Saddle Up(8)

From his elevated position, Keith spotted half a dozen small family bands of mustangs. The knowledge of their fate pulled at his conscience. Tomorrow the wranglers would gather up hundreds of these horses, mainly for the crime of competing for the limited resources that had recently worsened with wildfires and drought.

Was it better to round them up and save them from death by keeping them in captivity? Or was there greater dignity in a quiet death? Which would the horses choose if they knew?

His own father had chosen death over life in a prison.

Suddenly he was thirteen again, standing on the top of Crow Heart Butte, the most famous landmark in all of the Wind River Valley. He and Grandfather had come to scatter his father’s ashes. “This is the site of a great battle,” Kenu said. “It was here that our people fought for hunting rights after the Fort Laramie Treaty granted the Crows the same privileges we’d been given in the Fort Bridger Treaty. After four bloody days of battle, the two great warrior chiefs met in an attempt to end the bloodshed. Washakie of the Shoshone raised his fist to Big Robber of the Crow. ‘You and I will fight to the death, and when I beat you, I will cut out your heart and eat it!’”

“Who won, Grandfather?” Keith asked.

“Chief Washakie was the victor. As promised, he cut out Big Robber’s heart and displayed it proudly on the end of his spear. That is why this place is named Crow Heart.”

“Did he really eat it?”

His grandfather replied with a secretive smile. “No one really knows. When questioned later in his life, Washakie said only that young men do foolish things.” He laid a tremulous hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Your father had the heart of such a warrior, but he let bitterness and hatred take root. That is how he earned his Shoshone name, Kills With Words.”

Keith recalled with a sharp pang the look of desolation in Kenu’s eyes and the tears that trickled down the old man’s weathered face. Placing the urn in Keith’s hands, he said, “Take this, my son. Cast the ashes to the four winds and we will pray that his troubled spirit will at last find peace.”

Looking out over the vast desert plains, Kenu murmured a Shoshone prayer to the Great Spirit. Keith had never forgotten his grandfather’s words. Now he uttered the same prayer for himself.

*

The highway became long, straight, and increasingly barren the farther north Miranda drove. Too weary to continue all the way to Gerlach, she’d opted to stop for the night in Fernley, which she later discovered was the last vestige of civilization.

Waking well before sunrise, she continued north through the Paiute Reservation and the tribal headquarters of Nixon, a mere bump in the road. After that, she found herself alone on the highway for sixty miles. Not for the first time, Miranda felt the urge to turn back. She was still amazed that she’d committed herself to trekking into a desert wilderness to film wild horses. Maybe she should be committed. Surely she’d lost her mind.

The route, lined by treeless, grassy mountains that transformed into undulating hills, ran through a narrow valley formed by the dry bed of Winnemucca Lake. She passed through the forsaken mining town of Empire, almost ghostly now with its boarded-up general store and empty houses. A few miles farther up, the highway opened onto a narrow patch of desert leading into the tiny town of Gerlach.

True to his word, Mitch West was waiting for her when she pulled into Bruno’s Country Club Motel. Even if his hat, boots, and faded denim hadn’t identified him, the West Livestock emblem on the pickup truck behind him was a dead giveaway.

“Miz Sutton? We were wondering if you’d really show up. I’m Mitch.” He extended his hand, closing heavily callused fingers around hers. “And this is my wife, Beth.” He inclined his head to a smiling woman in her mid-fifties, dressed much the same as he was in hat, boots, and denim Sherpa jacket.

“Nice to meet you both,” Miranda said.

“We’re set up at the Donnelly Flat, at the western base of the Calicos,” Mitch replied. “You can ride with us in the truck.”

“Can’t I just follow you?”

“Not in that.” Mitch nodded to her Mustang convertible. “The roads are rough for the next few miles, and then there aren’t any roads at all.”

“No roads?” Miranda swallowed hard. “What am I going to do with my car?” She eyed it with misgivings. Although she’d bought it used, it was still her pride and joy. It was her gift to herself for the videography award. She knew she’d rightfully won it, even though Bibi had taken all the credit.

“It’ll be safe right here,” Mitch reassured her. “I’ve known Bruno for years.”

“You might want to go ahead and make a pit stop before we head out,” Beth advised. “There are no restrooms where we’re going, and not much privacy either. It’s pretty much open desert.”

“Thanks for the advice. I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Mitch was talking on a satellite phone when she came back out. “We’d best head on out,” he said. “The crew’s already on site. Trey’ll be ready to start scouting at sunrise.”

“Trey?” Miranda asked.

“The chopper pilot,” he explained. “He’s also our oldest son. If you’re ready, we’d best get rolling. He’ll be taking off in about an hour, and we’ve got a good forty-mile drive ahead of us.”