High Country : A Novel (6 page)

The sun was dropping by the time Fenton returned, and still Ty hadn’t slept. After oiling the saddle he’d started weighing out panniers and mantying up Decker loads, laying out things for Fenton to change.

But Fenton didn’t change anything, just nudged the packs with his foot and began. Ty asked no questions, tightening the ropes Fenton pointed to, hoping answers would surface. They packed the mules with sawbucks first—then Turkey, the only horse Fenton packed. He blew up against his cinch. Fenton jobbed him in the belly and cinched him tight.

I crank on his latigo.”
“Might be scared.You were to tighten my latigo, I’d catch air too.” “Nothin’ wrong with a tight cinch.” Fenton was amused by Ty’s

When Turkey was packed, Ty led him away and returned with Cottontail, snubbing her to the post in the middle of the corral. “These here Decker saddles make balancing some easier.” Fenton undid the sling ropes, actually explaining something. “Packs gotta balance, of course, but if one side rides up on your Decker, just lower it by loosing up one of these loops. Evens things out.” He picked a mantied pack and gave it to Ty. It was so heavy Ty’s knees buckled. “These two match.” Fenton held the second pack with one hand, gesturing with the other. “Put yours up against the saddle and pull that loop over.”

Ty tried to get the pack high enough to brace it, work the loop across. But it was too heavy and came down hard against Cottontail. She jumped, scuttling toward Fenton, who cracked her rump with his free hand. She reversed direction, skittered back. Ty dropped the pack and tried to calm her, but she saw she was astraddle the pack and went up, the tie-rope yanking her back to her knees.

“Keep this up she’ll be crazy as Loco.” Ty pulled the pack away and skipped free of her hooves.
“No time to romance her.” Fenton still held the pack. “And Loco sure won’t be an improvement. Never warmed to his shoes at all.”
“One crazy mule’s enough. Let’s put these heavy ones on Loco.”
Fenton put the pack down and watched as Ty calmed Cottontail and led her away, tying her out of sight. Fenton had watched Ty shoe a bronc mule, quiet Smoky, pull a runaway off the cliffs, ease Bob Ring down the switchbacks with a gentleness he could hardly manage with Easter. Late as it was, he decided to let Ty do this his way. He wanted him comfortable with the long ride ahead.
Ty snubbed Loco to the post and tied a blindfold on him. Fenton watched as the boy fashioned a bowline around Loco’s neck, ran the rope around a hind leg and back through the the bowline collar, pulleying the hoof up until it was almost touching Loco’s chest.
“Thought we’d come to that,” Fenton said. “Only later—given your tender heart. Now let’s pack. You can learn that Decker lesson on the job.”
Ty heaved up the heavy pack and gave it to Fenton, who took it effortlessly and turned to Loco. Loco couldn’t see what was coming, but he sensed something bad when Fenton got close. He kicked out with his untied leg and spun around the post on three legs until the tied one came free. They watched through the dust as he reared back against the lead-line then tried to charge by the post, the lead yanking him back. He tried again and was spun back, the post cracking this time, then breaking free as Loco backed away, his lead dragging the post through the dust. He turned, ran from it, the post relentless behind him, toppling and rolling as he circled the corral at a run. Finally he backed from it, backed until he was cornered, stood quivering and dripping, the blindfold hanging useless from his halter.
“Lucky we didn’t tie this on.” Fenton still held the heavy pack. “Would have played hell with my jelly jars.”
Ty hardly heard it. He was talking to Loco already, freeing the big mule from the spooky post, touching him, rubbing his legs until the quivering stopped. He led him around the corral in circles, then in figure eights.
“If you can pack him,” Ty spoke in the same low voice that had quieted the mule, “I’ll hold him. He’s gainin’ his confidence back.”
“He drags you around like that post, it’s you who’ll need the confidence.” Fenton separated the packs so the mule could pass between. Ty led Loco through, turned and led him through again.
“That post didn’t help,” Ty said quietly. “It might be a spell before he stops trying to uproot every tree we tie him to.”
“Better he uproot a goddamned tree than you.” Fenton eased a pack against Loco’s saddle, kept the weight off the mule until he got the loop across the pack, pulled it tight, and tied it off. Ty held the mule, calmed him as Fenton let the weight down.
When he felt the weight, Loco went up like a shot, front legs striking out as Ty tried to keep him from going over. Fenton managed to release the knot and let the pack drop as Ty was pulled through the dust by the big mule, who fought back from the pack, the big man, even the boy until at last he stood, calmed by the voice, the relentless hands reaching to touch him.
“He quieted,” Fenton said, surprised. “And neither of you hurt.”
“He’ll tire.” Ty moved Loco around the corral again, circling it twice before bringing him to the packs.
“If he don’t kill you first,” Fenton said, readying the packs again.

For an hour the mule fought off the packs—once when Fenton was almost finished with the last knot.
“Maybe Spec’s right. We need to build a packing platform.” Fenton’s shirt was soggy with sweat and dust and mule hair. “He just won’t wear down.” He moved the packs back into place. “Determined bastard.”
Ty thought panicked was more like it. He hated what they were doing—but saw no choice. Again he circled the mule before bringing him back between the packs. Fenton eased the first pack against his side and again Loco went up, pulling Ty beneath the flailing feet. Fenton kicked the pack aside and grabbed the rope to help. Together they fought Loco down only to have him go up even harder, pulling them under him as he staggered backward for balance.
“Let him go.” Fenton knocked Ty into the dirt with a sweep of his arm and dropped the lead. With no weight to check him, Loco went all the way over, his head cracking against the broken post, the big body suddenly limp.
“Maybe we killed him,” Fenton panted. “Or is he just slowed?”
“Might of killed himself.” Ty got up from the dirt.
“Suicide, you mean?”
“No. Suicide takes being thoughtful.” Ty walked over to the fallen mule. “Maybe he panicked himself to death.”
“Thoughtful folks can panic to death too.” Fenton nudged the mule with his boot. “Just more rare.”
Ty was trying to figure out what Fenton meant when the mule stirred, rolled to get his feet under him, came partway up, went back down.
“Think he’s all right?” Ty asked.
“Maybe. Might be knocked a little walleyed.”
Loco was up now, legs splayed, head low, seeking balance.
“Quick.” Fenton was already moving. “Let’s pack him.”
“Pack him? Those packs could knock him back down.”
“Could. But he might concentrate so hard on stayin’ upright he won’t know he’s packed.” Ty braced himself for the pack Fenton pushed at him. “Hurry—he might improve. Don’t want his complete attention.”

They crossed the pass in darkness, Loco moving in a trance behind Cottontail, who had caused no trouble after seeing Loco serene under his packs. The climb had been fast, the Mission Range growing purple before dropping into night. Now there was only the crunch of snow, the creak of leather, the click of a shoe on rock as they regained the trail.

The moon lifted and gave Ty a ghostly picture of the country below—the high lakes making darker stains above where the timber began. They rode down, crossing the lake-drainage just as a coyote lifted a cry from high above. Others answered, calling and yipping, making such a racket that the first voice was lost. Ty guessed it was the moon. That’s when their calls lifted in the Bitterroot. He doubted these were different. Except that lone coyote who started it. He must have seen something the others didn’t.

The Bitterroot was almost forgotten as Ty rode into this new life with these new people. He felt the chill lifting from the stream and shouldered into his Levi jacket, the trail flattening to work its way through wet meadows, dark stands of timber. He liked moving along in quiet, the only sound packs in motion, a horse blowing, coyotes calling intermittently—as though tracing their progress from some wild route above.

He watched Fenton and slowed where he did, easing into darkness, and climbing back into moonlight at the same pace. He led Turkey, who would doze before snorting and farting as Ty yanked him awake. After Turkey came Cottontail, then Loco. Ty kept watching the big mule, worrying about how he would act when it came to him he was packed.

Toward dawn they skirted a long lake, the trail sometimes dropping to its bank but for the most part staying high, dipping into dark woods to cross drainages, the lake continuing on. There seemed no end to it.

He might have been asleep when he heard hooves on wood, saw Fenton’s mules crossing a walkway where a spring surfaced. Smoky and Turkey weren’t bothered, but Cottontail paused before bolting forward, yanking Loco onto clattery logs he didn’t like. He stepped off, away from the racket, and sank hock-deep in ooze before scrambling back, the sucking sound of his hooves coming free making him crowd the others. They settled as soon as they were back on the trail, but Ty saw Loco was awake, his trance gone.

They dipped into the woods once more. Ty heard water before he saw Fenton’s mules on the bridge. They were in shadow, then back into moonlight, the two pack strings almost opposite as Fenton came out of the draw.

Ty eased Smoky and Turkey onto the bridge. Cottontail hesitated, then hurried onto the planks after them. Loco didn’t like the clatter. His rump went down and he scrambled backward just as Turkey heaved forward, snatching Cottontail from the bridge and into the creek. She struggled up only to be pulled down farther, going over again and then again, her packs finally wedging into the V of the stream, her ropes running taut to Turkey and Loco, each struggling to stay upright, eyes flashing white in the moonlight.

“Why don’t the damned pigtails give!” Fenton was making his way back to Turkey. “Buck must of used bailing wire.” Ty was already in the stream, crawling over Cottontail, his knife out as he reached to find the loop behind the mule’s saddle.

Ty sawed through it, watched Loco spring free, fall, struggle to his feet, disappear up the trail. Fenton, somehow managing to unsnap Turkey’s line, was suddenly down in the streambed with him.

“Hustle. Mules ain’t happy on their backs . . . Any broke legs?” “She isn’t kicking.”
“Crawl a tad further. Undo them cinches. She might roll free

The mule made no move as Ty struggled with the swollen leather. He got the latigos free and inched himself back, joined Fenton to pull Cottontail’s lead, stretching her head back across her body to make her fight them. She kicked up, struggled against them and found she was free of the saddle. She fought it too, fought the packs and the creek bed and came up, testing her legs, scrambling up the bank to the safety of the trail, shaking and blowing.

“Get Loco.” Fenton tied Cottontail to a lodgepole and slid back into the creek. “I’ll snag her packs. They’ll be full of water.”
Ty found Loco stopped where the walkway began, unwilling to go farther. He crossed through the mud to head him off, caught the frayed lead, and led him back, Loco nosing at the trail now, more interested in it than the packs on his back. He nosed at Cottontail too, rubbed his neck on her rump, so happy to see her he calmed.
“No damage.” Fenton’s voice rose above the stream. He had the saddle and packs across the creek. “But I don’t like the looks of them clouds.” Ty saw darkness to the south, a scrim already crossing the moon. “Bring her over. Let’s saddle and scoot. Gotta get those folks under canvas.”
Ty didn’t know what to do with Loco, but the big mule seemed so happy rubbing at Cottontail he left him there, leading Cottontail back toward to the bridge, which she bolted across.
“She don’t want to go in the creek again,” Fenton said. “Another story with Loco, unless he gets lonely. Let’s stay out of sight while we saddle.”
Ty followed Fenton up the trail with Cottontail and began brushing debris from her back. Lightning came suddenly, followed by deep thunder.
“It does like to rain when we camp at White River.” Fenton watched Ty saddle. “Tents are on them first two mules.” He spoke as though he’d resolved something. “Let’s get Loco over that bridge. I’ll slip on into camp before this rain.You pack up and follow.”
“I don’t know where to go.” Ty looked at him across Cottontail. “I never been there ...I never been here.”
“You can track, can’t you?” Fenton checked Cottontail’s cinch.
“Not in the dark, I can’t.”
“Won’t be dark long. I’d worry more about the rain washin’ them tracks out. Let’s get Loco. Bet he’s lonely.”
He was right about that. Loco was so anxious to get to Cottontail he hardly noticed the bridge.
Fenton tied him near the packs, tightened Easter’s cinch, and mounted. “Your Loco mule might civilize after all.”
“I don’t know where to go.” Ty looked at the packs and then at Fenton. “Without the moon I won’t see a track at all.”
“No turnoffs before the South Fork. Hit the big river, turn up it four miles. Be light by then. Look for tracks to the river. Good ford. Cross and climb them benches. You’re in camp.” Fenton started Easter up the trail. “I’ll have coffee.”
“Rain could wash those tracks away!” It came to Ty why Spec was wary of packing. He felt a little sick.
Fenton stood down and got something from his saddlebag. He came back and handed Ty some strips of jerked elk. Lightning flashed, thunder close behind.
“Sugar here ain’t carrying any tents.” Fenton untied his last mule. “I’ll leave her. Ride up the big river a ways and then put Sugar and Turkey out in front. They’ll bring you in.”
“How will they know?” It made no sense to Ty.
“Turkey knows where there’s grain, and Sugar goes for White River like a homing pigeon. Smart mule and a greedy horse’ll bring you in every time.”
Fenton watched Ty chew as lightning flashed again.
“Sometimes in these mountains,” he said, his voice almost tender, “you find yourself learnin’ more than you got time to consider.”
Ty bit off more jerky, wondering what he was supposed to consider. He chewed, watching Fenton ride off into darkness.