“Poke me wherever they want if they get rid of this ache. It’s hardly tolerable without whiskey.”
“They sometimes cut the ache out,” Gus said. “But you got to see them first. Ty can finish up here, take care of them hunters comin’ in.”
“I’ll take you up to the pass tomorrow,” Ty said, poking the fire. “Yo u can instruct me on what to do.You’ve probably missed that opportunity.”
“I have. But it’s hard to crack the whip. This ache keeps me preoccupied.”
Jasper shook his head, knowing that if Fenton didn’t protest about doctors poking him with knives, things were bad. He took another sip, thinking it was one of Tommy’s Indian signs.
A bad one.
Death and Life (1945–1947)
In the meadows the snow looked windblown and rippled, holding for a time behind raised clumps of grass before lifting away and settling—like winter’s dust.
25
Home
Ty threw himself into his work until his hands blistered. He got gloves from Jasper and kept on, Gus surprised by how determined he was not to bruise the country. They built the three-bar catch corral in the lodgepole grove, used deadfall for rails lashing them to standing trees. They dug a fire pit rather than use rocks for a ring. They set up a small wall tent for their gear and two bigger ones with stoves for the hunters, putting them where the ground drained to avoid ditching. And at the end of each day Ty would explore the country on Smoky, thinking where Spec would send hunters, how he would handle it if they asked him to do their hunting.
He wasn’t looking forward to the hunting, but he liked getting ready: looking high for game, listening to elk bugle at sunset, the coyotes’ wild calls—spotting bears as they foraged.
Jasper took pleasure in feeding Ty, watching his appetite return. Gus watched Ty too, saw he didn’t like to talk about the war, about Fenton. Gus figured, in his country-wise way, that hard work was good medicine. Sleep would heal. The harder the work the deeper the sleep for Ty.
He was right. Ty made his bed under the makeshift saddle rack. The manties thrown across them offered all the shelter he needed— and a place to look out at the stars, listen for the night noises. He would lie there with his leg throbbing, the throb slowing to an ache as sleep washed through him. He barely stirred one night when a deer rummaged around looking for salt, only half-woke when the belled horses drifted close. The safety of his woods was so comforting, his weariness so absolute, Gus wondered if even a grizzly roaring through camp would unsettle him.
Fenton was his worry—one he tempered by knowing Fenton was seeing Thomas Haslam. Gus had decided to talk less about Fenton’s well-being and more about the work he’d left them to do, but he’d seen the look on Ty’s face when he came down from the pass, Ty’s eyes on something else as he unsaddled and turned Smoky out. He thought Fenton must have said something, though there was no way to guess what. Fenton was too unpredictable. And they’d run into Bernard Strait up there. Gus thought Bernard had grown even more touchy during the war years. It was hard to tell what he might have said, seeing Fenton in that condition, Ty looking not so much older as different—as though he’d traveled an uncommon amount of country during the war, none of it pretty.
And Bernard had behaved strangely up on the pass, at least Ty thought he had. He was putting in a benchmark, dressed in his olive ranger pants and his brown ranger shirt, the brim of his hat straight across his brow.
“Well, you’re back.” He looked more ready to talk than Ty expected. “This is the Bob Marshall Wilderness now. I got charge of the South Fork District. I believe you’re startin’ down those switchbacks a little early.”
“Can’t get started too early in the mountains,” Fenton said. “That’s true, Bernard,” Ty said, knowing Fenton was hurting. “Fenton always said an hour in the morning’s worth two at night. Missed hearing it these last years.”
“Hell, this was the Bob Marshall before Ty signed up.” Fenton looked around. “Doesn’t hurt the country, I guess. But I think the man was crazy.”
Bernard looked at Fenton as though Fenton might be crazy himself. “He was a famous conservationist.What’s the matter with you?”
“Only thing he wanted to conserve was some country to test himself in.” Fenton shifted to find comfort. “I seen him come into camp and see he hadn’t made his fifty miles and go right back out to make it up. Wind up so sick he couldn’t watch the sun set or hear elk bugle.”
“Maybe that’s why they dedicated this country to him.” Bernard couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Count yourself lucky he dropped dead back east. Never would of heard the end of it if he’d died in one of them blizzards he always got caught in.” Fenton started Easter down toward the switchbacks.
“Got to wait an hour before you go down.” Bernard was cleaning his glasses. “Stock might be coming up.”
“Would you tell me what in hell you’re talking about, Bernard? If someone’s coming up, I’ll get out of the way. Or they will.”
“It’s the regulation now.” Bernard put his glasses back on. “Stock goes up in the morning. Down in the afternoon.”
“You think we would of got your Bob Ring and his broke leg out if we listened to them paper pushers?” Fenton sounded so weary Ty was sure Bernard would see he was sick. But Bernard stepped in front of Easter, looking determined.
“It’s an official government regulation. That’s all I know.”
Fenton’s face was gray, but what he said was clear. “And you are an official government asshole.” He moved East
er forward until Bernard had to step back to let him pass. Ty followed, watching Bernard’s face go tight.
The pass was broad before dropping into steepening switchbacks. Ty rode up to be with Fenton. “Loosen him up, Ty,” Fenton said. “Maybe he’ll see even old Bob Marshall couldn’t regulate where a horse shits or what a bear eats or when a man finds himself sick on a goddamned pass.”
“Guess Bob Marshall wasn’t so good at regulating himself.”
“He wasn’t. But he wanted to regulate us. I think the man was from another world, one where you don’t have to learn from the country.You just use it for your excitement. Tommy thought so too. Thought too many of us were like him. And Tommy has a point.” He leaned from the saddle and spit. “Before you’re through they’ll be makin’ heroes out of folks because they get themselves killed. Used to be the opposite. If you got killed you were dumb; got caught with your britches down.”
“I been dumb a few times.” Ty remembered the big snow.
“Not dumb enough to cash in.” Fenton wiped his mouth. “Somethin’ tells me this may be my time. Thought it’d be different.”
“See Doc Haslam.” Ty didn’t like hearing it. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Hell, he’ll just tell me official what I know unofficial already . . . But I promised Cody Jo. I’ll go.”
Ty reined in, watched as Easter took Fenton down the switchbacks.
Bernard was having his lunch when Ty got back. He got out some jerked elk and they sat, warming in the high sun.
“I could give him a ticket for that,” Bernard said. “I might yet.”
“Ticket?” Ty was surprised to hear such a word. “They’re for parking. Or speeding. Not for up here.”
“We write them up when people don’t follow the regulations. It doesn’t work out to have everyone do what they want.”
Ty looked at him. “Seems to me this country tells you what you can and can’t do all by itself.You could see Fenton needed to go out.”
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