Lionhearts (Denver Burning Book 5) Page 7

  Sarah shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like justice to me, Murph. It sounds illegal. I hope your church friends aren’t getting into anything that will cause trouble later on.”

  Amy abruptly stood. “I guess I’d better get going if I want to get back in time to help with anything this morning. See you later, Mom.” She kissed Sarah and went out the back door without looking at Jess.

  Jess stood to leave as well. “Chickens won’t feed themselves, unfortunately,” she mumbled, echoing one of Walt’s favorite phrases as she headed out to the backyard. Sarah felt a pang for her absent husband.

  When the girls were gone, Jim turned to Sarah. “I know you’ve got a shotgun in here, and a probably a couple of rifles. But maybe you should carry a pistol whenever you go out, Sarah.”

  Sarah grimaced. The only handgun that Walt had left her was a little .22 they occasionally used to put down animals. “Well, I’ll keep the shotgun handy, anyway.”

  “You do that. Even if you don’t hit anything, the sound of it will either scare somebody off, or bring one of us running.” He shrugged his jacket on and Murph followed him out the door to get started on a few steers that needed attention which they hadn’t gotten to the night before.

  Sarah quickly washed the dishes, remembering to express gratitude for blessings as simple as running water. A member of her own church congregation had come around to all the houses that had shallow wells and offered to help get their pumps working. With shallow wells he helped install a manual plunger pump made out of PVC pipe, but in Sarah’s case he took advantage of the discovery that underground pumps had been largely unaffected by the grid-down disaster and could still be connected to a windmill or solar panel. The day after Walt left, Sarah had Jim and Murph disassemble the old windmill by the cattle’s troughs and put it up by the well. Once the helpful church member had gotten it wired up correctly, it had worked just fine ever since.

  But as grateful as she was determined to be, her mind came back to what Murph had said about a militia and the lack of law and order in the area. She had a lot of fear in her, fear for the girls’ safety, fear about her ability to defend the ranch against nebulous threats, and fear for her other children. It was all she could do to push the fear away for another day and concentrate on what she could do instead of what she couldn’t control.

  Chapter 11: Across Open Country

  It had already been off-season when Yellowstone was abandoned, and there were only a few vehicles left on the side of the roads to indicate that the place had ever seen people. Most of them were rangers’ trucks and park services vans. But Walt and his two sons noticed one minivan with stick-figure bumper stickers showing several small children. They hoped the family had made it somewhere safe before the wolves, the weather, or the wilderness swallowed them up.

  The park was gorgeous, the air clear and fresh, and the wildlife coming out to look at the three lonely visitors with far less trepidation than usual. The afternoon after parting ways with Jimmy, the Leonhardt men spotted two moose, several herds of wandering bison, and a female grizzly. The horses balked at the sight and scent of the bear even though it was two hundred yards away, and their riders kept their rifles handy as they hurried onward past the bear’s foraging grounds.

  “I’m sure glad our gunpowder wasn’t affected by whatever took out all the cars and machines,” Liam remarked.

  “True that, brother,” Mike replied, hefting the shotgun Liam had loaned him. “Without these, we’d be in medieval times. Sounds like the premise for a really dumb nerd movie.”

  They traveled quickly across the abandoned park, with Liam (the lightest) taking turns riding double on each of the horses. They had to keep a manageable pace and take frequent breaks, both for the horse’s sake and for Liam’s—riding bareback behind the saddle was no fun. But they still managed to make it past the lake and well into the mountains along the Yellowstone river before camping.

  The next day they stopped traveling east, which would have taken them deep into the mountains, and headed due south for two days until they finally left the park. Winding their way out of the foothills, they arrived at the highway that would take them east into the Wind River Reservation.

  After surveying the little community of Dubois through binoculars, they decided to bypass it. The chances of getting another horse were slim; they had little to barter with, and might even become a target. It would be too easy for an unscrupulous person to follow them a few miles out of town, shoot them from behind, and take their horses and weapons.

  “What’s our plan once we get to Denver?” Mike asked as they road through the hills south of the highway. “How are we going to find Tara?”

  “Well, I think we just start at her apartment,” Walt said, “and go from there.”

  “But what if she didn’t stick around? What if she’s heading out of town as we speak?”

  “I doubt she would do that, for one thing,” Walt replied. “And anyway, we’ll just ask around. It may not be easy, but the one thing we have going for us is that in a city with that many people, you can’t just disappear. Someone will have seen her. We’ll ask which direction she was headed, go that way and ask around some more.”

  “That’s a major intelligence gathering operation, Dad. You’re potentially talking about interrogation,” Mike said. “We don’t know what condition the city will be in. People may not want to talk to us.”

  Walt’s mouth was set in a grim line. “We’ll found out what we need to know, one way or another. We’re not leaving without Tara.”

  As they entered the Indian Reservation that afternoon, Liam was impressed by the desolation of the land on either side of the road.

  “Where are all the people? So far, this looks like the Wind River nature preserve, not a reservation. There’s not even a farm field in sight.”

  “There will be,” Walt said. “These towns are pretty small, sometimes just a couple of ranch buildings together. But I imagine they’ve weathered this crisis better than many bigger cities that rely on enormous amounts of power.”

  “Aren’t we trespassing?” Mike wanted to know. “I think it will be pretty obvious we’re not members of the tribe, in spite of us riding horseback.”

  “There are a couple of tribes here, but actually the biggest town up ahead, Riverton, is mostly white,” Walt told his son. “I’ve traveled through here a couple times before.”

  “To visit the casinos?” Mike asked with a grin. He knew his dad was against gambling on principle. Walt had forbidden his children even to play poker.

  “On business. I did a cattle deal with a man in Riverton once. Anyway, most of the rural communities are heavily Indian. But they’re like any other ranching area. As long as we stick to the highway, we’re within our rights. We may need to camp pretty close to the road until we figure out how welcome the locals are to travelers. And I don’t want to go to Riverton. I didn’t have any trouble when I was here last, but I have heard it can be a pretty violent place with lots of crime. Probably not somewhere we want to be while the police force is crippled. We’ll turn south before we come to it.”

  The next day they left the larger highway and headed south toward Fort Washakie, and it wasn’t long after that when they realized they were being followed. Two men on horses were behind them, but none of the three Leonhardts could figure out how long they’d been there. The horsemen stayed a quarter mile back, moving along with them and quietly observing.

  “They’re sure to be armed,” Walt said. “They’d be fools not to. But they haven’t made an aggressive move yet, and if we don’t stray from the road, maybe they’ll just watch us go on through. If they were bandits, I think they’d have attacked by now.”

  But when the Leonhardts stopped at the side of a creek for a rest and a bite of beef jerky, the two riders closed with them.

  “Stay near the horses,” Walt told his sons. “Keep both hands on the animals, and don’t make a move for a gun unless those men fire at us.”

&nb
sp; One rider hung back by the road while the other approached and stopped several paces away. Both men were obviously Native Americans. They carried rifles, but kept them pointed skyward, and neither dismounted. The closer one wore a cowboy hat, the one by the road a simple bandana to keep the sun off his neck.

  “We’d like to talk to you for just a minute,” the man in the hat said. “But first, would you mind stepping clear of those horses and keeping your hands where I can see them? Don’t want my buddy over there getting jittery with his rifle.”

  Walt stepped forward but motioned for the boys to stay where they were. “You can see our hands just fine, and rest assured we won’t cause any trouble if you don’t. Can we help you with something?”

  “Actually, that’s what we were gonna ask you,” the man in the hat said. “We thought maybe you needed a guide or something.”

  “We’re just headed south into Colorado,” Walt told them, trying to keep his voice friendly but confident. “We don’t mean to bother anyone.”

  The man in the hat nodded. “Yeah, with just three of you, we figured you didn’t come here to start a war. But if you’re stopping in the rez at all, you’ll need somebody to vouch for you. You ever been in these parts before, know anybody here?”

  “No,” Walt admitted. “We don’t need to stop in town at all, unless there’s somebody there that’s willing to sell us an extra horse. We’re just in a hurry to get to Denver.”

  They two men on horses looked at each other, and the one in the hat gave a slight shake of his head.

  “Denver,” the one in the bandana grunted. “Things aren’t too good down there right now. Can’t recommend it. Casper’s in better shape.”

  Walt licked his dry lips. “Why, what’s wrong with Denver? We have no business in Wyoming. My daughter’s in Denver, and we’re going to get her.”

  The man in the hat whistled. “Then, man, you got a hard job ahead of you. Hang on a minute, I need to water my horse.”

  He dismounted and led his horse over to the creek, then stepped back up the bank to talk. He held out a hand, and Walt gave it a firm shake.

  “I’m James Behan, Arapaho tribe. Word out of Denver is that the freakin’ apocalypse is going down, man,” the rider said. “The city’s a disaster zone. Fires, looting, shooting. You don’t want to be there right now. Give it a few weeks, then try going in.”

  “But my daughter’s in there!” Walt replied, struggling to keep the fear and anger from his voice. “That’s why we’re in a hurry. Will you please let us get out of here?”

  James held up his hand. “Hey, you can go any time you want. We’re ranging around keeping tabs on travelers, but we’re not gonna stop you unless you cause trouble.”

  The man with the bandana, who had held his ground and kept his rifle handy until that moment, finally dismounted. He shook Walt’s hand as well. “I’m Marlin Spoonhunter. There’s a guy just outside of town that’s from Denver. Why don’t you come and talk to him?”

  Walt looked at his boys. Then he nodded. “We will do that. Thank you very much.”

  Following the two friendly Arapaho men, they left the creek and traveled five-abreast down the middle of the highway.

  “Where you coming from?” James asked.

  “A little north-west of Bozeman, Montana,” Walt replied. “I came through here about ten years ago, sold some cattle to a man named Hansen. Is he still around?”

  James looked at Marlin, who shrugged. “Nope. We know most of the ranchers around here. Maybe he lives in Riverton. You know, beef is one thing we could use a little more of around here. You still selling?”

  “Not right at this moment, obviously, but I’d certainly consider it once I get my daughter out of the city. How are things around here, anyway?” Walt asked. “Things weren’t too pretty in Bozeman, but I suppose they could be a lot worse.”

  “Well, it’s not too bad here, I guess,” James replied. “Pretty much the same as it was, really. Just with no TV, and crappier IHS service.”

  “What’s that?” Liam asked.

  “Healthcare. We can’t get medicine any more, and the doctors that are supposed to travel here every week or two haven’t shown up.”

  “There was some shootings during the first week,” Marlin admitted. “When a couple of ugly characters realized there wasn’t anybody to come after them if they took what they wanted or settled old scores. But our leaders got together with the Shoshone council and decided on some hard and fast rules. Those ugly guys aren’t around anymore to bother people.”

  “They appointed a group of us to keep order and work on getting some services restored,” James explained. “So far we’re doing all right. Better than a lot of white people in the cities.”

  Marlin let out a chuckle and looked sidelong at Walt. “No offense, but some of us kind of see this new order of things as white man’s payback. Been a long time coming.”

  Mike laughed out loud. “I guess it has.”

  Chapter 12: On the Rez, and Off Again

  “We see it as an opportunity to return to more traditional ways of life,” Chester Creepingbear said. The Arapaho tribal elder was sitting across from the three Leonhardt men in his small living room. “Much needed, for all of us. It’s like a second chance. All we have to do is become self-sufficient like we once were, and guard our borders. Of course, that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly to good folk coming through.”

  “I appreciate that very much,” Walt replied. He took a sip of the Coke he’d been offered. It was warm, but he knew it had to be one of a very precious store, a kind of liquid gold—there wouldn’t be more where it came from for a very long time. It was a sign that Chester was honoring Walt as an important guest. Walt knew he had James and Marlin to thank for the special treatment. They had mentioned that Walt had cattle to sell, and Chester’s eyes had lit up at the news.

  “So, Mr. Leonhardt, what would it take to get at some of that beef you’re raising up north? We have a couple of herds here, but we need new stock to achieve the independence I was talking about. What are you looking for that you can’t get in Montana?”

  Walt sighed. “Well, at the moment what I need most is a third horse so I can get to Denver in the next few weeks. If you could get me that, I’d be more than willing to talk business on my way back up north.”

  Chester’s eyes twinkled. “A horse? I can do better than that, cowpuncher. James, go see what’s taking Marlin so long, will you?”

  James went to the door and looked out. “Here they come now,” he said.

  Marlin appeared at the doorway and brought another man in. He was well over six feet tall, bulky and wearing a black leather vest over an old T-shirt. “This is Max. He’s from Denver,” Marlin explained.

  Walt stood to shake the man’s hand. “I’m Walt Leonhardt and these are my boys, Mike and Liam. Have you been to Denver recently, Max? Can you tell us anything about the route and conditions in the city?”

  The big man shook his head and eyed the Coke in Walt’s hand longingly. “Nope. I was there last month, but I been visiting my old lady since before the power went down and the cars died.”

  Walt sat down again, disappointed. But Chester spoke up. “Max, it’s very important that this gentleman reach Denver and return this way before too long. It’s important for him, ‘cuz his daughter lives there, and it’s important to the tribe—and the whole rez—because he could help bring in the cattle we need.”

  Max looked at Walt but wouldn’t say anything. Marlin and James stood near the doorway, waiting.

  “What we were thinking,” Chester continued, addressing Max, “was that you could help these gentlemen on their way. It would mean a lot to the tribe.” He seemed to be gently prompting Max about something, but Walt was unable to read between the lines.

  “All the way to Denver?” Max finally asked, grudgingly. “I don’t know if I’d make it back.”

  “Well, you know the route better than anybody,” Chester said. “It wouldn’t take you
long.”

  Mike and Liam looked at their dad to see if he was tracking the strange conversation, but Walt was more confused than ever. According to his map there were well over three hundred miles separating them from their destination, and no secret shortcut could reduce that journey to anything like “not long”.

  Max shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortably back and forth at the men in the room. “What if I got stuck out there somewhere?” he asked. “Who’d come and find me? And what about my old lady?”

  Marlin laid a hand on Max’s shoulder, which he almost had to stand on tip-toe to reach. “We’ll look out for her, Max. And James here could go with you. You got five seats, right?”

  Max bristled. “Shut up, Marlin! Nobody said anything about seats yet.”

  Walt began to catch on. “Wait, do you have a vehicle that runs?”

  Chester nodded. “We’ve been keeping it on the down-low. So far, it’s the only one we know of anywhere.”

  “I have a vehicle,” Max corrected. “But if it still runs, I ain’t sure I want to take it all the way down to Denver. Probably never make it back!”

  Marlin grinned. “Oh, come on, Max. James is good with cars, and he’s good to have around on a trip even walking. You’ll be fine, and you’ll be doing an important service to the tribe. Everyone will thank you for it. You’ll be the hero of the hour.”

  Max rubbed his jaw. “I’d need… some assurances.”

  “Name your price, Max,” Chester said.

  “I want Marlin looking after my old lady daily, and James in the car with me, like we said. I want extra shares of cigarettes and food—for the next month!”

  Chester nodded his head.

  “And I want all the rest of the Coca-cola!”

  Chester winced, but held out his weathered hand. “You got it, buddy. Go get your car.”

  Max turned to go, but got a last word in to Walt before he left. “It’ll take five hours to get you down there, man. And that’s if we don’t break down—she’s an old car, she don’t run so good. I don’t know if I can make it all the way to Denver, or how close we can even get to the city. Might have to drop you off somewhere around Laramie or Fort Collins.”