A Nose for Justice (13 page)

The snow had melted in places, packed down in others. The dry high-desert air blew steadily over the frozen terrain, gradually making movement easier for man and beast.

“I’m watching out for the footing.”
Baxter, insulted, called forward.

“Yeah, yeah.”
King broke into a lope to further torment the dachshund.

Now angry, Baxter hit a good stride and passed the shepherd mix.
“Can’t you keep up?”

King, ears pricked up, dug into the ground to draw alongside the small dog. Almost to the barn, King finally nudged ahead of the surprisingly fast Baxter. He veered from the closed big side doors to the side where the old exterior tack room door was, a dog door still in place. He bustled through. Baxter followed with a little whoosh of air.

Although not ready to admit it, King liked having a companion. Oh, he loved Jeep but human limitations occasionally plucked his last nerve. Finally, another truly intelligent creature, even if he was a sawed-off shotgun.

Vapor streams flowed from the dogs’ noses and mouths as they inspected the rectangular space where the Russian had lain. His remains, dusted, photographed, and measured by university students, had finally been moved to the university for further study. The students had left behind piles of dirt, which rested like rounded berms at each corner of the grave.

King stopped in front of the northeast pile, looked at the other three, put his front paws in, and started digging, throwing dirt everywhere.

Baxter, puzzled, observed the mostly black dog with glossy thick fur, grinning as his paws rapidly made a mess.

“Whoopee!”
King stopped.
“What’s the matter with you?”

“I was about to ask the same thing.”
Baxter sat on his haunches.

“It’s a pile. You dig.”
King stepped back a moment.
“Take the pile opposite me.”

“Hmm.”
Baxter walked around the pile in a semi-circle. If he’d completed the circle he’d have fallen into the grave. No point in hurrying that process. Tentatively he put one paw into the dirt, then pulled it backward. Didn’t hurt. Felt pretty good.

“Is there a reason I’m to do that?”

“You’re a dog.”
King was incredulous.

“I’ve never seen a dirt pile.”

“There’s no dirt where you come from? How can there be no dirt?”

Baxter lifted his bushy eyebrows.
“Concrete. There’s some dirt in the parks but you can’t dig. And you have to walk on a leash. You can’t even run in the parks. I mean, you can try but someone gets pissy about it.”
He sighed.
“I never raced another dog before now.”

“That’s awful. How can your human be so cruel?”

“She’s not cruel.”
Baxter took offense.
“We lived in a giant city. She took good care of me, but that’s just the way it is. At night you can’t even see the stars because there’s so much light from the buildings.”

“All night? There are indoor lights on all night?”
King just couldn’t believe it.

“I only know about stars because every summer Mags rents a place in the Hamptons. I saw them then, plus I could walk along the ocean with her. No leash!”

“Saw the ocean once with Jeep. Too noisy.”

“Mine is a different ocean but it’s noisy, too. I like it here. I like not having people everywhere. No sidewalks. No horns or traffic. Being a dog in New York City is dangerous.”
Baxter cocked his head, looked at the pile, then jumped in the middle of it.
“This is fun.”
He jumped out, shook himself, and began digging with a vengeance.

Five minutes passed. The two stopped to admire their progress. King walked over to Baxter’s pile while Baxter checked King’s.

“What’s this?”
Baxter noticed some tiny colored square bits spread about.

King returned, touched one with his nose. It wasn’t even as big as a piece of square kibble.
“Old bones.”

Baxter touched it.
“In little squares? What kind of animal is that?”

King again touched the little squares, one white, one red, one faded blue.
“Don’t know, but, see, they’re cut. This isn’t natural. They’ve been dyed. There are no blue bones.”

“Greenies.”
Baxter so loved his Greenies.

“Not real bone.”

“Oh. Well, King, this is your world. What’s the point of tiny bones cut in squares and dyed?”

“Jeep will know. She knows things I don’t. Not about animals or weather or real stuff, but human stuff. She also knows what’s under the earth. It’s almost like she has a nose that can smell things like gold, silver, copper. Stuff we don’t much need but they do.”

“What’s it like to live with a human that old?”

“I never lived with a human that’s young. Even Enrique is half old. Mags is young. I like her. She moves without pain. Jeep hurts, but she doesn’t whimper. She’d be furious if anyone noticed. She hides a lot. She is very, very old, really. She plays ball, though. She never gives up. I love her.”

“I love mine, too. She’s pretty dumb, though.”

King laughed.
“They are what they are. All you can do is love them.”
He thought a long time.
“Let’s get Jeep to look at these odd bones. You know these ones didn’t come from the skeleton they took away.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“Baxter, we start with barking. I’ll show you all the steps. You haven’t properly trained your person. But then,”
King said in a kindly voice,
“you didn’t have an older dog to teach you. I had my mother and she knew every trick in the book.”

“I barely remember my mother.”
Baxter mentioned this with little emotion.

“Follow me and learn,”
King said bursting through the dog door at the back of the house, Baxter on his heels.

Taking a deep sniff, King realized Jeep wasn’t in the kitchen.

“What’s the fuss?” Jeep called out from the den.

King hustled through the kitchen door and down the hall, skidding out as he turned into the room where Mags, at the desk, peered at the computer screen. Jeep sat by the fireplace, replacing a worn headstall on a still-serviceable bridle. As her fingers stiffened, she forced herself to do more and more of what her mother called “close work,” to retain some nimbleness.

“Come to the barn.”
King barked up in her face, then called to Baxter.
“Go do the same thing to Mags.”

The wire-haired dachshund scurried over and stood on his hind paws, placing his front paws on her thigh.
“You’d better come with me. King will be upset if I don’t get you out of this chair.”

King turned in small circles, sat down, whined, turned a few more, then yelled,
“Baxter, turn in circles, jump up and down. Make noise!”
Then as an afterthought,
“But don’t pee on the floor.”

“I would never do that!”
Baxter did turn a few circles, which made him dizzy, so he patted Mags’s leg again.

“King, will you stop barking!” Jeep shook her finger at him.

“It’s really important.”
King circled, ran to the open door of the den, ran back to Jeep.

Jeep put down the bridle and stood up. “I wonder if the coyote have come close?”

Mags pushed away from the desk to follow. “I hear them at night but I didn’t think they’d come up to the house.”

“If you hear one, there are many more. If they’re hungry enough they’ll root around or kill anything you haven’t made safe. I imagine it’s been slim pickings since the storm.”

“Come on. Come on.”
King danced.
“Baxter, you have to make it very obvious.”

“All right. All right.”
Baxter dashed ahead of Mags, stopped, looked up at her, then dashed ahead again.

Jeep grabbed her heavy jacket, then yanked on a wool lumberjack cap. Mags did the same and the two women followed the dogs from the house.

“Look for tracks.” Jeep ordered Mags. “Like a dog’s, but, um—” She paused. “King’s. See how King’s are wide? The coyote print is more narrow.”

“She’s not completely stupid.”
King waved his tail.

“Right.”
Baxter agreed.

“We can run way ahead now,”
King said.

The two ran to the original barn and disappeared through the tack room door.

Jeep, relieved, noted the location. “At least it’s not the cattle barn. We don’t have any heifers due but sometimes they abort. That brings in the marauders if food is scarce. I swear they can smell that hot blood for miles. And if enough of them get in the barn—” She paused. “Coyotes can hunt singly but they prefer to hunt in a pack. The larger the pack the bolder their actions. If they’re desperate enough, pumped up by numbers, they’ll go in the barn and start killing.”

“Can’t you shoot them?”

“Yes. But I haven’t had much trouble and we’ve shut up the horses at night and some of the younger cattle.”

The two women slipped in after opening the big doors a crack.

“What have you done?” Jeep spoke to King when she saw the large pile tossed all over.

Baxter’s modest efforts didn’t provoke comment.

Both dogs stood by the small colored bone squares.

Jeep and Mags walked over. Jeep noticed that King did not drop his ears or look chastised. Having lived with dogs all her life she had mastered their basic communication methods, although the more refined ones escaped her. But then, they did most everyone.

King barked again.
“Look! More bones!”

At first, neither woman spotted the object of King’s excitement.

Mags bent over, then dropped onto one knee. She plucked out a tiny red square, handing it up to Jeep. Then she began smoothing over the dirt, picking out a blue one, a white one, then a cracked one.

Jeep, with the small squares in her hand, whistled, “I’ll be damned.”

Mags stood up to peer into her great-aunt’s palm. “They’re cut in almost perfect squares.”

“They aren’t glass, either.” Jeep took her right glove off and stuffed it in her coat pocket, then nudged one. “Tiny, little cut bones for decoration.” She looked up at Mags. “Guess those college kids didn’t sift the earth as carefully as they should have. Well, lifting out our Russian with minimal damage was more important, I reckon. These were in there with him.”

“Could have been there before he was buried.”

“Hmm.” Jeep touched the squares again. “Delicate work making something like this.”

“Told you she’d know something.”
King sat next to Baxter.

Jeep, hearing the comment, looked at her beloved dog. “King, good dog.”

“He certainly was excited. Tearing apart the pile took a lot of effort.” Mags laughed.

“Yes, it did.” Jeep held one square up between her thumb and forefinger to see the small hole pierced in it. “These were woven into something.”

“A necklace?”

“Could be, or some kind of talisman. What intrigues me, apart from the fact they were in our Russian’s grave, is they are genuine—not glass beads, which a lot of Indians used once they had access to them. These were carved, then colored. They had great meaning for whoever created them and probably for whoever received them.”

“Our Russian?”

“You know he didn’t make them and I find it quite a coincidence that something like this could have been in the soil. Our man was held in high esteem by someone,” Jeep mused.

“Aunt Jeep, I’m going to get Carlotta’s flour sifter. I’ll go through these other piles.”

“That’s a good idea.” Jeep then cast her eyes down at the packed floor. “And I think I’d better get Enrique to use the ditch witch to dig down two feet on both stall sides, then have the boys do the last foot by hand. It’s a lot of work, but I think he planned on doing it later anyway. We haven’t had time to discuss this. Who knows what else is down there.”

Mags shivered slightly. “Nothing, I hope.”

“I do, too, but then I never expected our Russian.”

A
fter having to promise Carlotta she would go to town and buy her a new flour sifter tomorrow, Mags carefully sifted the earth. She found six more colored bones and one faded cracked one. After replacing the piles, she walked back to the house, Baxter at her heels. King stayed at the house with Jeep.

Mags dropped the six colored objects into Jeep’s hand.

“Two white, three blue, and one red.” Jeep then put the three she had with Mags’s six.

“You’re wearing his ring.” Mags sat down at the kitchen table. “I’d like to wear these.”

Jeep smiled. “You, too?”

Mags nodded. “I don’t know why.”

“Me, neither, but I can’t resist the urge.”

O
ne wall of George W. Ball’s office was covered with U.S. Geological Survey maps, the topographical lines showing elevation. While the information could be pulled up on computer, George wanted Washoe County in front of him at a glance. Also spread out were maps of the eastern part of Sierra County, California, and the western part of Churchill County, Nevada. On the adjoining wall were some topo maps of down south toward Lake Tahoe.