Spirit Horses (34 page)

“Nah, they just like to stay out of sight; they’ll
keep close.”

JB stepped up on his horse as he spoke. “Tigee told
us to keep a low profile. Those damn dogs better not give up our position to
the horse hunters if we get into a situation.”

“Don’t worry, they have too much wolf in them to
bark at anything.” Shane knew if they encountered any trouble this weekend,
Butch and Jessie might be of some help.

The rain came down hard that afternoon, but luckily,
it didn’t last too long. All of their gear would have a chance to dry out
before the cooler night air was upon them. It took about two hours to get to
the high ridge where JB, Hawk, and Tara’s brothers had set up camp.

This was the perfect place to keep an eye on things.
It had easy access to and from the lower ground. The best part was that the
narrow trail on the far side of the hill next to them formed the north entrance
to the valley. This was where hunters would park their trucks and trailers.

“We have plenty of trees and cover between us and
their
unloading area,” Hawk said, “but we’ll still be able to hear their
vehicles if they come in. We’ll know they’re here before they even get out of
their trucks.”

The camp the Indians had set up was just a lean-to
built on the side of an undercut rock ledge. It didn’t look like much but would
serve as a good, dry cover. A light wind was blowing out of the north, which
would allow them to build a fire tonight. Any smoke would blow in the opposite
direction of the poachers’ parking area.

“I’m going hunting,” said JB. “I saw sheep tracks on
our way in. I’ll try to find us one for our dinner.” He went alone and on foot
but took his rifle and a compound bow with a quiver full of arrows. “He’ll
shoot the sheep with his bow,” Hawk said. “It won’t make a noise and give away
our position.”

Hawk slapped Shane on the shoulder in a friendly
manner and said, “Grab your rifle and binoculars and follow me.” He explained
the position of the camp. “From where we are now, we can see a lot of the west
side of the valley. The ridge we’re on comes to a point about a half mile
southeast of our base camp. From this side of the point, we’ll have a good view
to the south. Once we work our way around the high rock wall that forms the
point, we’ll be able to see the Wind River a long way off to the east. There’s
plenty of cover down there,” he added, “but we’ll still have a good view of
most of the trails and the grazing areas on this whole north end of the
valley.”

The path they started out on worked its way up and
away from the camp. At one place they climbed an eight-foot-high crevice
between two rock ledges. When they got to the top of the crevice, it was an
easy quarter-mile walk through woods on good solid ground. As they approached
the point, the southwestern view of the valley below slowly began to emerge.
Magnificent scenery had become a common sight for Shane, but no one, not even
Hawk, who had grown up here, could help but stop and take a minute to gaze down
into this natural wonder. It seemed like you could see forever and the view of
the valley below left Shane in awe. The six-hundred-foot drop to the bottom
from this high cliff, called Devil’s Point,
startled him. Hawk laughed as Shane’s natural fear of heights caused him to
gasp and step back from the edge.

“Holy shit,” he said as Hawk showed him the narrow
ledge they’d be moving across to get around the point. It was about thirty feet
long on each side of the point, making it a total of sixty feet to safe ground
on the other side. The scary part wasn’t the length; it was the
one-and-a-half-foot width between the drop off and the high rock wall behind
it. Scaling this obstacle was the only way to get around to the other side.

“Just stay close to the wall and don’t look down,”
said Hawk. Shane took a deep breath and followed Hawk out onto the narrow
ledge. His legs felt weak, and his heart raced as they made their way around
the point to the east side. “See, there’s nothing to it. Now, look down at the
river and this side of the valley, and tell me it wasn’t worth risking your
life to see this.”

Shane took a deep breath as he tried to regain his
composure, and then looked to where Hawk was pointing. Down in an open meadow
near the Big Wind River, was the herd of mustangs. Hawk looked at Shane and
said, “I don’t know if Tara or Tigee told you, but the older ones in our tribe
call them the spirit horses. The Shoshone words for this are
Mukua dehee’ya nee.
The old
ones believe they will carry us to where we will cross over into the next life
when we die.”

“Yes, I’ve heard this.”

“Take a look at that palomino stallion,” Hawk said,
as they both raised their binoculars to look down at the herd. He’s a
three-year-old son of a different stallion than Naatea. Ivan and Willie told me
that he’s been getting bolder with Naatea over the last week. I think he may
challenge the old stud for head of the herd soon.”

Just then, the young stallion, who was still about
seventy-five yards away from Naatea, started rearing and striking out with his
front feet. The young horse was screaming so loud Shane and Hawk could hear it
up on the ridge. Then the young palomino started kicking out wildly with his
back legs.

“Looks like he’s working up nerve to do it right
now,” Shane
remarked.

Hawk smiled and nodded as they watched. The horse
settled down only long enough to get his breath before aggressively pawing the
ground with his right front foot and then charging toward Naatea. Now both
stallions were screaming as Naatea bravely charged back to meet the younger
one, head on. The two soon met violently, mingling into a blur of teeth and
hooves. This was a desperate fight for control of the herd. A fight that was as
old as time itself.

Naatea had been challenged
many times before and had the
advantage of experience on his side. He also had a heart as big as the valley
of which he had been king for many years. The palomino sported youth and
flexibility as well as an unwavering desire to win. He felt it was his turn to
be top dog. Naatea knew he needed to overpower the young horse quickly in order
to retain his status. For every move the palomino tried to make on Naatea, the
older stud would have a counter. Finally, Naatea’s savvy prevailed. A crushing
blow by both his back feet made solid contact with the palomino’s left
shoulder, which sent him away with a heavy limp. Naatea knew the younger
stallion would try again as soon as his wounds had healed. The next time might
have a different outcome, but for now the old king reared high in the air. As
he stood on his back haunches, he gave his victory call�—�like he
had done so many times before. The sound of this call echoed across the valley
and sent chills up Shane’s spine
.

“He’s a hell of a horse,” Shane remarked, still
looking through his binoculars.

“He’s mellowed some in his old age,” replied Hawk.
“In his younger days, he would have chased down that palomino after the fight
and worked him over again. But the coolest thing about old Naatea is, if he
needed to, he’d sacrifice his own life to save that same palomino, even after
this fight. He learned this from his own father who he defeated years ago for
the position. Hopefully, the younger stallion, who will someday take over, will
have learned this kind of character from Naatea.

“There’s a story my father told me about Naatea’s
sire. It happened when the old stallion was nearing the end of his reign.
During the heat of a battle to retain his position as leader of the herd, a
pair of mountain lions attacked a mare and foal nearby. The two stallions both
stopped in the middle of their fight to go after the cougars. The younger
stallion broke his neck and was killed while they were defending the other
horses. I was told Naatea’s father stayed next to the dead challenger’s body
for days without food or water, mourning his death.”

Shane watched the stallion a minute longer, then
Hawk patted him on the back. “Come on, let’s head back around the point.”

 
“
All right, let’s go,” Shane
said as he stood and put his binoculars back in the case hanging around his
neck. He carefully followed Hawk back around the narrow ledge, breathing a sigh
of relief as he made it to the other side. Shane tried his best not to show the
intense anxiety he was working through even though he’d made it around to solid
ground again. Hawk gestured quietly for Shane’s attention and pointed down to
some activity that was moving at a fast pace underneath the cover below them.
The two watched through their binoculars until they caught a quick glimpse of
what it was. JB had gotten his bighorn sheep and was heading toward camp with
it slung over his shoulders. Even with the extra hundred plus pounds to burden
him, he kept at a fast, smooth stride as he moved skillfully and quietly
through the woods.

“Look over there,” Hawk said as he raised his
glasses to his eyes. Shane lifted his binoculars and pointed them in the same
direction as Hawk’s. It took him a minute to spot the medium-sized creature
that was moving across an open field toward a small creek.

“Is that a wolverine?” Shane asked.

“Yep, we call them badgers around here. Pound for
pound that’s the toughest and meanest animal in this valley. I’d almost rather tangle
with a bear than one of those things. That’s the animal that ole Johnny Badger,
or JB, got his name from, and believe me, if you ever see him in a fight,
you’ll find out he definitely lives up to it.”

The time the two spent watching the badger and other
wildlife at Devil’s Point had allowed JB to make it to camp ahead of them.

From their position at the top of the rock wall,
which was half way back, they could see JB below them. Hawk motioned for Shane
to stop, sit, and watch JB. The Indian slowly dropped to his knees next to the
animal he’d recently killed. He raised his hands to the sky and looked upward
as he chanted. The two men watched him slide a knife out of his deerskin
sheath. He held the knife in his open hands and lifted it above the sheep while
he finished his prayer. Then he cut the animal open and did something very
disturbing to Shane. JB, still on his knees, skillfully cut out the heart, held
it up to the sky, and cried out with a short, yelping sound. Then he brought
the raw heart to his mouth and took a small bite.

“What the hell is he doing that for?” Shane asked.

Hawk smiled and said, “To our people, that is the
highest form of respect we can show for the animal’s life he has just taken for
our meal. I told you JB is hardcore Shoshone. He prefers the old ways, and,
just like that badger we saw, he is also a great warrior. One that should be
feared.” Shane shook his head as he watched JB dressing out the animal with the
blood from the heart still on his mouth.

“Well, I have to tell you, he’s scaring the hell out
of me, just watching him eat that.”

Hawk laughed. “Come on, let’s head down to camp.”

Chapter 22

When they made it back to camp, Hawk and Shane helped prepare the fresh
meat. The two dogs caught wind of the sheep and showed their faces for the
first time since they’d bailed out of the truck bed.

Butch and Jessie were very cautious around JB and
Hawk. Both men had bold personalities, which made the dogs hesitant to come
near. But the scent of a fresh kill had overridden their cautious attitudes and
brought them out of the shadows.

Shane was surprised when JB offered the dogs some
meat. Butch hesitated for a second and then slowly took the food from JB’s
hand. Jessie only came within a few feet of him, then patiently waited until JB
threw a piece in his direction.

As dusk fell over the valley, a cool breeze began to
blow at their campsite on the high cliff. The break from the afternoon heat was
a welcome change.

While the meat cooked, Hawk pulled out a bottle of
good blended whiskey from his saddlebag. He poured them each a stout drink in
their tin coffee cups. “You ever eat sheep before?” Hawk asked Shane.

“Nope,” he answered.

“Well, you’re in for a real treat. As far as the
wild game out here goes, a nice young ram is about as good as it gets.” After
dinner, they sat around the fire, and Hawk generously poured them each a
couple more drinks of his whiskey. The liquor helped loosen the mood between
Shane and the two Indians.

Shane learned that JB had been a Marine and did a
tour of duty in Desert Storm. Hawk boasted about his friend and told Shane that
JB had received a Medal of Honor and a Purple Heart from his
actions in combat. “He was a forward scout when he sneaked up on and took out a
whole squad of Iraqi’s, lying in wait to ambush his company. He saved a lot of
Americans that day.” JB looked a little put out, and quickly changed the
subject. “How about you, what’s your story?”