Wilder Boys (16 page)

“Gather round,” he told them. “I want to show you this.”

The boys squatted down next to a large flat rock held up by a trio of sticks and arranged like the number four, with one of the sticks anchored into the ground.

“How is that thing even holding up the rock?” Taylor asked, studying the design.

“Pure physics,” Skeet said. “By cutting the notches in the right way, you create a trigger. When a rabbit or some
other critter comes to check out the bait on the part of the stick under the rock, it knocks all the sticks loose, letting the rock fall.”

“But you didn't catch anything in this one,” Taylor said.

Skeet grunted. “No. Was hoping for a rabbit, but I was in a hurry. Maybe the rabbit smelled me.”

“Smelled you?” Jake asked.

“Yeah. When you set a trap, you have to do your best to cover your scent. I usually rub my hands and the parts of the trap in dirt or against a piece of charred wood from a fire. You can also find yourself a sage plant and rub the leaves over your skin, but with my bad arm here, I skipped that today. Anyway, go ahead and trigger this thing.”

Taylor picked up a short dead tree branch and carefully pressed down on the baited end of the stick under the trap. In an instant, the rock slammed down on the ground. Jake and Taylor flinched and looked at each other, their mouths open.

“Wow!” said Taylor. “That trap really works!”

“Why'd you want to trigger it?” asked Jake.

“Well, we wouldn't be back to check it again until morning. By that time something else would probably eat anything we killed. Also, these traps don't always kill an animal right away. We wouldn't want an animal to suffer all night if it's only injured.”

They left the trap and began walking through more trees.

“There are other kinds of traps, aren't there?” Jake asked as they walked. “I've read about snare traps before.”

“Oh yeah,” Skeet answered. “There're all kinds of snares, from spring-loaded snares to drag snares to simple snares that just hold an animal. I don't like to use 'em, though.”

“Why not?” Taylor asked. “Don't they work?”

“Oh, they work great, but they don't usually kill the animal outright. Animals can get caught and struggle for hours—sometimes days. These deadfall traps I set up usually kill an animal instantly. It doesn't suffer. Speaking of which . . .”

Skeet again slowed as they approached another boulder.

“Looks like we might get lucky here,” Skeet said. “You fellas, lift up that rock. I had a heck of a time just setting up this one with my hurt arm.”

Together the boys lifted up the rock to find a dead animal under it.

“Whoa!” Taylor exclaimed. “A rabbit!”

“Snowshoe hare, actually,” Skeet said. “Boys, meet your dinner.”

“I thought snowshoe hares were white,” Jake said as Cody stepped forward to sniff the dead mammal.

“Only in winter. That brown fur is its summer coloration. One of you boys, carry it while we check our last trap.”

The last trap was empty, so Jake sprang it, and the trapping party headed back to the cabin. By the time they returned, only the horizon retained a bluish glow, but the
temperature remained pleasant as Jupiter and Saturn appeared in the sky overhead.

“It's a nice night,” Skeet said. “Good night to dine out. Taylor, you seem handy with a fire. Get one started in the pit while I instruct Jake in the fine art of cleaning a rabbit.”

“Aw, no fair,” Taylor said.

“Me?” Jake asked, looking at Skeet. “I've never cleaned anything except fish.”

“Good time for you to learn. Besides, it's a two-handed job. Take the hare over to the chopping block while I get some knives.”

Skeet fetched a small cleaver as well as a sharper knife with a thin blade, and brought them out to the chopping block—a pine stump located apart from the cabin. He also brought a kerosene lantern with him and hung it on a nearby branch.

“I do all my gutting and cleaning out here,” he said. “Keeps the critters away from the cabin. So, let's get started. There're several ways to clean a rabbit—any animal, actually. Since we're all hungry, let's do it fast and dirty tonight. Pick up that cleaver and chop off its legs and head.”

Jake looked down at the snowshoe hare. “Are you serious?”

“I am—unless you want to eat the head and the feet, that is. Just make sure you don't chop off any of your fingers while you do it. Small swings.”

Jake picked up the cleaver and experimented with
positioning the hare the best way. Then he cut off the animal's front legs.

“Now the hind legs,” Skeet said, watching him work. “Not all the way, just at the elbow joint there. Good. Now the head.”

Jake's stomach lurched as he brought the blade down on the hare's neck. Even worse, the head didn't come off.

“You might need a couple of whacks there,” Skeet explained. “Just keep your eyes on it and your left hand well clear.”

With another two whacks, the hare's head rolled away from its body.

“Toss the head and the legs in that bucket there.”

Jake followed his orders, then glanced over at Taylor, who already had a fire crackling. “Now what?”

“Gotta skin it,” said Skeet. “Using the other knife, stretch out the skin at the base of the belly so you can pierce it without stabbing the meat or internal organs. Now slit it all the way up to the rabbit's neck. Once you've done that, just peel. That's it. One nice thing about rabbits is their skin peels away easily.”

“I thought you said this was a hare,” said Jake.

“Don't be a wise ass,” Skeet said with a grin. “Time to get the guts out.”

Following Skeet's instructions, Jake proceeded to remove the hare's internal organs. He thought he might throw up as he pulled the intestines out of the animal, but
then he realized it wasn't that much different than gutting a fish—just a little messier and smellier. As a last step, Skeet had him remove the very hind end of the hare, where its bladder was still attached.

“Just throw that section away,” he said. “Not worth messing with. Good. Now, all you gotta do is cut the hare up into pieces, and we're ready to make some stew.”

While Jake chopped up carrots and potatoes, Skeet sent Taylor to a nearby stream with a flashlight to pull and wash some wild scallions. Jake fried the carrots and scallions in a pan and then tossed them into a larger pot with the potatoes, the rabbit, and a jar of home-canned tomatoes from the shelves in the cabin. Taylor hung the pot on an iron pole that Skeet had rigged over the fire pit.

“Now,” said Skeet, “all we have to do is wait.”

The boys pulled wooden chairs around the fire and sat down, one on either side of Skeet. Cody lay down at Taylor's feet and let out a big sigh. Skeet and the boys laughed, but Jake knew exactly how Cody was feeling. It felt good to let his guard down. Even though he and Taylor had only known Skeet for less than a day, Jake felt he could trust this man. Even better, Skeet had knowledge the boys needed.

Skeet seemed to be reading Jake's thoughts.

“So, boys,” he said. “What's the story?”

“Well, uh, we kinda had some trouble back home,” Jake said.

Skeet nodded. “Figured. And where was home?”

“Pittsburgh,” Taylor blurted out.

To his credit, Skeet didn't press them on more details. Instead he said, “So what, you two thought you'd come out to the Wild West, live the life of mountain men?”

“Yeah, uh, something like that,” said Jake.

Skeet mulled this over for a moment. “Well,” he said, “don't take this the wrong way, boys, but I gotta tell you, it's a miracle you've lasted as long as you have. Your packs look fine for a day hike, but with what little gear you've got, you're lucky you haven't frozen or starved to death.”

“We went to summer camp last year,” Taylor said, “and were going to go again this year when—”

Jake cut him off, saying, “It's true we could use some help.”

Skeet glanced at Taylor, then over at Jake. “Well, boys, since you saved my life, I got a proposal for you. You each have two good arms and I could use some help around here. How about you stick around for a couple of days while I teach you some basic survival skills?”

Jake quickly did some calculations in his head. He was eager to find his father, and the summer wasn't getting any longer.

But Skeet's right. Me and Taylor have been lucky so far. We need to know more to survive out here.

Taylor eagerly leaned forward in his chair. “Jake, that sounds good to me. Whaddya say?”

Jake nodded. “That would be okay.”

“Good,” Skeet said. “I gotta ask you a couple of questions
first, though. You're not in trouble with the law, are you?”

Jake was debating how to answer that, when Taylor said, “Shoot, no. We're not criminals.”

“Good. The other thing . . .,” Skeet said. “Are your parents looking for you?”

“Mom's sick, in the hospital,” Taylor said. “She probably doesn't even know we're gone.”

Skeet thought some more. “Well, if we're going to do this, you have to let your mother know you're safe, okay?”

“We will,” Jake assured him.

“Good. Now, it smells like that stew's about ready.”

Taylor and Jake dished up food for themselves, Skeet, and Cody.

“Man, this is the best thing I've ever tasted!” Jake exclaimed, shoving a chunk of meat into his mouth.

Taylor said, “Jake, can you believe we're eatin' rabbit?”

“Hare,” Jake corrected him.

“Maybe tomorrow we can start by teaching you how to build a deadfall trap so you can catch your own food.”

“That'd be good,” said Jake. “Only thing is, we'll probably be moving around a lot. We won't have time to just sit around and check our traps.”

“Yeah,” Taylor said before Jake could stop him. “We've gotta find Dad before fall—”

Taylor froze, realizing that he'd just given away their real purpose for being in Wyoming. Jake rolled his eyes and moaned. “Taylor . . .”

“Sorry, Jake,” Taylor said, looking guilty.

Skeet stared at the boys. “You're looking for your father? Is that why you're out here?”

Jake sighed. “Yeah.”

“Care to fill me in?”

“He came out here years ago,” Taylor explained. “He wanted us to join him, but Mom didn't want to come. Then she got mixed up with her lousy boyfriend, Bull, who beats her up. That's why she's in the hospital, and that's why we came out here.”

Skeet leaned forward in his chair. “Well, where is your dad now?”

“We don't know.”

“He came out here looking for some kind of lost valley,” Jake continued. “We have a letter from him saying that he found it, but he only gave us a few clues on how to find him.”

Skeet stroked his salt-and-pepper beard as he stared into the fire. “This man. When did he first come out here?”

“Seven years ago,” said Jake.

Skeet's black eyes suddenly darted toward Jake and bored into him.

Jake squirmed. “What? What is it?”

Skeet returned his gaze to the fire and leaned back in his chair. Finally he said, “Your father. I think I met him.”

20
“What?” the boys shouted so loudly, Cody leaped to his feet.

“Where? When did you see him?” Taylor demanded.

“Now, don't get too excited,” Skeet said. “It was a long time ago. Over the years, I've met plenty of crackpots around here. A lot of 'em come to Wyoming looking for just the kind of paradise your father talked about. And most of 'em didn't know an ax from a baton.

“About six, seven years ago, though, I was tracking wolves up near Yellowstone. I was following a small pack ten miles from the nearest trail, when I ran into this guy. We camped together one night, and after dinner he started talking about his family back east somewhere and this lost valley he was searching for. To be honest, I didn't put much
stock in it, but this guy seemed to know a lot about the outdoors, and I enjoyed his company. The next morning we parted ways and I never saw him again.”

“But,” Jake said, “you said you've met a lot of people out here looking for paradise or something like that. How do you know it was our father?”

Skeet took his gaze from the fire. “Because,” he said, “your names—Jake and Taylor—I knew that combo sounded familiar. He talked about you two.”

“Wh-whoa!” Taylor sputtered. “Can you help us find him?”

Skeet shook his head. “I hate to say it, but probably not. This is big country, and finding your father would be like finding a shotgun pellet on a beach. You said he left you some clues?”

“In a letter,” Jake said.

“Well, then, you've probably got a better idea of where to look than I do.”

Taylor jumped to his feet. “Jake, we have to get out of here and keep looking! Dad's close! I know he is!”

Skeet held up his good hand. “Now, just a minute, fellas. I want you to find your dad. But like I said before, you're lucky you even made it this far. You need to prepare. How about a deal: you promise to stick around for a few days—long enough so I can teach you a few more survival skills and get you set up properly—then I'll take you wherever you want to go.”

“Jake, what do you think?” Taylor asked.

The thought of finding their father set Jake's heart pounding.

But Skeet's right. We need to be better prepared. Smarter. Also, maybe Skeet will think of a way to figure out where Dad is.

“Okay, deal,” Jake said to Skeet. “We'll stay a week. Then you'll help point us in the right direction.”

Skeet's face relaxed. “Good. We'll start tomorrow.”