Читать книгу Killing Godiva's Horse - J. M. Mitchell - Страница 9

Chapter

4

Once he’d crossed through the saddle—Spanish Skirts Mesa to his right—Jack looked downslope and saw the road, a two-track swath through the sagebrush.

Off the road sat a white government pickup, Park Service markings.

Jack veered toward it, wiping sweat from his brow.

The driver’s door popped open.

A woman got out. Tall. Lean. Erika Jones. “About time you got here,” she shouted. Her blonde hair—longer than when last he saw her, and closer to its length when he first knew her years before—blew in the breeze. “It’s damned hot sitting out here.” She slammed the door and marched toward him, wearing a field uniform, one neatly pressed.

The passenger door swung open. Another woman exited, and stood at the door. Brown hair, light skin, slender, tan pants, blue camp shirt. She looked like any park visitor.

Jack slowed and watched Erika approach. “Why the uniform? What, no Stetson?”

“Give me a break.” Erika stopped, and put her hands on her hips. “I’ve got Claire Prescott with me,” she said, under her breath.

“From Montana?”

“Washington. Do not mention Montana, or Senator Tisdale.”

“Why not? He’s about the only member of Congress I ever felt I could trust.”

“Do not mention him.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say, according to rumor, it didn’t end well.”

“She’s no longer a staffer?”

“Sh-h-h-h.” She turned and started back for the truck. “Claire’s a survivor,” Erika whispered. “Now a committee staffer. She may’ve called in some favors, who knows?”

“I need water.”

“It’s in the truck. What took you so long?”

“Only fifteen minutes late. It’s further than it looks.”

“Prescott’s in a hurry. You made me look bad. Wipe the sweat off your face.”

He glared, and left the sweat where it was. “Don’t wanna make you look bad. Especially with someone influential.”

“Shut up.” She waved him to follow. “You are not who she wanted to see. She doesn’t trust you after Montana, so be nice. Answer her questions. No editorial comments.”

“Editorial comments are your department. Why no trusting me?”

Erika dropped her head. “Sh-h-h-h.” She looked up, flashed a smile toward Prescott, and shouted, “Ripped him a new one for holding us up.”

Prescott’s expression remained unchanged. She continued leaning against the truck.

Jack offered a hand as they approached. “Been a few years.”

She shook his hand. “Yes.”

He stepped past, looking into the cab of the pickup. “Excuse me. I need water.”

“My side,” Erika said. “In the bed. Ice chest.”

Jack went around to the back.

Erika followed. “You’re making a bad impression,” she whispered.

“Why are you here, Erika?” he whispered back, sliding the ice chest toward the tailgate. “And why are you in uniform? Thought it was decided it gave the agency a bad rap.”

“Very funny.” She popped open the ice chest, grabbed a bottle, and pushed him toward the front of the pickup. “Here’s your water,” she said, voice raised, then whispered. “Behave yourself.”

“For you?”

“Sh-h-h-h.” She dragged him toward Prescott. “Okay, Claire. Jack’s time is yours.”

“Your superintendent believes you know the issues here better than anyone.”

“Maybe.”

Prescott crossed her arms. “Like you knew the issues in Montana?”

Jack and Erika traded looks.

“Well, yes,” Erika said.

“What’s this about?” Jack twisted the top off the bottle.

“Horses,” Claire said.

He took a swig. “What about ’em?”

“Saving them.”

“You mean wild horses?”

“Of course, and I’d like to see some while I’m here. I’d like to gain an understanding of the issues surrounding their welfare.”

Jack gave her a once over. She’s serious. “Have you talked with BLM?”

“I have. It wasn’t productive.”

“Got to be more productive than talking to me. BLM lands are where you’ll likely find ’em.”

“They don’t come into the park?”

“They will, I’m sure, if they’re here long enough. The park is fenced, but it might be hard to keep ’em out. Not so of the monument.”

“Why keep them out?”

“They’re non-native. They can cause lots of damage.”

“They’re more native than cows.”

Jack glanced at Erika. She gave her head a subtle shake.

“Let’s drive up to a place where we might see ’em,” Jack said. “We’ll talk about it there.” He turned to Erika. “Bring any food?”

“Cheese doodles. In the truck. You take the middle.” She waved him toward the door.

He followed her around. “You don’t have real food?”

“Sh-h-h-h. Getting here was more important. Eat later.”

“Haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Good, you need to lose some weight.” She glanced at his belly. “Never mind, you’re skinny as hell.”

Jack slid to the middle, knees against the dash.

Erika climbed in, grabbing the chips off the floor. “Here, food. Which way?”

He pointed north and ripped open the bag.

Claire Prescott settled in, crossed her arms, and frowned, her eyes on the landscape.

Erika pulled the pickup onto the road, headed north.

“All this is managed by BLM, so again, it’d be best to talk to them,” Jack said.

Claire nodded. “Are you sure we’ll see horses?”

“No guarantee, but I saw some an hour ago.”

She nodded, brow furrowed.

“How far?” Erika asked.

“The next high point with a view. Should be able to see for miles.”

The road climbed higher. Erika took a couple of bends and Jack pointed to a turnout. She pulled to a stop and killed the engine. In the foreground, an ocean of sagebrush. Scattered outcroppings and buttes. In the distance, the plateau, rising up to meet the sky. The mouth of the canyon, to the east, only a sliver from this angle. The river, emerging from it, sweeping through a bend, flowing east. Its confluence with another river—from this angle, possibly larger—beyond the hamlet of Las Piedras. Other creek beds cut paths toward both.

“Where do we look?” Claire asked, distracted by the view.

Jack gestured west, across the entirety of the landscape.

“I see a band,” Erika said, pointing left. “There. Not too far.”

A scattering of cattle, and beyond them a knoll, and on it, horses, more than half a dozen. A big grey stud, three or four mares and their young, juveniles and foals. They picked at the ground, moving slowly, the stud watching over them.

Claire stared. “Beautiful. Anything significant about this location? Water?”

“Not much,” Jack said. “We’re in a drought.”

“That’s terrible,” Claire said. “Are they suffering?”

“Remember they’re wild. This is wild country.”

“What does that mean?”

“They’re not livestock. No one’s taking care of ’em.”

“What about the cattle?”

“Unfortunately, the same may be true for them. Most ranchers pulled their cattle, but not that guy.” Jack shook his head. “Even range improvements, stock tanks for example, don’t help much at times like this, but most ranchers are responsible. They take care of their cattle. Horses? . . . uncontrolled populations . . . can cause lots of damage. In a drought, they can die, but maybe not until after they’ve caused their damage.”

“How do you know they’ll cause damage? Didn’t they just get here?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“So you haven’t studied their effects?”

In the distance, a horse—ears back—nipped at another, causing it to back away. It ducked a charge, then stopped outside the group.

“What’s happening? Males challenging each other?”

“I think those are females.” Jack said. He pointed. “The stud’s the big grey over there, but the mare with her ears back, she’s established her dominance over the others. She’s dishing out reminders.”

“Will that one leave?”

“Not likely. She’ll stay with the band. She’ll cope. They’re social, gregarious animals.”

“Beautiful,” Claire said.

Jack exchanged looks with Erika. “Yes,” he said. “But, they have to be managed. Otherwise, they can cause lots of damage.”

“You’ve said that, but I’m told I should take agency arguments with a grain of salt,” Claire said, not looking his way, but twisting a brown strand of hair. “We received advice from a new advocacy group, Wild Horse and Burro Babes. They seem to have money and clout, and to have their act together. Frankly, some of their arguments are hard to ignore.” She pointed. “I’d like to go down there.”

“They won’t stick around.”

“That’s okay. I’d like to get a sense of what this land’s about.” Prescott headed off road, into the desert. She slipped on a cap, casting shade over pale, delicate skin.

Jack and Erika followed.

Twenty minutes later, walking toward the breaks of a creek, they came to an outcropping of sandstone. Slick rock, sloping toward the drainage. Claire veered across the rock.

“I thought you said there’s a drought.” Standing on rock still wet, Prescott pointed at solution holes brimming with water, some several feet wide. “Drought looks over to me.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but we did have rain in here somewhere,” Jack muttered. “Caused a flash flood. Maybe this very creek. Hit the river with a wall of water.”

“Any damage?”

“Coulda killed a few people.”

“I see,” Claire said, dismissively. She spun around, looking. “So, I don’t see reason to be convinced there’s a problem. Horse population. Drought. Any of it.”

“Look at the range,” Jack said. “No grass.”

She appeared to study the ground, then something in the distance. “Let’s move on.”

Beyond a rise, they came to a stock pond, one possibly dry a few hours earlier, now full. Just off the slickrock, hoof prints punctured the mud at the edge of the water. Cattle and horse. Manure piles, some old, most above the water line, wet from rain. The fragrance of freshly wet rabbit brush, growing at the edge of the rock, dampened the smell of urine and manure.

“I want a picture of this,” Prescott said, pulling a camera from a cargo pocket. She approached the water. “Can the two of you stand in the picture? It’ll give me scale and perspective.”

Jack glanced at Erika. Why not?

They stepped onto the mud, avoiding manure, stopping a few feet from water. They spun around.

“That’s fine,” Prescott said. She snapped several shots.

Erika crept forward, mud clumped to her feet. She stopped. Jack tried stepping past her. She grabbed his arm. “Wait,” she muttered, standing on one foot, trying to scrape the mud from the other. She slipped, flailing, her weight on Jack’s arm. He slipped. They landed, flat on their backs, splatting into green sloppy goo.

Claire Prescott doubled over, laughing. “Sorry. I really didn’t plan it that way.”

Erika jumped up, and tried to see her backside. Green covered her bottom, back, and hands.

Jack got to his feet, knowing he looked even worse.

“Two things,” Prescott said. “One, cattle are your problem, not horses. And two, do I have to ride with you two back to the park? You’re gonna smell awful.”

Jack and Erika looked at each other, then at Prescott.

“I’m serious. Do I?”