Wild Sorrow (16 page)

“I'll keep him quiet,” I said. “He's just not used to being in town.”

Diane looked at me, then at the patrolman. “I'd like to know who made the complaint.”

The policeman started to turn back toward his car. “Just a neighbor, ma'am. If you'll promise to keep it down, that'll be the end of it.”

 

 

That night, I went to bed early and tried to sleep, but with the highway through town less than a half mile away, the sound of the traffic kept me on alert. I tried lying on my stomach, then on my side, but I couldn't get comfortable. My legs, my shoulder, even my neck hurt. As I stared at the four walls of the small bedroom, I began to feel confined. My cabin, with its one big room, seemed expansive by comparison. I grabbed my sidearm and clipped the holster onto the sweatpants Diane had loaned me, wrapped myself in a blanket, and snuck down the hallway with Mountain on his lead. Beneath the door to Diane's room, I could see a wedge of yellow light, and I heard her muffled voice through the door—she must have been talking on the phone. I took Mountain out the front door with me in hopes of finding a quiet place to sit and watch the stars. But tall power poles topped with mercury vapor lights on either side of the yard created too much light pollution, and the stars were invisible. I wasn't sure I could sit for long anyway, with the stinging scrapes on my backside.

I unlocked my Jeep and put the blanket in the driver's seat. I reached beneath the folded-down seat in the back for a jacket I kept there. On top was the box with the Howdy Doody doll, and I pulled it out and set it in the passenger seat, then groped around the backseat floor until I felt the soft fleece of the jacket. I tugged on the sleeve to pull the garment out, then put it on and zipped it up against the cold. Mountain and I walked down the street past a few run-down adobes to the end of the road, where a new-looking sign stood at the edge of a wide dirt lot. It read:

As I walked around the sign, Mountain hiked a hind leg and marked it. I nodded my approval. “Some people have more money than brains,” I said out loud to the wolf. “There's not enough water here to develop this place any more.” My companion paid me no heed as we crossed the field, headed in the direction of the Taos Armory. I knew there was a stretch of open sage flat behind the armory, and it was the closest patch of natural ground I could think of.

Once we were out on the flats, I could see the stars. Not as well as at my place, but at least they were there. I inhaled cold air and smelled the pungent scent of the sage. I blew out my breath with relief. Mountain scampered along in the scrub, and the two of us struck out across the big, open stretch of land. I took long strides, and I felt the scrapes on my backside stinging as I stretched the skin. Two coyotes came near to playfully taunt Mountain and attempt to lead him on a chase through the sagebrush. The wolf darted after them, and they began a game of hide-and-seek. But Mountain would only go a dozen yards or so, and then he would return to me, making sure he kept tabs on where I was.

A hundred yards into the brush, the crack of gunshot sounded and one of the coyotes yelped and flipped into the air, landing on the dirt with a thud. I drew my gun and ducked. Mountain slithered to my side and trembled. I shouted, “Federal agent! Cease fire!”

A man's voice shouted back from the darkness, “There's no law against killing a coyote!”

“I am an armed federal agent. You will cease fire now or be considered armed and dangerous.”

There was silence for nearly a minute, as I looked around for an escape route. And then the voice called back: “Coyotes killed my dog, and I'm going to kill every one of them I see.”

I took Mountain by the collar and moved to better cover behind some piñon and juniper, staying low as we moved along a line of vegetation until we were a safe distance away. Then, Mountain and I made our way back to Diane's house. I couldn't believe that someone had chanced to be hunting for coyotes in the same field where Mountain and I had walked that night; the whole idea troubled me. But I was at least grateful that the wolf wasn't shot instead of the coyote.

As I was about to open the front door of Diane's house, I glanced in the window and saw the Silver Bullet standing in the living room. I was feeling cold and stressed, and I paused for a moment thinking of polite ways to bypass him and go straight to bed. I suddenly remembered the blanket I'd pulled off of the guest bed and then left in the car, and went back to the Jeep to get it, still keeping Mountain close on his lead. When I got back to the door, I saw the Silver Bullet through the window again, this time with his back to me. He was reaching in front of him, and I looked more closely. Diane was standing with her back to him with her hands high on the wall and her legs spread apart. Agent Sterling was pretending to frisk Diane, thoroughly searching her torso for an imaginary weapon.

“Come on, Mountain,” I said, as I headed for the Jeep with the blanket in one hand and the wolf's leash in the other. I got in the back of the car with Mountain, moving gingerly as I curled up on my side under the blanket, spooning him, my chest pressed into his back. We would have to keep each other warm and wait until the two lovers inside were through with their tryst. But the Howdy Doody doll in the passenger seat seemed to be looking at me and I was too disturbed to sleep. I could have gotten out and shoved it under the seat again, where I couldn't see it. But it was cold outside, and I was sore and tired and it hurt to move. Besides, I much preferred to face whatever trouble there was, rather than have it lurking somewhere unseen.

Four-Legged Trouble

I woke in the morning feeling painfully sore and stiff. It took me several tries to get out of the bed in Diane's guest room, and when I finally got myself upright, I felt as if my back had fused in a bent-over position. I had to work hard to get my hips and legs to flex and move properly. I grunted and groaned as I pulled on the sweats my hostess had loaned me, gasped as I bent over to tie my boots, then forced myself to walk to the kitchen to start the coffeemaker. I took Mountain outside on his long lead to do his morning business. The frost from overnight coated the duff around Diane's house, and I felt the cold seep into my aching joints. Once I was up and moving around, I wanted a shower, but the idea of taking off my boots, undressing, and then dressing again dissuaded me. I settled for the plan of washing my face at the sink, but as I reached my arms up to brush my long hair and tie it back in a ponytail, I realized that nothing was going to be easy for a while; I was too bruised and beat up.

Diane and I drank coffee and ate bowls of cereal in the kitchen. “The Silver Bullet was here last night,” she said. “You were asleep so we didn't bother you. But he said the power company is checking out clean so far. Nobody with anything more than a traffic violation.”

“I don't know how whoever it was got my number, then. The guy called right after I phoned the power company.”

“Who knows? We're still checking everybody, but Agent Sterling doesn't think that's where the perp is. Maybe someone at the BLM gave out your number.”

I thought for a minute about that. “Roy says he didn't.”

“Someone else there, maybe?”

“I guess it's possible. It's posted on a list on the bulletin board in the back.”

“Maybe someone called asking for you and a clerk or something gave them the number.”

“Maybe. I mean, everyone knew I didn't carry the darn thing, but . . . I think I'll go home, then.”

Diane looked at me with wide eyes. “No, you ought to stay here. Or go stay with Kerry. Whoever this is knows too much about you.”

“Kerry lives in housing at the ranger station. He can't have a wolf there. Now that you've checked out the power company, I need to get my electricity back on. I need to clean the rotten food out of my fridge.”

“I don't think you ought to.”

“Kerry's back from training in Albuquerque today. I'll ask him to stay with me.”

Diane studied me a moment. “Okay, if you'll have him stay. At least there's some safety in numbers.”

I used Diane's phone, rather than the Screech Owl, to call the service number at the power company. When a real live man answered, I was delighted. He seemed sincere. “We sent someone out to see about the power yesterday but they couldn't find your house. You have to put a sign at the end of your road that has your name and meter number on it and then we'll send someone out again.”

I thought for a moment. “How about if I just put the words ‘Power Company' with my meter number on it, so they will know they're at the right place?”

“That would probably do.”

“Can you send someone back out today?”

“Oh, no. He's out of range now. You know, radios, cell phones, they don't work out there. We'll have to send him back to do your house next time out. But we're going to take care of you once we find you, don't you worry.”

 

As I was putting Mountain in the back of my Jeep, preparing to leave for home, the same officer from the police department who had come about the howling noise pulled up in front of Diane's house. I walked over to greet him. “We're not making any noise here today, Officer,” I said, smiling.

He got out of his car with a piece of paper in his hand. “We're helping out the sheriff's department with some service of papers today.”

Diane came out on the front porch to see what was going on.

“I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, ma'am,” the policeman said. “Your landlord has filed a notice to evict.”

The weather had changed and it was a relatively warm day with plenty of sunshine. Back at my cabin, I hiked with Mountain to La Petaca for water. It took five trips to fill my two big black shower bags with buckets of water from the icy stream. I propped the bags at an angle against an outcropping of moss rock to warm in the sun. Next, I used my water buckets to carry smooth river stones from La Petaca to make a floor for a shower among the pines. I planned to enjoy this treat later in the day, once the water in the bags had absorbed some solar heat.

While I was wiping down the inside of the refrigerator, Mountain began begging to go for a walk, and this after our many trips back and forth to the stream. He paced back and forth to the door. “Hang on, bud,” I said. “I have some chores to do. I can't walk you any more right now.”

But the wolf pawed at the door, scratching at the wood.

“Mountain, no!” I said.

He pulled at his leash and toppled the coatrack, knocking over the broom that stood in the corner behind the door.

“Darn it, Mountain!” I yelled. “I'm busy right now. You already had some time romping in the woods when I was getting water.”

But the wolf would not give up. He bolted across the room and then back to the door, as if to say how urgently he needed to go outside.

I looked at him with skepticism. “Are you telling me you have to go?” I asked. “I don't believe you. You were outside half the morning.” But just to be sure, I put the wolf outside—fastened to his airplane wire and carabiner restraint—while I went back in the house to do my chores.

I finished cleaning the fridge, emptied the trash—including the mess of things that Mountain had destroyed when I had left him alone the other morning—and I cleaned the ashes out of the woodstove. Just as I headed outside for wood to lay a new fire, Mountain lunged on his line and snapped the carabiner, breaking loose. He raced toward the woods like a bullet, where a pair of coyotes were chasing after a young deer. The hunt immediately led into the forest.

I ran after Mountain, screaming: “Mountain, no! Mountain! Mountain, no, come here!” My legs stung and ached at the same time, the bruises and scrapes from the avalanche still painfully sore. It was no use. I couldn't keep up.

I stopped in a patch of pines where a mottling of shade and sunlight fell on my face, and I winced with pain as my scraped skin stung. I remembered my rancher neighbor's warning, and my spirit sank. I turned and walked back to the cabin, stepping gingerly on the right leg, feeling a pressure in my chest, as if tiny strands of silver barbwire were tightening around my heart.

In the shed out back, I found a length of heavy iron chain that the landlord had left on the property. Using a pair of channel locks, I worked to secure it to the solid stainless steel eyebolt that I had sunk six inches into the foundation of my cabin.

Nearly an hour later, Mountain returned, tired and happy, his tail wagging with the excitement of his adventure. I received him with a hug and I cried as I held him next to my chest. I took hold of his collar. “Oh, Mountain,” I wailed, my nose running, my chest heaving as I sobbed. I hooked the wolf to the heavy chain, blubbering as I did so. “I can't trust you to run free anymore, buddy,” I bawled. “You don't stay with me anymore when I let you run free. You don't come to me when I call you.”

The wolf sat watching me, confused at my emotions. He was obviously happy to see me and had no understanding of the significance of this moment in his short life—this moment when I chose to take away his freedom, to constantly confine him in order to save his life.

Kerry's Places

When Kerry pulled down my long drive in his Forest Service truck, I experienced a bizarre mix of emotions. I was overjoyed to see him, and had missed him while he'd been away at his training. It broke my heart to watch Mountain rise and strain at his heavy chain when he recognized Kerry's truck. And I dreaded telling my lover about the events of the past few days.

Kerry got out of the truck, smiled, and opened his arms to me. I ran to him and he grabbed me and lifted me off my feet with a big hug. I cried out as I slid down the front of him and his hands rubbed across my bruised back. Kerry pulled his head back and looked at me. “What's up? Are you hurt?”