Authors: Alan Evans
The situation was complicated. There was also the
fear that the rest of the Shoshone leaders would jump at the chance for a big
lease deal to bail them out of the financial bind that Nethers was already
putting on the tribe.
Shane’s friends were due tomorrow. Luckily, he, JB,
and Hawk were able to save Naatea and most of the mustangs. As long as the main
part of the herd survived, Shane’s plans still had a chance to work.
Once Kate O’Hanson and her activists saw pictures of
this gruesome scene, she would have an army of her peers all over town
protesting to stop this senseless killing. Shane’s biggest concern, at the
moment, was that a man had been shot. If Thomas was badly hurt and the
authorities became involved, it would be his, JB, and Hawk’s word, against Jack
and Thomas, as to who pulled the trigger first. The last thing Shane wanted was
to see JB get into trouble for saving his life. With all this going through his
head, Shane was also concerned about the two wolves. Butch had been kicked hard
by Thomas’s horse during their heroic attempt to, once again, help Shane out of
trouble. He could only hope his friend was okay.
As Shane sat next to JB at the creek’s edge, a call
came over the radio from Tigee. Hawk told the old Indian what had happened to
the mustangs, and they agreed to meet back at Jasper Canyon. By now, enough
time should have passed and the horse slayers would be gone. At least heading
back to the canyon would give Shane a chance to look around for the injured
dog.
He followed Hawk and JB’s lead as they dismounted
their horses and tied them up about a quarter mile before they reached the pass
at Jasper Canyon. They planned to slip in quietly and unseen, just in case any
of the shooters were still in the area.
When they reached the place where JB had shot
Thomas, the three men stopped to look around. There was blood everywhere. The
two Shoshones studied the signs and concluded that Thomas had been put on his
horse and led off. They guessed the man was not conscious when this happened.
With patience and careful observation, Hawk and JB
slowly worked their way through the thick trees and into the canyon pass. Shane
followed their every move, trying to emulate the smooth, swift silence the two
Shoshones used to slip through the woods.
As they made it into the canyon, Shane felt an eerie
stillness in the air. All the men and dogs were gone, and there was nothing
moving. The small part of the herd that had run by them and into the canyon had
come in hard and stayed close together. As soon as the mustangs heard the first
shots, they attempted to scatter. None of them made it very far. There were
nine carcasses scattered over about one acre.
“There must have been at least a dozen rifles,” Hawk
said.
JB added, “At least these guys could shoot. Most of
the horses went down quickly and didn’t suffer. Only two ran a little way
before they fell. Those were the ones we heard screaming. Look over there, one
may still be alive!” He pointed at some tracks that showed there was one horse
moving out in front of the others at high speed. These tracks continued toward
some cover about a hundred yards from where the dead horses lay.
The three men were still on foot and followed the
tracks through the small stand of trees where the horse had run to escape the
line of fire. Emerging on the other side, Hawk pointed across an open area to
the back edge of the canyon. It was the young palomino stallion that Hawk and
Shane had watched trying to challenge Naatea. Somehow the colt made it through
the shower of bullets and hid under a ledge without sustaining a single
scratch.
The young horse was dazed and scared, but his only
injury seemed to be the slight limp he still had from yesterdays fight with
Naatea. Hawk said, “Let’s see if we can slowly move him out of the canyon so he
can catch up with the rest of the herd.”
The young stallion, still in a survival mode,
snorted loudly as they eased up behind him. At first, he seemed to cooperate
and moved calmly toward the opening. Things were going well until they were
about halfway out. That’s when the horse caught the smell of his slain group and
bolted off in their direction. The three men stood in the distance and watched
the large palomino sniff and paw the ground at each one of the nine dead
horses.
Shane was carrying his small digital camera in a
pouch on his belt. “I’m going to slip in closer and get some pictures of this,”
he announced.
“Why would you want pictures of a sad thing like
this?” Hawk asked. Of course, Hawk and JB knew nothing of Megan Tillie, so
Shane could understand that the two would think this was strange.
“A picture is worth a thousand words, and a good
shot of this could help me turn some heads in our direction. If people can see
this senseless mess, it may just help save the rest of the mustangs.” Shane
eased up closer to the gruesome scene, and although they still didn’t
understand, Hawk and JB trusted Shane enough not to question him further.
Eventually they were able to move the colt out of
the canyon so he could find Naatea and the rest of the herd.
Ten minutes later, Tigee, Tara, her two brothers,
and the same tribal authorities who were at the first shooting all drove up in
a four-wheel-drive police Jeep. They had met at the north entrance and rode out
together in the only vehicle that could get into the canyon. Tigee hadn’t
bothered to call the sheriff from town.
As the three watched the Jeep drive up, Shane looked
over at Hawk and JB then said, “Why don’t we keep quiet about the little
shoot-out we had with those two Arapahos?” They agreed.
The two tribal police were genuinely sympathetic
about the killing of the horses, just like the first time. In their defense,
there wasn’t much they could do about it.
Tigee knew even if he told the authorities the whole
story, they wouldn’t have enough evidence to arrest Vince Nethers or anyone
else involved for that matter. He knew now Shane’s plan would be the best way
to outsmart this guy.
“How did you get that wound on your arm?” one of the
policemen asked Shane.
“I’m pretty sure it was a ricochet,” Shane answered.
“We got here just in time to turn the main herd before they made it into the
pass. There were a lot of bullets flying around those horses. I guess I was
just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The officer didn’t question it further.
Tara pulled Shane aside while the rest of the men
were talking. She wet a clean cloth with some water from a canteen and wiped
the dried blood off his arm. The troubled look on her face revealed how she
felt. But she didn’t say a word. Tara looked Shane in the eye, laid her open
hand on his chest, but still did not speak. She just forced a smile, then
walked back to the Jeep. She glanced, only once, at the dead horses and
couldn’t bring herself to look again.
The tribal police department was adequately managed but sorely
understaffed. They promised to send out some patrols to try to head off any
further poaching on the mustangs. Since they had no way of knowing the true
situation, the authorities felt any presence they could provide in the area
might prevent a recurrence. The truth was it was a very big valley, and they didn’t
have the manpower to keep a constant presence way out here. They suggested that
Tigee keep his men in the valley to watch the herd until all this blew over.
“You think?” Hawk questioned sarcastically. Tigee
gestured to him to be quiet.
JB told the group about the young stallion that had
somehow survived the shooting. This brought some life back into Tigee’s grim
face. He proclaimed this colt was special and deserved a name. “We will call
him
Gabaimi’a Kuna
.” Hawk
turned to Shane and translated the Shoshone words, “In English, this means
walks through fire
.”
As the Jeep drove off down the narrow trail, Shane,
JB, and Hawk headed toward their horses. There was nothing that could be done
with the carcasses lying in the canyon. Like the others that were shot, these
horses would simply become food for the predators while the meat was fresh, and
then feed the scavengers, once it began to rot.
They felt it was unlikely that the poachers would be
back in the next couple of days. The three men were tired and hungry, as were
their horses. They would ride back to the truck and trailer to stay in a real
bed tonight. Tara’s brothers would come out tomorrow for their shift and keep
an eye on things.
They had not ridden far when JB noticed two sets of
wolf tracks. The tracks were definitely Butch and Jessie’s. JB pointed out that
one was dragging a back leg. “They’re probably headed for water,” Hawk said.
“There’s a small creek in the direction they’re traveling.”
It didn’t take long to locate the dogs. They were
lying near the water, just as Hawk said they would be. Shane stepped off his
horse and handed JB the reins. He walked over and could tell right away that
Butch was badly hurt. Jessie was lying beside him and sat up as Shane knelt
down next to the injured wolf. “Hey, bud,” he said, as he gently patted him on
the top of his head. “Maybe I can carry you in on Tory and get you some help.”
Shane tried to carefully rub his hand down the dog’s body to see how bad his
injuries were. He saw no blood, but with only the light touch of his finger
tips on the dog’s ribs, Butch yelped in pain and knocked Shane’s hand away with
his nose.
“There’s no way you’re going to be able to carry
him,” Hawk said.
“I guess I’ll have to leave him here and hope for
the best.” Shane had seen the two dogs share their kills before. He figured
Jessie would bring his brother food, and there was water nearby. Shane and JB
constructed a sturdy lean-to from some nearby downed trees over the injured dog
to help protect him from the weather. Since Tara’s brothers would be coming out
to watch over the herd, he would ask them to check on Butch. It was hard for
Shane to leave him. The two dogs had saved his life more than once. There was
just nothing more he could do right now.
Meanwhile, back at his ranch, Vince Nethers heard the news from his
son, Bo, about the botched attempt to get rid of the mustangs. “Damn it, boy,
how many did you kill?”
“Not many, Dad, that guy Shane and two Shoshones
made it to the pass just in time to turn ’em away.”
“Who the hell is this freaking guy?” Vince yelled.
“If my partner knew all the trouble he is causing, he’d be a dead man by
tomorrow.” Vince was furious, and he could tell by the look on his son’s face,
that there was more bad news. “Boy, you’d better tell me everything. Now.”
“It’s Thomas,” Bo said, sheepishly.
“What about him?” Vince yelled.
“He was shot! I don’t know what happened for sure. I
wasn’t there when he got hit.”
“Son of a bitch,” Vince screamed. “That Indian
better keep his mouth shut.”
Bo took a deep breath, with a worried look on his
face, and said, “I don’t think he’s going to be talking to anyone, Dad. He’s
dead.”
Vince grabbed his son by the collar and pulled him
in close. “Where’s the body? Damn it.”
“I dropped his partner off with it near one of their
old hunting camps. I made sure they were off the reservation land and told Jack
to stay put until I talked to you.”
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“No, Dad, it happened outside of the canyon. None of
the hired guns saw it.”
“What about the guys who shot him?”
“It was that Shane and two Shoshones. Jack told me
the three of them took off on horseback right after the shot. So they don’t
know he’s dead.”
Vince grabbed a bottle of bourbon and poured himself
a shot over some ice. He drank it quickly. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“I don’t think so, but if Jack gets a chance, he
says he’s going to kill that Shane guy on sight.”
“Oh, shit!” Vince growled. “Take me out to where
that Indian is. Now!”
Nethers had time to think things over during the
ride out to where Bo had dropped off the two Arapahos. His foremost concern was
how to keep anyone from finding out about the dead man. He knew no one could
connect him to the killing of the horses. None of the hired guns had any idea
Vince was involved. Bo had set everything up and told all of the men that the
reason for the hunt was because of all the trouble over the last year between
the young men in town and the Shoshones. All of the shooters were boys from
town whom Bo had grown up with. They had all easily bought into the story
because they were aware of the history of bad blood between the two groups. To
these rowdy guys, getting paid to piss off the Shoshone was like getting paid
to go to a bar on Saturday night. It just sounded like fun.