Sowing on the Mountain

≈ 30 ≈

She slept without dreams or waking, until it was light in the shack, then sat up with a start. Trapper was dead. So there'd be no one to feed his dogs or give them water. O Shit! Why hadn't she thought of that last night?

She lurched up and let Gris out, then sat on the step to watch him as he sniffed and peed and pooped, then came back to the door. "This is tough country for you doggos right now," she said, ruffling his ears.

She made coffee and ate a couple granola bars before setting out to check on Trapper's huskies, leaving Gris in the shack. She put a fencing sledge and a crowbar in the Saab, in case she had to break the lock on the trailer to get at the dog food. It was a beautiful morning, the air clear and moist after the rainstorms, the meadows shining with dew, the river running down the Opening in gleaming meanders. In a place so beautiful, how could there be anything wrong?

She turned into Trapper's road and drove all the way to the cabin, then thought of what Harv had said about booby traps. She got out and looked over the ground for trip wires or anything weird.

But if the guy lied about being in 'Nam, she thought, he probably lied about knowing how to set up booby traps and that shit. Something was strange. No barking. She looked for the huskies and saw no movement at all. Wait.

She jogged over and found a dog lying in a puddle of vomit, eyes rolled back, twitching and paddling his back legs. The rest were dead, contorted in the postures of suffering, still tied to the trees. She fell to her knees and couldn't move for a while.

Then she went to the Saab and got the hammer and crowbar. I should put him out of his misery, she thought, but the idea of using the hammer or crowbar, or her folding knife, made her stomach lurch. She stuck the end of the bar through the hasp and whacked it. It broke. Inside the trailer were a couple bags of dog food and a wood trunk. She opened it: guns. She grabbed a pistol and went over to the struggling dog, aimed just behind its ear, and pulled the trigger. The bang was shockingly loud. The dog twitched and heaved a last bloody sigh.

She went to her knees again, gasping. Head down. Breathe. This is a panic attack. You're not in danger. Breathe. Breathe! She might have blacked out for a while. She opened her eyes and looked at the gun in her hand: black and surprisingly heavy. She turned it and stared into the black hole at the end of the barrel. That's where the death comes out.

What am I doing? she thought, and laid the pistol on the ground, carefully. She stood up and put her hand on a pine, feeling the roughness of the bark. But it felt like someone else's hand. She stood there— how long?

Gris is locked in the shack, she thought. I have to let him out. She turned and walked stiffly towards her car. She froze again with her hand on the roof. It's cold, she thought. That's what happens when you're dead.

Cold. Never warm again.

Move!

Driving was a blur. She opened the wire gate, drove through, then closed it. Horses. Jet's horses raised their heads and looked at her. She drove up and parked next to the stockrack pickup, set the brake, got out. Where was Jet?

She went to the shack and unlocked the door. Gris charged out and she knelt and hugged him so hard that he yelped and tried to escape. Jet came up the trail from the outhouse, around the corner of the shack, and stopped. She started crying and couldn't stand up. Fell on her side in the grit and needles.

He knelt by her and put a hand on her shoulder. Gris scrabbled up and started licking the tears from her face.

"Came down a day early. I heard about the accident," he said. "Sounded pretty bad."

"Not that," she said, and started to cry again. He helped her stand and got her into the shack and flopped her down in a chair. He took out a bandanna and mopped her face, as if she was a child.

"You're okay. Just settle down. I'll make some coffee."

She buried her face in the bandanna, which smelt of his sweat. Of him.

"Slim's on his way down from Jackson," he said. "He's picking up Headley in town. They should be here in an hour or so."

"We have to go meet them," she said.

"Okay. What's the deal?"

"By the road to T-t-t-trappers." It came out in a wail.

"I can go down there," he said, "if you'd rather stay here. What happened?"

"His dogs. They're dead. Poisoned, I think."