“George?”
One of the eyes opened a little, then rapidly closed. “Pwhlat?”
“Do you know who I am?” The eye partially opened again, and he strained to remember my face. “I’m Sheriff Longmire, remember me?” He nodded, slightly. “George, we’re in a really bad situation here, so I need you to understand what I’m saying.”
He grimaced and raised his head a little. “Whmy laghwurts…”
“Yep, I know your leg hurts, and I’d imagine your jaw doesn’t feel too good right now, either. But I need you to listen to me. You’re hurt, but I’ve got you stabilized. There’s not a lot more I can do until we get you out of here. The problem is, I’ve got another man injured, back on the trail, and I need to go get him.”
“Thehindiyan?”
“You remember him, huh? Do you remember shooting him?” He remained silent and didn’t move. “Well, you did, and now I’ve got to go back and get him.”
His eyes widened a little, and he blinked. “Whtryed tookill me.. ”
“No, he didn’t. It’s Henry Standing Bear, and he came up here with me to try and get you out safely.” I sighed and tried to wrap it up. “George, we’re stuck in a snowstorm, and I’ve got to go back and get Henry before it gets so I can’t find him…”
“Whtryed tookill me…”
“No, George, he didn’t try and kill you because, if he had tried, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Swhotme?”
“No, you shot yourself while you were trying to shoot me.”
“Whtryed to…”
I leaned forward and glared at him for emphasis. “George? I need you to shut up.” It must have worked because his eyes widened, but that was the only part of him that moved. “Here’s what I need you to do; I need you to stay here and try and stay awake. Do you understand?”
He nodded his head.
“Good. I’ve got your truck going and the heater is on so it’s going to warm up in here pretty quick. Now, here’s the important part.” I leaned in even farther. “No matter how long it takes me, you wait here. Got it?” I kept my eyes steady on him for a moment. “Good. Now just stay here and get warm. I’ll be back, okay?”
I pulled the seat cover off from the passenger side and dragged it after me as I slid out into the snow and wind. I shut the door and wrapped myself up in the cover, pulling it high and making a hood. I pulled the radio from the small of my back and shook the condensation from it before it could freeze. “This is Walt Longmire, sheriff of Absaroka County, I’ve got an emergency with men down. Is there anybody out there? Over.” I waited, but the static seemed fainter than it had before.
I looked back across the lot in the general direction of the trailhead, but the only thing visible over the top of the truck was my rapidly filling footprints that led into oblivion. I drove the radio back in the clip at the small of my back and started off. I clutched the seat cover tighter around me and discovered a series of vinyl pockets that ran along the front. I tucked my stiffening hands into two of the pockets and silently thanked George for spending the extra twenty on the luxury model. I felt around and found what felt like a church key and a large shop rag, which I pulled out and wrapped around my face. I’m sure I looked like a Bedouin: Ben el Napa. I chuckled to myself at the thought of Henry seeing me like this; he could just laugh himself to death.
There was a sudden grade as the parking lot ended and I thought the trailhead began. I peered through the snow as it dove around my makeshift hood, but I couldn’t see the sign. The fact that it was eight feet high and at least six feet wide was less than encouraging. I tucked my head back into the nylon tweed cover and continued to trudge ahead. I was thinking that this was a poor excuse for a search if I couldn’t even find the sign, when I ran my head into one of the telephone poles that supported the damn thing. My head really hurt, but at least I’d found the first indication that I was going in the right direction. The gusts pressed against my back and slapped the ends of my autoponcho around me.
What was I doing, what had I done? It was hard to think. It was darker now, and the snow had gotten worse. The flakes were smaller than the silver dollar ones of before, and they became tiny flat discs that hovered in the air, moving with its currents. They swirled, paused, and then dove into the distance, making me feel that I was falling backward no matter how hard I lumbered forward. I closed my eyes to clear my head, but the disorientation continued. It was definitely darker now; the depression of the path continued up the hill, and the shadows of the trees remained consistent on both sides. As long as I stayed between them and continued uphill, I would eventually get to him.
Henry hadn’t been at the sentencing, but this hadn’t been a surprise since he hadn’t been at the trial at all. We hadn’t been in touch during the case and, even though I was continually busy, I had gotten the distinct feeling that he was distancing himself from me. I don’t know if I would have done anything different if I had spoken with Henry, and it was like he had said on the trail, in what seemed like another epoch, ignoring them was the best he could do. I wasn’t sure if I could have shown that much restraint, given the circumstances.
Vern said that he had received about seventy-five letters about the sentencing, that they were split fifty-fifty on whether the boys should be granted some semblance of leniency or whether they should be horsewhipped all the way to Kemmerer. After he had taken his place on the bench, the defense pled for a sentence that would “reflect the homegrown values and sense of forgiveness that were a hallmark of frontier civilization.” Even Ferg had to glance up at Steve Miller as he delivered that one, but his righteous tone and openly displayed conviction kept anyone from laughing out loud.
Each of the boys was allowed to stand and make a statement; it was the first time Bryan Keller had spoken in public about the rape. He stood and fanned his fingertips across the table before him. The whitening at his knuckles betrayed the fact that he needed assistance to stand, and we all waited. After a few moments, Vern spoke to him. “You wish to make a statement, Mr. Keller?”
“Yes…”-he cleared his throat-“I do, your honor.” His head dropped as he studied the dull oak finish of the table. He took a deep breath and raised his head. “Your honor, my lawyer has advised me to remain silent, but to be honest with you I feel that I may have said nothing for too long.” It had taken all the air out of him to get that far, and I wondered how much more he could get out before he hyper-ventilated. “I’ve thought a lot about all the things I’ve wanted to say, and I’ve had a long time to think about all of them. I’ve thought about the poor judgment I used that day, and how I’m older and that I hope you’ll let me learn from this horrible mistake that I’ve made… But none of that seems important now. There’s only one thing that’s important for me to say now, and that is that I am sorry.” He tilted his head back, and you could just see the beginnings of a shine to his eyes. “I want to tell Melissa that I am sorry; I want to tell her family that I am sorry for what I’ve put them through, to the people on the reservation for the things that have been said, to my family…” He stopped for a moment, then stood up straighter and allowed his hands to fall to his sides. “But the most important one is Melissa. I just want to tell her how sorry I am for what I’ve done to her and her life.” He stood for a moment longer, then sat, with a hand shielding his eyes.
“George Esper?”
George stood and placed his hands in his pockets but quickly extracted them and allowed them to drop. His voice was soft and faded out at the ends of his sentences like someone unaccustomed to public speaking. “Your honor, you can’t go back and change things that happened…” The majority of his apology was to the parents that sat behind him and tapered off from there.
“Jacob Esper?”