7 Wild East (6 page)

“I saw someone take the survey equipment last night,” he
said abruptly. “Actually, let me amend that statement. I saw someone take two
large backpacks from the inn. I am assuming it was the survey equipment.”

“How careless of someone,” I said drily. “But I am sure they
will bring everything back again shortly.”

“There are two surveyors?”

“Yes. One is a boy—only eighteen and on his first job. And
he’s hurt. It’s only a sprain but Pete has kept him walking on the sprain for
days instead of turning back and it has made it worse. Doc says he has to stay
in bed with the leg up or risk permanent damage. Anyway, you can’t take an
injured person into bear country when they can’t even run.” The Mountie didn’t
say anything. “Officer, I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea about what
you think you saw last night.”

“I wouldn’t want that either.”

Thomas stopped suddenly, staring at my cottage.

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “It’s just our dog, Max.”

“Dog?”

“A wolf hybrid,” I answered. Like I said before, I am a good
liar for the right cause. “A lot of us have them because a wolf pack is one of
the few things the bears fear. I wouldn’t step foot into the forest without
Max.”

“About those bears.…”

“Thomas,” I said. “Listen carefully—because your life may
depend on it. Whatever you think you saw, or know about last night, there are
bears out there. And they kill people. I’ve watched it happen—I saw a man
ripped to shreds right in front of me. Last year, we had a funeral for a hand—that
was all that was left of the woman after a day of the animals feasting. Don’t
go into the woods without a guide and a rifle—if you didn’t pack one for this
trip, then take one of mine. Anyone who goes out into the woods unarmed or with
just a pistol is asking to get dead. And the bad part is other people might get
hurt trying to rescue you. Dealing with bears will be your first lesson in the
wild. Our best guide, Wendell Thunder, will teach you how to track them.
Though, seriously, not tracking them is the better choice. Chuck will tell you
this too.”

Thomas nodded and we began walking again. Again, he did not
seem properly dismayed. Perhaps he had never seen a bear and did not know how
terrifying they could be.

“Let me introduce you to Max. Are you a dog person?” I
asked.

“I like most animals,” Thomas said, kneeling down and
offering a hand. Max came dancing over making soft ululations. Obviously he
liked the new recruit just fine and was trying to lure him into play.

Watching Thomas pet my wolf, I saw the man that he might be,
under the right circumstances, and decided that I liked him. In potential, at
least. Stationed at least a hundred kilometers away, I might really grow fond
of him.

“Do you like buttermilk pancakes and bacon?” I asked after a
moment. “Though I should warn you that bacon around here tends to smell a
little like dog breath since Max pants every time I cook it.”

“I like whatever you serve me,” he said, standing back up.
He looked a shade less dignified with Max’s hair on his knees and cuffs.

“Your mama raised you right,” I said, but knew instantly
that this was the wrong thing to say because he pokered up again.

“Actually, it was my grandmother.”

“We have that in common then,” I said and started for the
house. Chuck came out to greet us. If he was surprised to see Thomas he didn’t
let on.

“Come in and have some coffee,” Chuck said. “Let us prove
that we aren’t completely uncivilized.”

“Has Wendell been by yet?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

“I’m thinking that maybe the first forest lesson had better
be about bears. We have tracks in town and that means they are close. Far
better to be safe than dead.”

*  * 
*

Between the Gaelic and the elliptical verbal shorthand of
the people they encountered, Thomas had trouble understanding anything that was
said as he and Detective Chuck Goodhead strolled through town on the way to
Wendell Thunder’s house. It might all be inconsequentialities, but then it
might not. At least people were nodding at him that morning.

It did not escape his notice that everyone—man or woman—was
carrying a gun.

Though he had no use for idle speculation, he had to also
wonder if the town’s distilled hostility toward outsiders could become an
actual poison in the right circumstances. Put another way, if the surveyor
tried to walk out of the Gulch, would they let him go? Butterscotch had warned
him pretty clearly about the danger of the forest. Had the surveyor been warned
as well?

Of course he had. He just didn’t believe them about the
bears. He spent his time in the wild and thought there was nothing to fear.

Thomas had been skeptical, too, after last night’s moonlight
performance, but Butterscotch’s story about the funeral for a hand had stuck
with him. He was reserving judgment until he spoke privately with Inspector
Goodhead about what he had seen and what course of action to pursue.

There hadn’t been a chance so far. He had asked over
breakfast about the surveyors and Chuck had explained about the proposed
pipeline. Thomas was not a small town boy, but he wasn’t stupid. He could
understand why someplace like the Gulch wouldn’t be thrilled with becoming an
oil boomtown. They could have reason for delaying the surveyor that had nothing
to do with the injured teenager needing time to heal. And it was a pretty large
coincidence that there was no working phone and that the town’s only radio was
broken. Though he had been briefed before leaving Winnipeg that the only way
they could reach the Mountie was by radio because there was no cellphone
reception in the area.

So perhaps the situation wasn’t what it seemed like it could
be. Eventually things would become clear. Frankly, he had trouble believing
that an Inspector in the RCMP would have anything to do with such chicanery.
Charles Goodhead had a reputation for being a very by-the-book kind of
policeman, much to the dismay of his superiors. It was why Thomas had asked for
him as a mentor when he had to take outback training.

In the meantime, he hoped that the angry surveyor did
nothing rash. The good and heavily armed citizens of McIntyre’s Gulch—and he
used the term loosely since it remained to be seen how many were
good
—might
be just as happy if he was killed by bears. After all, why should they risk
their necks for him if he deliberately put his life in danger?

*  * 
*

They had almost reached Wendell’s house when Chuck decided
that he would have to ask what had the recruit so preoccupied.

“What’s on your mind, Thomas?” Chuck asked reluctantly. “Are
you concerned about survival training?”

“I think that I should have made an arrest this morning.
It’s what Pete Mitchell wanted. But, as you are my superior officer, I thought
that I would run it by you before filing formal charges.”

“Yes, of course. Why, and who were you proposing to arrest?”

Thomas cleared his throat and began making a formal report.

“Last night I was wakened by the full moon and saw something
outside the inn. Care to guess what I saw?”

“Rats?”

“No, sir, these were humans, not rodents. I actually saw the
mayor who was doing something with what looked like rocks and two other men. They
were carrying backpacks that appeared to be filled with heavy equipment. This
was odd, but I did not immediately suspect skullduggery and went back to bed
without saying anything.”

“Wise choice.”

“However, this morning I find that Mr. Mitchell’s surveying
equipment was apparently stolen in the night. Putting two and two together,
it’s only natural to conclude that these men took the equipment.”

“Isn’t
stolen
the wrong word?”

“What other word could I use?”

“Try
borrowed
. Admittedly without permission. But
that is the way things are done here. Practically everything is considered
community property to be used for the common weal.”

Thomas nodded, thinking about what Butterscotch had said
about the boy needing bed rest and the older surveyor pushing to go on into
dangerous territory. He supposed this was one way to delay them.

“If that is how you see it, sir, then I shall follow your
advice. Are you suggesting that I don’t say anything to these men if I see
them?”

“If I were you, being new in town and all, I might hold on
to my thoughts and observations until after the dust settles a couple days
hence. Things usually have a way of working themselves out without official
intervention.”

The two men shared a knowing glance. From the look in his
eye, Chuck knew the recruit had figured out the general outlines of what was
going on and that he was learning another of those painful outback lessons that
used to bother Chuck so much.

He had to admire that the kid knew when to shut his mouth
and move on with things. Chuck hadn’t caught on as fast. Young Thomas would probably
go far in his chosen field.

Thomas saluted, a gesture which Chuck reluctantly
acknowledged, then turned toward Wendell’s cabin. Halfway to the door, Thomas
thought of one more item to report.

“By the way, someone short-sheeted my bed last night.”

“Must have been young gremlins.” Or old gremlins, like his
father who got more rash and juvenile every day. Even if the guilty party was
Ricky, he had learned it from someone and Horace was Chuck’s first bet. “It was
probably directed at the surveyor, but I’ll get the word out that your room is
to be left alone.”

Thomas nodded his head and left it at that.

Wendell and two of his wolves stepped out to greet them as
they started up the path and Chuck made introductions. Thomas did well with the
wolves. He referred to them as dogs so the Mountie figured he didn’t know that
they were three-quarters timber wolf. That seemed a little odd for a biologist,
but maybe he had specialized in marine animals or something.

The Mountie tried to focus on the day ahead as Wendell
outlined a proposed training plan, but kept being prodded by the nagging
feeling that more trouble was brewing and soon might begin to boil over. The
town was juggling too many live grenades for this to not end in some form of
disaster.

“You okay, Mountie?” Wendell asked.

“Sure, just got a twinge in my funny bone.”

*  * 
*

Ricky stood before his bed in his small bedroom in the
Lonesome Moose. His bedroom had been used as a utility closet before he’d taken
possession and in fact still stored shelves of paper towels and other household
consumables. Ricky was excited because he’d stumbled upon a challenge, and it
was a challenge worthy of a fledgling Mountie. Ricky’s dog, Sisu, was missing. Ricky
had just returned to the inn after having searched all over town hoping to find
her at Butterscotch’s or mooching food in the kitchen. He could think of only
one explanation for her absence—his dog had wandered off into the woods. Ricky
was well versed in the bear stories told around town and knew of the dangers of
wandering alone in the woods. He therefore thought it imperative to go in
search of his dog.

Assembled on the bed were the contents of his pack. In
reality, Ricky didn’t have a pack, so he was using an old pillowcase instead to
hold his possessions. He figured he could bundle everything up in the sheeting
and tie it to a stick like he’d read that travelers used to do. The items he
felt important to place in his pack included lots of water (a whole plastic
bottle), a muffin he’d saved from breakfast, and the power rock that Wendell
Thunder had given him. Ricky wore an old beat-up heavy coat which was several
sizes too big for him. Carrying his pack on a long stick the boy looked like a
hobo who was experiencing exceptionally hard times.

Ricky chose to head to the White Rock at Potter’s Ridge in
search of Sisu. The rock was a favorite hiking destination when he was out with
Butterscotch or Wendell. He chose this destination so that if he failed to find
his dog he could at least eat his sandwich someplace with a nice view and maybe
eat some berries which should be ripe. Besides, he knew how to make it to the White
Rock and back without getting lost, though it would have been nice if
Butterscotch was with him. Then no one would yell if he got caught in the woods.
Not that he would get caught. The trip would take no more than two hours and
everyone was busy with the hurt surveyor who had to stay in bed. No one would
miss him.

Ricky marveled in the nature that surrounded him as he
walked. It wasn’t long ago that he walked the hot sidewalks of Los Angeles
viewing a completely different scene from what he was experiencing now. Ricky
had yet to lose the giddy wonder. Within fifteen minutes of starting his trek
he was completely alone in utter silence with the exception of the birdsong and
briefly, the chuckling of a stream. He paused once for a rest and wondered
again whether he was doing the right thing. But he worried only for a brief
time before remembering how proud Inspector Goodhead was going to be of him
when he returned with his dog. He continued walking deeper into the woods
musing over whether he’d be made an honorary Mountie. If he was, then Chuck
could send that new Mountie away and he could be Chuck’s partner instead.

Ricky left tracks on the dirt trail leading into the woods. Unbeknownst
to the distracted youth, one of his tracks was planted right in the middle of a
fresh bear track.

Pete was not usually a hothead, but he knew when he was
being stonewalled and that—and maybe the liquor—made him see red. Those town
folk had to understand at least some English!

Or maybe not. McIntyre’s Gulch was a weird, inbred kind of
place. Look at all that red hair and that insane woman at the inn. That’s what
came from marrying your first cousins for hundreds of years! They had seemed
normal enough yesterday, taking care of Mark and offering them shelter, but
then in the night something had happened and he woke up to find everyone
replaced by aliens. It was like in that movie about pods from outer space.