Authors: Bonnie Leon
“From what you've told me and from what I've heard, she liked it.”
“Oh, she did. And the more wild the country, the more she enjoyed. But I should have gotten her to civilization when it got close to her time.”
Jean could hear sorrow in his voice. “You couldn't have known.”
“Maybe not, but out here you've got to plan for the worst.”
Hoping to change the subject, Jean said, “You've done a good job with Celeste. She's a wonderful young woman. You must be proud of her.”
Ray straightened. “I am. She's a lot like her mother, though, and sometimes I worry about what's going to come of her.”
“All parents worry about their children. I fret about all of mine, especially Luke. Ever since Will died …” her words faded. She hadn't intended to bring up the animosity between Luke and Ray.
“His troubles are my fault.” Jean started to object, but he held up his hand. “I know what you're going to say—that it's not my fault. But I know the truth, and I can't blame Luke for hating me.” With a sigh, he added, “Hope he finds a way to forgive me some day. Bitterness has a way of eating through a person. I know 'cause it just nearly killed me.”
Before Jean realized what she was doing, she reached out and laid a hand over Ray's and squeezed. “It wasn't wrong of you to try to find a good home for your family. And no one could have predicted Ellie's death or Will's.”
ALTHOUGH STIFF AND SORE FROM THE PREVIOUS DAY'S RIDE, JEAN FELT optimistic about the upcoming day. Her stomach was full from the trout breakfast, and she felt more secure aboard Jill, although she still hadn't found a comfortable position for her sore legs and posterior, unlike Ray, who looked at ease atop his stallion as he led the way into the mountains.
Jean tried to distract herself from the discomfort by concentrating on the fresh air, free of mosquitoes, the raucous squirrels, and the last birds of the season. When the trees parted, she gazed at the mountains draped in white.
Despite her discomfort, the morning passed quickly. They splashed through lively streams of swirling white and quiet pools where bright stones looked up from the bottom and trout swam in place. The horses muscled their way up steep grades and shouldered through grass thickets.
When deep grasses surrounded them, Ray was more alert and kept his rifle in hand. Finally Jean asked, “Are you worried about something? Or do you hear something?”
“Why?” Ray asked over his shoulder.
“You're carrying your gun, and you seem extra cautious.”
“Just making sure no bear sneaks up on us. Can't see them in this tall grass, and they seem to like it.”
Fear shot through Jean, and she sat taller, gripping her saddle horn. She inadvertently pulled on the reins, and Jill threw back her head and danced off the trail and into the bushes. Whinnying in fear, she jumped forward. Jean sawed on the reins, but Ray had to grab hold of the harness to steady the horse. “Thanks,” Jean said, wishing she were a better rider.
Mid-morning the trees parted, and a tiny log cabin appeared in a small clearing. A trail of smoke rose from a rock chimney, and a spruce hugged a porch that stretched across the front of the house. Ray rode past the house to a barn with a small paddock where he dismounted. Jean followed and gratefully climbed down from her horse.
Ray unsaddled his stallion, led him inside the paddock, then unhooked the bridle and slapped his rear, sending him running around the enclosure. Clearly happy to be free of his restraints, the horse tossed his head and pranced, then stopped at a crib filled with hay and buried his nose.
Jean was struggling with her saddle when Ray came up behind her and lifted it free of the animal, then carried it into the barn. “Thank you,” Jean said, but Ray didn't act as if he heard. She led Jill into the paddock and let her loose. She joined Jack at the crib.
Leaning on the fence, Jean watched the horses. “They look content.”
“Don't take much to make horses happy—a little hay and a load off their backs. And they've been here before. They know Sam'll treat 'em good.”
“I don't see any other horses.”
“Sam spoils his little packhorse. The minute the weather turns cold, he puts him in the barn.” He brushed hay off his jacket. “Let's see if he's got anything to eat. I'm starved.” He strode toward the cabin.
The moment Ray stepped onto the porch, the door opened. A small man with watery blue eyes and a grizzled beard stepped into the sunlight. He wore a big smile, exposing tobacco-stained teeth. “I was wondering how long it would take you to get here.” He slapped Ray on the back and opened the door wider. “Come on in.”
Stepping inside, Ray gave him a one-armed hug. “Good to see you, friend. It's been too long.” He glanced at Jean. “I'd like you to meet a friend of mine.” He nodded at Jean. “This is Jean Hasper. Jean—Sam Goodman.”
Sam held out a gnarled hand. “Nice to make your acquaintance. Don't get many visitors up here.” He raised an eyebrow. “I s'pect you're here to do some huntin'?”
“We are,” Ray answered. “Plan on getting one of them big rams.” He
rested a hand on his stomach. “Before we go, I was hoping to taste some of your home cooking.”
“Haven't got much, just pork gravy and biscuits.” Slightly bent at the waist, Sam hobbled toward the stove. “Heard there's a good herd this year.” He lifted a lid off a pot and stirred the contents. “I was just about to have me some of this, so it's plenty hot.” He glanced at Ray, a twinkle in his eye. “Truth is, I've been cooking some extra the last few days— been expecting you.” He grinned. “With your appetite, though, I doubt I have enough.” He chuckled and carried a plate of biscuits to a scarred wooden table.
With their stomachs full and heavy packs strapped to their backs, Jean and Ray set off. As they passed the corral, Jean looked at Jill, and in spite of her soreness, she wished they were riding. Ray had made it clear the hike would be challenging.
It didn't take long for Jean to become winded. Ray was tall and took long strides. In order to keep up, she had to take two steps to every one of his. She kept her dilemma to herself, not wanting to be a burden, but soon her muscles were tight and she gulped cool air. Finally she stopped and sat on a log. “Can we rest a minute?” Ray kept moving. “Can we rest a minute?” she asked again, only louder.
Ray stopped and looked at Jean. “You all right?”
“Yes. Just tired from trying to keep up with you.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run you ragged.” He sat on the log. “I could use a rest.”
Jean knew he was lying. He hadn't broken a sweat, and he wasn't breathing hard. This was a stroll for him. She wiped sweat from her brow.
Ray grabbed the canteen slung over his shoulder. “You thirsty?” he asked, holding it out to her.
Jean took the container and gulped down several mouthfuls. “Thank you.” She handed it to him and leaned back on the log, allowing her eyes to roam across the countryside. Beyond the sparse forest, steep peaks, a patchwork of green meadows, rock outcroppings, and patches of snow stretched out above and below. She took another breath, still feeling oxygen deprived. “I don't usually get so winded.”
“It's the elevation. The air is thinner up here.”
“Oh. So I might not be as unfit as I was beginning to think?”
Ray only smiled.
“How much farther?”
“Not far. In fact, we should see some sheep soon.” He stood. “You ready?”
“Yes.” Jean pushed herself to her feet and tramped alongside Ray when the trail allowed and behind when it narrowed. The fact that he'd slowed his pace didn't go unnoticed.
Nearly an hour later, Ray stopped. Gazing at a distant ridge, he held up his hand, signaling silence. Jean's eyes followed his, searching craggy cliffs and stopping on white blotches on dark rocks. Ray put a pair of binoculars to his eyes and studied the rock ledges. Handing the binoculars to Jean, he said, “I see a couple of real nice rams in that bunch.”
Jean gazed at the sheep. She counted eight. They all had horns, but two of the bigger animals had very large horns that circled the sides of their heads. “Incredible.”
Jean returned the binoculars. “How close do we have to get?”
“A lot closer than we are now.”
“How do we do that without them seeing us?”
“We stay low and move real slowly.”
Ray skimmed off his pack and started down a small hill. Jean did her best to keep up. When they reached the meadow at the base of the rise, Ray lay on his stomach, rifle resting on bent arms. Jean did as he did.
The going was slow and difficult. Ray stopped when an animal looked their way and sniffed the air. They were downwind and went undetected. Jean's stomach jumped in anticipation, and her arms and elbows felt raw from scraping against the ground. The coldness of the earth penetrated her vest and shirt.
When they were close enough to see the animals without binoculars, Jean studied them with admiration. Their white coats looked clean against the dark rocks where they lounged. They seemed content and docile; Jean could almost imagine them grazing in the pasture at home. The two largest had huge curled horns, and when they turned their heads to gaze out over the valley, they looked regal.
It suddenly struck Jean that in a few moments she was expected to kill one of these beautiful animals.
How can I?
she asked herself while trying to think of survival and food. Her family could use this meat.
Killing is just part of life in the wilderness,
she told herself, remembering the men's teasing. She couldn't return without making a kill.
Ray rested an elbow on the ground and propped his rifle barrel in one hand, pressing the butt against his shoulder. Silent and still, he sighted in a sheep. Lowering the rifle, he whispered, “We need to get closer.” He crawled forward.
Jean followed, but it was hard work to stay quiet. She panted, the cold air fogging with each breath.
When they were several yards closer, Ray stopped again and sighted in his rifle. “I'm going for that big one on the far right. He must be 150 pounds. You aim for the other large ram just below him. If we fire at the same time, they won't scatter before we've both gotten off a shot. So, after the count of three, we'll take one breath and then pull the trigger. All right?”
“OK,” Jean said, wishing she were a better shot. “I could have used more practice,” she whispered, then took a deep breath to quiet herself. She quaked and fought to hold her gun steady as she waited for Ray to begin the count. Gazing down the barrel at the magnificent animal, she prayed for a clean shot. It would be heartbreaking to wound the ram and cause more suffering.
“One,” Ray said and paused. “Two.” Another pause. “Three.”
Jean took a breath, squeezed the trigger, and then pulled it through. The rifles' blast shattered the tranquil scene. Jean felt a sharp pain in her shoulder as the rifle recoiled. Her animal jumped and stumbled. “Oh, no!” She raised the gun again and aimed. Another blast and the ram fell.
Ray's lay still as well, while the rest of the herd sprinted away, disappearing over a rise.
“Good shooting!” Ray shouted and headed for his animal.
Jean stood and stared for a few moments. She'd done it! She'd shot her first bighorn sheep. Finally reclaiming her wits, she headed for it. It had fallen alongside a ledge. Jean jumped up on the rocks above it. The animal's white coat was stained red, its eyes stared. Sadness crept over Jean as she looked down at the ram. Its vigorous
beauty was gone. She kneeled beside it and ran a hand over its dense coat.
Ray pulled out a knife. “I'll take care of mine, then I'll do yours.”
“I'll butcher my own,” Jean said. “I figure, if I killed it, I can slaughter it.” She unsheathed her knife. “For years I've been telling Luke and Will that if they catch a fish, they clean it. Otherwise I tell them not to bring it home.”
She slit the animal's throat, then proceeded to gut and skin it. She managed quite well for the most part, but quartering the sheep was difficult, and she allowed Ray to help.
All the while Ray kept an eye out, periodically searching the landscape. Finally Jean asked, “What are you looking for?”
“Bears. To some the sound of a rifle means fresh meat, and if one is close, it can smell the blood. I'd hate to be surprised by one.”
Jean felt a chill go up her spine. She looked about, relieved to see that no bear was headed their way.
“We better get this meat to a safe place,” Ray said. “It's too late to head for Sam's. We'll have to camp for the night. We can hang it from a tree. In the morning we'll bag it and haul it back down the mountain.” He smiled at Jean. “I'll be happy to tell the guys about how you brought down that sheep.”
“It took two shots,” Jean said regretfully.
“Don't apologize. You did a good job.”
It took them more than an hour to haul and hang the meat. Jean couldn't ever remember working so hard. Just before heading down with the last of the kill, she stopped to look out over the view. A broad green valley touched with patches of red and yellow bushes stretched out below, reaching to distant foothills at the feet of distant mountains. Clouds rested among the peaks, casting shadows over the basin. A darker band of clouds stacked up beyond the range. A sharp wind whipped at her hair and coat.
“Looks like a storm's moving in,” Ray said. “We better get to it. I wouldn't want to be stuck up here.” He hefted the last of his meat onto his shoulder and headed down.
Jean pushed hers up onto her shoulder and followed Ray, walking along the edge of the ridge. Unable to resist taking in the panorama, she
let her eyes roam for just a moment. She missed a step, and her foot slipped. Believing it was only a simple blunder, she chucked her load onto the path and grabbed for a handful of grass to catch herself. It pulled loose, and she fell backward. Letting out a yell, she snatched at a bush, but it slipped from her fingers and she skidded over the edge.
Hugging rocks and granite, she bounced down the face of the bluff, her hands frantically grabbing for a handhold. There was nothing. Her chest and chin bounded off the rough wall, and her legs thudded against rocks. She didn't know what lay below. She envisioned herself being launched into open air. Fear was all she knew.
God! Help me!