7 Wild East (7 page)

The news about the pipeline should have caught fire, but
there hadn’t been a single spark of natural enthusiasm. Doors were closed and
so were faces. Were they so backward that they didn’t know that there could be
money in it for them?

And he wasn’t sure now if he believed that there was a real
Mountie in town—that upstart boy sure hadn’t acted like one. Wouldn’t a genuine
officer of the law been over to take a statement about the theft of the survey
equipment? Maybe they were all crazy. Imagine offering him whisky with
breakfast? Not that he had said no. But if that was how they started every day
it was no bloody wonder they hadn’t made it out of the dark ages.

And all this talk of bears! That was a likely story. Of
course there were bears in Manitoba, but in all his years surveying he had only
seen two and those at a distance. Some people were just scared of everything
wild—needed cast-iron jockstraps before they set foot out of the city. Not him.
He wasn’t a coward.

And they couldn’t make him stay in town if he wanted to
leave. He didn’t have his maps anymore, but he recalled that there was another small
town called Seven Forks that was maybe one or two days’ walk away. He wouldn’t
enjoy being out there alone, but the kid couldn’t come. Even if Mark wasn’t
hurt, he was whiny and lazy, lying around in bed, eating bacon and eggs—good
eggs, real eggs and not powdered that were burned so tough you couldn’t cut
them with a knife—and coffeecake with melting butter—with a pile of books and
crossword puzzles to keep him entertained. The damn kid didn’t even care that
their equipment was missing! Well, he’d make better time without him.

Pete looked around quickly, making sure he wasn’t observed,
and then headed for the nearest thicket of trees.

*  * 
*

I was once again up on my roof, dealing with the moss and
wondering how I could get to Seven Forks without the surveyor or young Thomas
finding out I was gone, when I saw Pete Mitchell sneaking into the forest. He
had bottles of water tucked in his pockets and I knew the idiot was going to
try and walk to the next town.

And being an experienced hiker and able to navigate by the
sun, there was every reason to think that he could make it.

“Damn it.”

Chuck and Thomas were off to see Wendell, and I couldn’t very
well have asked them to bring the surveyor back anyway.

It was a pity I couldn’t conjure up a ferocious bear or some
hungry wolves….

On that thought I looked down and saw Max lying around with
Sisu.

Well, actually I could conjure up some wolves….

I looked around for Ricky but didn’t see him. Usually he was
with Sisu, but maybe she had gotten bored waiting for him to finish breakfast
and come visiting on her own. That was convenient because I couldn’t take the
boy along this time.

I scrambled off the roof and went in to fetch the shotgun.
Just because we hadn’t seen any bears lately, didn’t mean they weren’t there. I
hadn’t been kidding when I told the recruit that I never went into the forest
without Max and a gun.

“Max, Sisu.” I made the palm out gesture that means quiet.
Both dogs were on their feet and looking expectant.

Part of the training that Wendell’s wolf-dogs receive is to
remain silent while in the forest. Unless there is a bear. At that they are to
sing out when given the signal. Sisu was young, but she usually followed Max’s
lead. I had to hope she would this time. I didn’t want to drive the surveyor in
the wrong direction. They needed to be quiet until we got ahead of him.

We needed to flank Pete, to get ahead of him so we could
drive him back toward town instead of deeper into the forest. Fortunately, he was
keeping to the deer path. I knew a faster if rougher route to Potter’s Ridge.

I hurried past the remains of the downed plane that had eventually
brought Chuck—and the Russians—to the Gulch. There had been no way to remove
the wreckage, so it rotted under the bindweed and brambles. Birds were picking
the berry vines clean and they were welcome. We humans were a bit superstitious
and did not harvest fruit from places of violent death, though Ricky had asked
me if we could come pick the berries when they were ripe. I had put him off.
Now they were almost gone.

The morning sun was behind me. In the open spaces I could
see my shadow running ahead, but still easily outpaced by Max and Sisu. There was
still some dew about, gleaming silver where the early sun touched it.

I heard Pete crashing around in the distance and knew we
were pulling ahead. I would stop at the ravine that bordered Sasquatch
territory. There was a kind of cliff wall on the far side. One got amazing
echoes there. Two wolves could sound like twenty as the stone bounced the noise
around and then sent it back toward town greatly and eerily amplified. Anyone in
town who was outside would hear it. Hopefully they would recognize that it was
Max and Sisu and not be alarmed. Wendell certainly would and he would probably
come around to ask what the heck I’d been doing to his carefully trained dogs.

*  * 
*

Pete froze completely when he heard the first wolf howl. A moment
later another voice joined in and then it seemed like dozens of animal voices.
He had stopped walking to pull a tick off of his arm.

Damned deer trail
, he’d thought.
There were bound
to be ticks
. But he wasn’t thinking anything now. He just wanted to know
where the howls were coming from and keep away from them—but he couldn’t tell.
The noise was everywhere, all around him.

Except back toward town.

Pete abandoned the trail, hoping for a shortcut through the
woods and brambles.

*  * 
*

Max and Sisu were having a grand time, howling at the tops
of their voices and enjoying their operatic echoes. I couldn’t hear what Pete
was doing above the yowling and decided that I should climb up a tree. If he
was still on the deer trail I should be able to see him.

I hadn’t gotten five feet off the ground when I heard the
screaming.

“Beeeaaaaar!”

I dropped to the ground, grabbed my shotgun, whistled for
the wolves, and started running toward the surveyor, praying he was wrong about
seeing a bear but having the horrible feeling that he might not be. There had
been too much terror in his voice.

The surveyor was lucky. The bear was a young female, more
interested in her patch of berries than in chasing a smelly old human.

I had to order the dogs not to rush her because they were
snarling and ready to try and take her down. Though small as compared to a male,
two wolves couldn’t bring her down. I had a gun and would use it if I had to—but
only if I had to.

After a moment of annoyance, the bear finally decided that
she had had enough of the racket and began ambling off in the direction of
Wendell’s house.

I was relieved, though did not let my guard down. If one
bear had come to town for the late berries there could be others.

The dogs were disappointed that I wouldn’t let them chase
her and kept whining, but
no harm, no foul
, as they say in sporting
circles. I wasn’t going to kill the animal just because she had a sweet tooth.

It took a stern voice, but eventually Max and Sisu decided
to obey and followed me back to town. I was lavish with my praise. They had
done all that I asked and deserved a treat. I had some dried venison.

*  * 
*

“What is that racket?” the Flowers demanded of Big John,
putting down her paintbrush. They were applying varnish to one of the tables
that had been damaged in the fire last spring.

“It sounds like Max and Sisu,” he answered after a moment.

“They must be at Butterscotch’s cabin. I should go fetch
Ricky. I know he loves being with the Mountie, but Chuck is probably busy with
the new recruit.”

“You go ahead. I can finish here.”

*  * 
*

“Where’s Ricky?” the Flowers demanded as I emerged from the
woods behind the panicked surveyor whose chipmunk cheeks were bright red with
exertion and whip marks from low tree limbs. He had run out of breath from
screaming and running and was bent over wheezing. I hoped he didn’t have a weak
heart.

“Ricky?” I said blankly.

“He’s not with you? But there’s Sisu and…. Then the bear
really is….” The Flowers went from a shade of buttermilk to the green you find
growing on old cheese. I jumped forward as she collapsed, glad that there was
something inside the dress that folded in half as it fell to the ground because
for a moment it had looked empty.

“Pete!” I said sharply to the shaken and gasping surveyor.
“Go to the inn. Tell Big John that Ricky is missing and we need the search
parties. Go on! Run!”

The wheezing surveyor obeyed as best he could. I slapped
gently at Judy’s cheeks wishing I had some water or smelling salts. I was
giving her one minute to revive and then I was taking the dogs back into the
forest whether she was awake or not. Her eyes finally fluttered open and she
moaned. I rolled her onto her side so she could be sick.

“Your father is bringing help,” I said as I held back her
hair. “I am taking Max and Sisu into the woods right now. Ricky is probably
looking for Sisu and following her tracks to Potter’s Ridge. That
isn’t
where the bear was. I saw it. It ran the opposite way, heading toward Wendell’s.
You tell everyone that when they get here. The bear is going toward Wendell’s cabin.
Now you pull yourself together, woman. Ricky is fine.”

Doc and Linda hurried out of their house.

“Doc, look after the Flowers. Linda, get a rifle and come
with me. Ricky’s in the woods.”

“I thought someone was screaming about a bear,” Doc said. He
was carrying his medical bag.

“There is one—a young female. The surveyor panicked when he
saw it. It’s okay, the bear went the other way.”

Everything I said was true but it was also deceptive. There
was no reason that the bear couldn’t turn right around and go back to her
newfound berry patch. I was trying not to hand Judy any more bad news, but
Ricky being in the woods without even a dog wasn’t good, and putting the bulletin
on a silver tray with lace doilies didn’t change it.

I looked at Doc over Judy’s head, willing him to keep quiet
about any conclusions he might draw. Linda was already running for a gun.

I got up, unable to wait any longer.

“Max, Sisu—go find Ricky!” We had played this game before
and they loved the canine hunter’s version of hide-and-seek. This time we were looking
in deadly earnest.

Linda reappeared with a rifle. She moved quickly for a woman
of fifty.

“Tell the others we are going toward Potter’s Ridge but will
follow the dogs wherever they lead. Send small teams east, north, and south,
but most of them should head toward Wendell’s or the Ridge. We’ll fire a shot
in the air when we find him.” I didn’t add that more than one shot meant we
were dealing with an aggressive bear.

The Bones nodded and knelt by Judy who was trying to stand
up. Her color was slightly better but a long way from healthy. Up the street I
saw Big John coming. He had Fiddling Thomas, Pete, and the Wings with him. They
were all armed. The market’s front door opened and Little Davy appeared, also
armed.

“Go! Big noise, Max! Big noise!” I shouted to the dogs when
they paused at the tree line, waving an arm at the forest. They needed no
second invitation but ran on into the trees howling dramatically. Normally I
would make the dogs stay with me, but they could get to Ricky long before
anyone else could and they were his only defense if the bear came back. Let
them bay like hellhounds and keep the bear away. We would just have to track
their prints and make damn sure we didn’t lose them in the forest. I’m pretty
good at tracking. Linda is even better.

There wasn’t time to fall on my knees and pray for Ricky’s
deliverance, but the impulse was strong. I would have to settle for a less
coherent prayer while running.

Let him be with Chuck. Two Mounties and Wendell would
keep him safe.

And if he wasn’t with them then we would find him—and
everything would be fine
.

*  * 
*

The Wings was sitting at a corner table in the Lonesome
Moose, trying to wrap his brain around the manual he was supposedly studying.
He was sure that he would do okay with his test once he was in the air—after
all he’d had these checks before and they were usually nothing. But reading the
book made him uneasy. They sure had thought up a lot of regulations since he
got his license. How was a man supposed to remember all these rules?

He looked up as a stranger, dangerously red in the face,
burst through the door.

“Bear,” he gasped. “Boy in the woods—Big John.”

It wasn’t coherent but the Wings got the point and shouted
for the mayor. He reached under the table for his rifle.

“The gun cabinet is over there,” he told the surveyor. “Get
a rifle.”

Then he went to the phone and cranked in triplets until his
cousin, Fiddling Thomas, picked up. Once again the phone tree was activated and
this time it wasn’t to call a town meeting.

*  * 
*

Thomas may have doubted the bear stories were real earlier
that morning but he didn’t doubt them now. Even before the call came on the old
crank phone, Wendell said he recognized the distant howling as that of
Butterscotch’s Max and the boy’s puppy, Sisu.

“It sounds like they’ve spotted a bear.” Chuck lost his
color at Wendell’s words. He said something in Gaelic and Wendell shrugged.

“Probably.”

The ancient sound sent shudder after shudder down Thomas’s
long spine. He had wondered if someone was pulling his leg with those fake bear
tracks, trying to deter him from interacting with the surveyors who he
suspected were the object of some organized plot. But both Wendell and
Detective Goodhead were far too grim for this to be any kind of a joke and not
even the best actor can make himself go white on demand.