I picture the two hunters coming upon a couple of sabre-toothed kittens, and then suddenly facing the mother. “Then you’re sure that it was Smilodon who got them.”
She looks off in the distance for a time. “The Blackfeet tribal nation has a belief, prophecy, legend—whatever you want to call it—that says that someday a Great Spirit will return and lead the nation in taking back their lands, and that this spirit will protect that land and the people and animals who live on it.” There is a very long pause; her hands rest lightly upon the railing; her eyes are somewhere that I cannot see. “There are many elders who believe that this spirit is now here.”
“Are you saying that Smilodon is the spirit?”
She turns her head toward me. “No.”
I mull her words over for a time until suddenly two and two starts coming together. “Crystal Broadbow is Blackfeet, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
I think about the others, and the few impressions I got as I met them. “So is Jake Morgan.”
“Half Blackfeet.”
“That’s why he’s here, even though he lost a horse. Are all the others Blackfeet?”
“Yes.”
“What about you?”
“No.”
“Then how do you fit in?”
“These people here this morning make up a self-appointed committee of the Blackfeet tribe. They want to save the sabre-toothed cat from returning to extinction, partially in support of their elders but more so to preserve the cat. They see that man is compressing wildlife into smaller and smaller space. The forests are shrinking.”
“They don’t believe in the prophecy?” I ask.
“All but Crystal Broadbow are part Blackfeet. Crystal fully believes. Jake Morgan would follow the old tribal traditions and beliefs more to the letter if not for Susan, his wife, whose Native American blood is several generations back.”
“But do they believe in the prophecy? Do they believe in spirits?”
“They are primarily realists, unless proven otherwise. The pure Blackfeet believe the same way that a catholic born and raised believes. These folks here today are the ‘Show me’ people of the Blackfeet. They’re willing to believe, but they have to see and touch it first. You can’t see and touch a spirit, and Brian is the only one who has actually seen Smilodon.”
She pushes off the railing. “I’ll go find Reba.”
Aileen leaves. After I drain my shoes and compress the water from my socks, I sit in a patio chair looking out across the wilderness that extends beyond her backyard. What do Smilodon and the arrival of the Great Spirit have to do with each other? If the sabre-toothed cat is not the spirit, then what is? Why did she bring up the subject of the Blackfeet prophecy to begin with?
Chapter 18
Reba
I hate it!
I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!
Why did Dad have to give this to me? It’s like listening in on private conversations and not being able to get away. At first it was cool, and sometimes it still is, but mostly it’s just annoying, until now. Now it’s revolting. I didn’t want to know that dad cheated on mom, and I sure didn’t need to see the details, but there they were, in Sam’s head and they were flying out at me like a suddenly opened box of butterflies. It’s like that dirty movie Sarah dug out of her parent’s secret hiding place New Year’s Eve, along with a bottle of wine. It was exciting, but it was the grossest thing I’d ever seen. And now seeing Dad . . . doing that . . .
Gross city!
And then seeing Mom catching them!
Gross city to the twelfth power! Why are they still together? Why aren’t they divorced?
Because of us, that’s why. I’ll bet they’re waiting on Christi and me to move out. They’re staying together for the kids. How lame can you get? They’ve been living a lie, pretending like they still love each other.
I can’t stay here; not in this house. Even if Dad leaves I can’t stay here with that woman. Maybe I should go home; forget this whole thing; tell Mom I’m sorry. It was a neat idea but now it’s all gone to hell. It was suppose to be a fun adventure. Just me and a neat person I met on the Internet who was interested in the sabre-toothed cat. I knew that she was older than me but how was I supposed to know that she had fu . . . screwed my father. What were the chances in all the people of Montana that she would be the one I’d wind up making friends with, the one whose house I’d decide to crash in?
I love this house and the huge guest room, but to stay means running into her, which means seeing more of those things in her head. I don’t want to be forced to watch that movie again, or any other movies she has floating around in there. I’ve got to leave, and it’s got to be now.
Because of the size of the house, it isn’t hard to get out without being spotted, and since most have left, I may be able to slip out. I put away my journal, load up my duffle bag and my backpack, grab my pillow and sleeping bag, and poke my head into the hall.
No one.
I quietly walk down the front stairs to the foyer and the huge front door. There’s still no one. I struggle the door open with my one free hand, and gently close it behind me.
Where’s my car? There are two huge trucks and my car is nowhere. Dad! Dad took it so that I couldn’t run away again. Shit!
I start to turn to go back in and then I see a bumper, my bumper, on the other side of the trucks. I rush to it and throw everything into the backseat, but when I go to start the car I hear only clicking sound.
Shit to hell! Now what?
I stare out the dirty window for awhile and decide what I need to do is just get away; go for a hike.
I get into the backseat and start rearranging my backpack. I dump out the books and leave my iPod, some of the power bars and beef jerky, and two bottles of water. I add a change of socks. I start to remove the notebook computer and then think about Dad’s journal, which I haven’t read yet. I’ll hike for a while and then sit and read the journal while I eat. I swing it all onto my back. I don’t need the bulky camera bag so I grab just the camera and spare batteries. The batteries go into the side pocket of the backpack. I sling the camera around my neck and shoulder so that it hangs under my arm.
I peek around the truck, and then using it as a visual block between me and the front door of the house, I rush toward a break in the trees. As I’d hoped, it is a trail. I don’t stop for fifteen minutes. My breathing is labored and my legs are starting to ache. How can that be? I’m in great shape. I should be able to walk for hours without tiring, even with the slight uphill grade.
I sit on a fallen tree and pull out a bottle of water from the pocket on the side of the pack, take a couple of gulps and then put it back. I get out my iPod from my pack, hook it to my belt and hang the earphones over my shoulder. I look around.
Everything in every direction is the same. Trees, rocks, trees and more trees. There are no human foot prints, not even my own. I look a little closer and finally find a tread in a couple of bare, dusty areas. I purposefully make an image of my own footprint and compare. The tread is mine. There are no others, so as far as I know I’m alone. My sports watch reads 10:32. I’ve got all day to explore.
Then what?
I’ll worry about it later.
Something moves up around some rocks. Deer? I take out in that direction, flipping the camera on as I go and trying to be quiet at the same time. This is so cool. This is what I want, real pictures of real live wild animals, not from a zoo or a wildlife reserve.
The rocks are actually huge boulders, some bigger than a car, or a small house. I lean against one, catch my breath and then slowly work my way around it, passing between it and another with barely enough room for both me and my pack. I hold my camera at the ready.
The passage opens into a chamber the size of an average living room. There are deer tracks everywhere, but no deer. There are two openings from there. I choose one and squeeze into another enclosed area, which leads to another. It’s like a little maze of deer bedr
ooms in the rocks. I reverse to the main chamber and take the second opening. It’s an exit that climbs out of the rocks and onto the edge of a small grassy meadow full of blue flowers. I bend down to the flowers and then am startled into a scream by three deer not thirty feet away. Three huge stacks of antlers suddenly move together. I bring up the camera, but only get two shots before they are gone. I make chase into the trees, and then stop. There’s no way. They could easily out run and out maneuver me before I could even think about it, and it’s an easy way to get lost.
I return to the deer living room where I sit down and preview the two pictures. There is nothing but one blurry set of antlers and three oval shaped rear ends. I chuckle. I could get it framed and call it Deer Ass. I turn off the camera and pull a power bar out. It feels good to sit and chew and think, and listen to my music.
Unfortunately what I think about is what I saw in Sam’s head. I don’t want to see it again, but there it is, demanding to be dealt with. What happened after Mom caught them together? What was the story about the two of them falling off a cliff and Mom breaking her back, and Dad losing his eye? Is that how it really happened or is that a lie? Did they get into a fight and beat each other up? I consider my laptop computer in a special pocket in my pack. Loaded on it is Dad’s journal. When I came back from the senior trip I asked him if I could read it. He said no, so I networked into his computer and found it. His passwords are so easy.
I consider pulling the computer out, and then change my mind. I stow my trash in my pocket, and slip back into my pack. I’ll hike for a while and then read for a bit. I start out the way I came in and see an opening into another chamber. It is very narrow. I pull off my pack, and then squeeze in sideways. I expect to see ancient Indian hieroglyphics on the walls, but there is nothing. It looks like animals have lived in here at one time or another. At first I think of it as a cave—it is roughly the size of my bedroom—but then I see that there is plenty of light spilling in from the openings overhead where the boulders are stacked against each other. It would make a great hideout. I squeeze myself out and slip back into my pack.
I start out of the rocks and see the guy called Matt, the old sheriff’s son. He’s almost up to the point where I sat and rested, from where I first spotted the deer. I back into the shadow of the rocks and watch him. He walks on by; doesn’t look in my direction. Why is he up here? Did he see me take off and is he following me, or is there already a search for me and they think I’m lost? I’m not sure what to do now. I don’t want to get on the trail behind him.
I work my way back through the main chamber and into the meadow of flowers where I saw the three deer. There are several animal trails leading out from there. If I stay on one of those it should be easy to find my way back. And who knows what I’ll find. If I’m really quiet I may come upon an entire herd. But first I’ve got to get some pictures of the pretty blue flowers.
Chapter 19
I have to pee. I follow the deer trail along the edge of the meadow and then into the trees until I find a spot. I lean my pack against a tree, step a few feet away, pull my pants down and squat. Just as I finish and start to stand I hear something and look up. Matt strides into view around the tree and then sees me.
“Shit to Hell!” I scream, and leap to my feet.
He turns around. “Sorry.”
“Go away! Go away!”
He walks about ten feet and stops, keeping his back to me.
“I don’t mean go a little ways away.” I stammer my clarification as I struggle at getting myself zipped and buckled. “I mean go all the way back to the house. Can’t I go into the woods and get a little privacy?”
“Sorry,” he says again.
I pull my headphones off. “Sorry! Shit all to hell! I can’t believe it. Aren’t you going?”
“You shouldn’t hike alone?” he says over his shoulder.
“Is that your excuse for stalking me and then playing Peeping Tom? I shouldn’t hike alone?”
“Are you finished?”
“That’s none of your business.” As far as I’m concerned he can look in the other direction the rest of his life. I lift my pack onto my back, take my time at getting it settled, and my headphones untangled, and then say, “Okay. You can turn around, and then you can go away.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s no big deal.”
“Do Montana girls normally pee in front of Montana boys, and vice versa? How about if I’d walked upon you with your thing hanging out while you were peeing?”
“No and no thank you. Where are you going?”
“I’m exploring. Is there a law against it? Am I on private land or something? Are you like the junior sheriff?”
The smile which seems to naturally rest on his face disappears for a second. “I’m serious about not hiking alone. This isn’t safe country. Hasn’t your dad told you about what’s out here?”
“Yes he has. That’s why I came. I want to find out for myself. And I like hiking alone.”
“Lone hikers in this country are thrill seekers with a death wish.”
“I don’t have a death wish, and the only thrill I seek is that of seeing and photographing some wild animals, like I already did just a little while ago.”
“What did you see?”
“Some deer. I got their picture.” I immediately wish I hadn’t said that, certain that he will find some way of making fun of it. “They’re not very good pictures. They startled me and I wasn’t quick enough.”
“Let me see.” He moves closer.
“Why?”
“Because I’d like to see. If you’re taking pictures it’s because you want to share them with others. Share them with me.”
Except that they’re not very good, I secretly do want to share, but I’m still pissed and embarrassed because he saw me at my toilet. Suddenly he is standing close to me. There is a smell about him unlike the boys in Dallas. It’s fresh, like the mountains and trees.
“Show me.”
Without further argument I swing the camera up, flip it to preview and show him.
“Those are flowers,” he says.
I look and punch the back button a few times until I get past the flowers. The rear ends of the deer show up. “See! I got them running away.” I punch the back button one more time. “And there’s one of them with antlers. I think they’re pretty big, don’t you?”
He laughs and I shut the camera off. “They’re huge all right,” he says between his nearly uncontrollable chuckles. “Even giant . . . if they were deer.”
“What do you mean, if they were deer?” I’m angry again. “What else would they be?”
He keeps on laughing. I try focusing to see his aura, but with the background of a million shades of greens and browns, it’s difficult. I get a feeling of blue, but there’s something else. I sense that there are two colors.
“What’s the matter?” he suddenly asks.
His entire face slips back into focus. “What do you mean, what’s the matter?”
“You were looking weird, cross eyed. It looked like you were getting sick.”
“No, I’m not. I was thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“That’s none of your business. If those weren’t deer, what were they?”
“Elk,” he says, and adds a few more chuckles.
“Oh! I’ve heard of elk. Are you sure?”
He nods and grins.
“What else is up here?”
“All kinds of things. Most you’ll never see. I’m surprised you saw the elk.”
“I think they trusted me. They didn’t run until I screamed. If I hadn’t startled them we probably could have just stood there and looked at each other.”
“Sure. And maybe had a spot of tea, and a crumpet.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
He gives me a long look, “Sorry. I want to show you something.”
“What?”
He turns and starts walking. “It’s back t
his way.”
“What if I’m not interested?”
“You’ll be interested in this. As a matter of fact, anyone who walks these mountains should know all about this. Let’s call this a little on-the-trail training.”
I follow him back to the meadow, through the deer bedrooms—maybe elk bedrooms now—and down to where I had first stopped to rest, and where I watched him walk by. “How did you find me,” I ask. “I saw you go by from up there. You never even looked my way.”
“I followed your tracks.”
I stop and look. It’s obvious in the little area where I rested, but it takes me a minute to recognize the flattened grass leading up to the rocks. Once I see it, it’s obvious. “Oh!”
“It wasn’t quite as obvious as it is now with both of us going and coming, so I went right on by. When I got up a ways and lost your prints, I came back to here and figured you had stopped to rest. It kind of looks like you walked in circles or something.”
“Uh ha.”
“Then I saw where you broke from the trail and headed for the rocks.”
“How did you even know I came up here? From the house that is.”
“I saw you take off.”
“Why isn’t everyone else up here? I’d figure my dad would be chasing me down. He’s already chased me 2,000 miles.”
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “I figure you’ve got your reasons.”
“Then why did you come after me?”
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
“My dutiful male escort. I thought only Texas cowboys were still into chivalry.”
“What’s wrong with chivalry? What’s wrong with a man respecting a woman, protecting her, and treating her nice?”
“Nothing. . .” Did he call me a woman? “. . . I guess.”
“I know you’re not a woman yet, and probably don’t totally understand, but you will when you grow up.”
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 49