That Dog Won't Hunt (4 page)

Not in a few months, I thought, scratching a lump on my ear. The first bug had awakened. Must have come out of the woodpile by the stove once things warmed up.

Behind the lodge, she pointed at a grove of mature cedars.

“Gas up the chainsaw. Cut down that stuff. Put it in twelve-foot lengths. We’ll have it milled next week and kiln dried. They can send out a skidder and a log truck. I’m not paying for wood when we have our own source.”

I worked until lunch. Only May and three bites already. Might have been the aftershave. Finally she came out with a platter of sandwiches and some pop. “No beer?” I was bone tired. I’d rather have been riding Nufflo. Clean horse sweat and saddle leather.

“No more than a six-pack a day. I don’t want you to cut your pretty head off with that saw.” She mimed a chainsaw bucking over her back. Guy I knew went that way.

I cleared the lot by five. Someone with a backhoe would have to take the stumps. When I stopped the saw to add oil, a neighbor with silver hair got out of a Jeep and came over to admire the piles of logs. Over a heavy shirt and cords, he wore a fishing vest with a million pockets. “So you’re the new man. Looks like Gladys found herself a young one,” the guy said. His name was Harvey.

“I’m the foreman. Rick Cooper.” I almost didn’t offer my hand. No use making enemies.

“Sure you are, pal. And more power to you.” He made a broad gesture. “Leastways something’s happening again. She was hitting the bottle pretty hard after George died, poor little girl. Guess you’re the answer to a maiden’s prayer.”

“Listen here,” I said. I stabbed a finger at his nose. “You’re a friend of Gladdie. I’ll forget about your bad manners.”

In the next few weeks she sent me out on the property on the quad. It was rough country. A thin layer of peaty soil over the Cambrian rock shield. Enough hills to make it tricky. A hundred lakes in a hundred miles. Good for moose and bear though. There were places no one had ever been. Even in the winter with a snowmobile, you couldn’t get into some spots.

Gladys told me how things worked. Counting the new ones, she’d have six cabins with double beds. Meals came with the plan. She made even more on liquor. There wasn’t any option out here, two hours from Elliot Lake.

Gladys told me that before George died, they cleared eighty thousand a year. That included the spring bear hunt. We were too late for that.

“Damn government in Toronto’s talking about canceling the spring hunt. Wusses. Us lodge owners oughta have as many rights as animals. How are we supposed to make a living?”

“Know what you mean. They’re always trying to call the shots for us in Salt Lake City.”

She shrugged. “Men have to hunt. That’s their nature. If we do well this fall, we’ll be back in business big-time. I’m placing ads in three outdoor magazines. That’s gonna cost, but it’ll bring the bucks.”

I cleared my throat. “When’s payday?” I asked. My first month was nearly up.

She gave me a steely look. “This is a seasonal job. When I start getting money, you will too.” Then she reached for her purse on the table. “Here’s fifty. Don’t know what you need it for. Everything’s provided. Nothing to spend it on anyway.”

She seemed to know her business. I’d hang around for the time being. When that money came in, I’d get my share. She was giving Bucky another Milk-Bone when I went up to bed.

CHAPTER FIVE

B
y mid-July the cabins were nearly finished. I sat on the front porch before supper, cleaning and oiling a twelve gauge. It had a carved stock. Nice piece.

“Where’d you get that?” Gladys asked. One dark eyebrow arched into a question.

“In the gun case in the den. It wasn’t locked.”

She gave me a funny look.

“That’s George’s best gun. I…” She paused and looked out across the woods. “Mind you take care of it.”

“Damn straight. I’m going after a few birds tomorrow,” I said. “I got the shingles on the new cabins. Tight as a tick. We’re nearly good to go.” Did she expect me to work seven days a week?

She nodded. “I suppose you earned a day off. Take Buck with you. He loves to hunt. Bit of a lard ass lately with all this winter rest. That’s bad for his arthritis.”

The ancient animal lay on the porch, tail switching at flies. Nothing made him move fast. Not since that first time we arrived. I was no babysitter.

“Are you kidding? That dog won’t hunt.”

She narrowed her eyes. “He was George’s pal. You should have seen him in his youth. A soft mouth. Never put tooth on a partridge or a duck. That’s a thousand-dollar dog.”

“Maybe so. But he’s stiffer than hell. Can’t hardly get up some mornings.”

Her voice took on an edge. “You’ll be old like him someday, Rick. If you’re lucky.”

The next morning, Bucky ambled after me sort of senile like. I let him come as far as the creek, then told him to go lay down. He stood there, that sappy golden retriever smile on his face. Not even enough brains to take offense. Then he circled twice and flopped down under a spreading maple.

Half an hour later, on an old path in the thick cedars, I leaned on a big-daddy yellow birch. Good hunters were patient. I enjoyed the clear air and the stuttery motoring of a ruffed grouse looking for a mate. Something caught my eye in the next spruce. I aimed up, slowly, ready to lead it if it moved. Then I fired. Got the head clean off. No shot in my meat.

And I got four more soon after that. All in all a good hunt. And they were fat too. I stood on the wings and pulled the feet. The skin came off and the gut bag with it. Good as chicken any day. When I got back to the creek, Bucky raised his head at the smell of the birds in my bag.

“Want to grab one now, don’t you, old bugger?” I said and shoved him aside with my leg. That same loopy smile followed me.

I brought the birds into the kitchen.

“Not bad, mighty hunter,” Gladys said, topping up her drink. “I’m making fried potatoes and grouse fingers. Bucky gets a share too.”

I started laughing as I popped a beer.

“I told you that dog won’t hunt. He slept the whole time.”

Her face got hard and her chin stuck out.

“That’s not the point. Take him out with you when you go. I mean it, Rick.”

I kept quiet. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

A week later, Gladys called me over to one of the cabins. I was finishing the drywall, hustling around those big sheets. Cheaper in twelve-foot lengths but a bitch to move. My face was covered with dust and sweat.

“I need a Shop-Vac from the hardware. This stuff will blow your canister set all to hell.”

“All right. Get one.” She held a level on the framing. The bubble dipped up same as my Adam’s apple. “These lines aren’t true. Measure twice, cut once.”

I hadn’t stopped since seven. It was nearly dinnertime.

“Oh hell, it’s good enough. Let it settle a bit. What do you think this is? Palm Springs?” I had a drywall knife in my hand. With the other, I wormed a blackfly from my ear. The bloody crust came away. Sneaky. I hate them worst.

“I have pride in my place. George wouldn’t have paid you. A good workman is worth his hire.” She folded her arms.

“A workman? Thought I was more than that to you.” I scuffed a piece of drywall across the floor. “So get me some more help. Even a gofer. A kid would do.”

She turned those cold blue eyes on me. Like a little robot.

“I picked you up on the road, bud. You owe me.”

The money was coming. I couldn’t bail out now.

“Sorry, babe. I’m just tired.” I hung my head like a good boy and waited.

Her voice softened. “Take the weekend off. Harvey brought over some moose steaks. You have been working pretty hard. And guess what?” She pulled a paper from her jacket pocket. “I have bookings for four straight weeks already. What do you know about taking people on a bear hunt?”

I shrugged. “Hunting is hunting, I guess.”

“George used to hire a man from Chapleau, but now you’re it. I’ve ordered some new equipment from Cabela’s.” She pulled out a catalog and thumbed it. “These new tree perches are way more comfortable for our soft city friends. You’ll be replacing the old wood ones. And there’s a game trike too. Saves on manpower.”

“I better get back to work, Gladys.”

Omitting her pet name struck a blow.

“I do have expenses, you know. I’m still paying off a loan when they brought in the hydro from the main road. I can give you a couple hundred next week. But what the hell you need it for out here, I haven’t a clue,” she said as she walked out.

A couple of days later Gladys was napping on the couch after dinner. She’d be good until the late news started. Time to find out exactly where I stood. She kept the accounts in her little office. I stood near her and clapped my hands. Nada. Out like a light.

I turned the
TV
off so’s I could hear if she got up. Then I went around upstairs to her office. Those wooden stairs were fierce for a creak. I started with the files. It was pretty clear that she hadn’t done any business in the last five years. Then I tackled the checkbook and a couple of bankbooks. Finances don’t mean much to me, but I knew enough to see that she had a potful. I sat down and felt my fists bunch up. Then a dark haze came over my eyes. I shook myself and pounded a fist into my palm. Cool off, boy.

Couldn’t touch anything in the bank, that’s for sure. For a crazy minute I wondered if she would marry me. All’s I had to do was pretend I didn’t know about this. Turn up the sweetness machine. What’s that thing called community property? My head started to ache. The humid climate was doing a number on me.

CHAPTER SIX

T
he first of August Gladys sent me to Elliot Lake to buy some paint. The place was almost ready for our visitors. “First impressions are important for return trade,” she said. “Word-of-mouth is critical. These business guys have a network you wouldn’t believe. And take Bucky with you. George always did. Put him in the cab, not the truck bed. And you might give him a brush sometime to keep down the dog hair.”

With the dog padding after me, I went to the shed for the old GMC pickup. Next to a 50cc kiddie motorcycle and a riding mower was the Mustang in all its candy-apple glory. “Sure wish you and me was driving down a desert highway, sweetheart,” I said, rubbing off some dust. It hadn’t left the building since we returned. What a waste of muscle. Not that there was anywhere to drive to up here.

As I chugged the two hours to town, Bucky stinking like a dozen rotten eggs, I took stock. I saved everything she’d given me, but all I had was five hundred dollars in a bag in a drawer. And some small change in my jeans. Everything at the hardware was charged. No way to fudge on that.

At the cash, where I made my order, the most beautiful babe in the world gave me a twenty-carat smile. I was always a sucker for curly red hair. Means there’s fire inside. Her green eyes were sparkly and welcoming. I was glad I had shaved that morning.

“Hello, there,” she said. “I’ve seen you before. Got a big project, eh?”

We passed the time of day. Place was kind of empty. Under her smock, I could see her flat tummy. Legs to heaven and back. No ring. Women usually wore them. With working men, they got in the way. For a lot of reasons.

“What’s to do around this here town?” I asked. Gladys had started drinking at noon. Something about George’s birthday. If she asked me what took so long, I’d say I had a flat tire.

Shelley said she was getting off at three, so we made a date.

“Ever been to LA?” I asked. “Just got back myself.”

A dimple opened on one cheek. “Gosh, I haven’t even been across the border. What’s it like out west? I thought I heard something in your voice. You don’t sound like you’re from around here.” She looked at me like I was ten feet tall. I felt my chest get bigger.

We met at the Dairy Queen down the block. I’d let the air mostly out of one tire and taken the truck to a service station. The receipt made a good excuse. Bucky was still snoring in the cab.

Shelley ordered a Peanut Buster Parfait, and I had a Blizzard with Skor-bar pieces. We talked about our favorite old music. We both liked the B-52’s. Jon Bon Jovi was Shelley’s heartthrob.

“You look like Charlie Sheen.” Her eyes were clear and flirty. “He was so cute in
Young Guns
.”

“You can take the cowboy out of the West, but you can’t—”

We completed the sentence at the same time. I almost laughed, but she put out her little pinky and linked mine. I felt a familiar flicker.

“Did you make a wish?” she asked.

I caught on to the game and nodded. If she read minds, she’d know.

“How about you, Shelley? Got a boyfriend, I bet. Gal as pretty as you.”

She waved her hand. “They’re all just silly boys around here. Sweet, but real losers.”

Then she told me about her family, who had moved to Calgary when her father was laid off from the mill. She was living with an aunt.

“I just stayed to finish high school. Soon as I save up some money I’m going to Calgary. Or maybe Vancouver. I don’t know. Anywhere out of here.”

“I hear you,” I said. “Too many mosquitoes too. Give me the wide-open spaces.” I described to her that little spread I’d seen near Big Water.

“Is it near Vegas? I’ve always wanted to see a show,” she said. “My aunt saw Dolly Parton there.”

I waved a hand. “Right next door. Best of all worlds.”

She sighed and leaned forward. Her plump red lips sucked on the spoon. “Sounds like a dream.”

After that, Shelley and I met whenever I was in town for supplies.

“I’m planning on leaving here soon as the hunting’s over,” I said over lunch at Micky D’s.

“That’s what I thought. Bet Mrs. Ryan will be sorry to see you go,” Shelley said. She gave my biceps a little squeeze, and I firmed ’em up. “She probably has a crush on you.”

“Gladys can be a mite jealous. You know older women,” I said, tracing my fingers on her hand. So smooth and supple. She always smelled clean and pure, like baby powder. I wanted to put my arms around her, the way she looked up at me. “Firecracker,” I called her.

“She’s old for sure,” Shelley said. “I used to see her in here with George when I was a kid. The B word. Thinks she knows it all.”