Opening the front door, he broke into a wide grin. Josh Pendleton stood by a horse trailer latched to the back of his pickup. He shrugged. “What can I say?” He nodded toward the trailer. “Rocko’s been looking for adventure.”
Unexpected change in plans and perfect timing.
“But… what about hiking? Is your knee up for it?”
“Oh, hell yes,” Josh replied, flexing his knee. “Made up a ointment with juniper and black pepper and wrapped it up good. It’s feeling pretty warm right now.”
Josh motioned for Dieter to move closer as he lifted the llama’s panniers that had been stuffed with supplies from the floor of the trailer. He opened a pouch and brought out a rusted contraption, holding it up for Dieter to admire. “That’s what you call a ‘number fourteen’! One of the old reliable traps I’ve hung onto. I’ll wait here while you grab your gear.”
Dieter hustled back to the cabin, eager to take advantage of his sudden luck… even though he had a different approach in mind.
Josh drove north on Highway 191 along Yellowstone’s western border toward the area that he’d earlier pinpointed on his map at the llama ranch. He motioned behind him toward the truck bed where Dieter had tossed the electronics and antenna rig. “So you planning to watch TV on the search?”
Dieter had come close to destroying the antenna when he crushed it with his feet in the plane accident. But when he later twisted the aluminum tubing back into shape, it resembled what the Judge had delivered.
“It’s a signal detector,” Dieter said.
“Never heard of a signal defector.”
“Detector… a signal detector. Most of the wolves have transmitters attached to neck collars. They constantly send out electronic signals. Judge Schoonover made up this portable system for me.” He explained how he picked up the faint signal from a lone wolf in the flying excursion with Amy.
Throughout the morning they occasionally stopped along the highway to hunt for likely spots to begin the search, walking up streambeds and along cleared paths, scouting for tracks. Josh often found subtle signs of wildlife, whether claw marks on a chunk of bark from a dead log due to a foraging bear or scrapes on an aspen trunk caused by a bull elk rubbing away antler velvet. For a better look at tracks or scat, Josh would awkwardly lower his giant frame to his hands and knees on the ground. One pile of scat was from a cougar. He showed how the cat used its hind feet to mark territory by heaping together leaves, pine straw and twigs before dropping a load on top. Josh spread the mound apart with his pocketknife to reveal bone and hair fragments of the unlucky prey that had been an earlier snack.
They returned to the truck and continued up the highway, repeating the task of pulling off the road and searching. When Josh saw Dieter inspecting the dashboard, he told him that his truck radio stopped working a year before. It turned out to be a blessing; he’d developed a keener ear for engine noise. He said that by listening carefully, he could tell when an oil change was due.
Josh spotted a sign for a trailhead and drove into the dirt parking area. High on a post were the words Fawn Pass. As they pulled in, Josh gazed into his rearview mirror. “Hold on just a damn minute. I can’t believe this.”
A park service truck rolled in behind them. Dieter quickly hid the box and antenna on the floorboard under his legs as the park ranger ambled toward the truck and Josh lowered his window.
“I see you’re towing a llama, sir,” the ranger said.
“Rocko’s his name,” Josh replied. “He’s one spirited animal. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“I take it you plan to do some guiding in the Park?”
“I got a trekking permit, Officer.”
“May I see it, sir?”
Josh reached for the wallet in his back pocket. While he fumbled for it, Dieter pushed the antenna further down with a hidden hand. Josh displayed his Park Service permit and the ranger studied it. “Oh, yes, Mr. Pendleton. Pleasure to meet you.”
“You know about me?”
“You betcha. Your name’s been around.” The ranger paused, looked inside the truck, and then back at Josh. “You gentlemen be careful today. A storm’s moving in. Could be lightning. Nothing to fool around with in high country.”
As the ranger pulled away, Dieter looked at Josh and winked. “What’s it like being famous?”
“Wish I could tell you I need a bullwhip to chase the women away.”
The trailhead showed footprints of hikers along with vehicle tread marks in soft mud. “ATV tracks,” Josh said. “Likely a teenager on a joy ride.”
They sauntered a short distance down the trail to explore when Josh suddenly stopped and bent down. He pointed to an obvious animal track—a huge impression of a heel pad and four toes. “Look how sharp the edges are. That track’s no more than a day old.” He hovered his hand over the print. “A wolf, all right. But just look at its size! Sumbitch.”
“Jack Corey told me there wouldn’t be any wolves in this area,” Dieter replied.
“A print that size ain’t from any ordinary wolf.”
A rush of adrenaline shot through Dieter as they hurried back to the truck. Josh led Rocko down the ramp from the trailer and hauled out the trekking gear. He spread a pad over the llama’s back before tossing the saddle and panniers up and over it. After hooking the front and rear cinches under the animal’s belly, he pulled until they were snug. He placed a strap around Rocko’s breast and fastened the ends to the saddle, then tied a large coil of rope onto the saddle. (“Could come in handy on the hike.”) Dieter helped stuff the panniers with food and gear as Josh made sure the load on each side balanced, then cut off sections of rope to fasten the antenna to the saddle horn and tie the signal meter to the panniers.
Josh stood back to appraise his handiwork. “Rocko, ol’ boy, you look like a creature from Mars with that thing growing out of your back.” He grabbed him by his muzzle and planted a kiss on his big wet nose, then glanced skyward. “Lots of feathers up there. We’d best get moving.”
Dieter nodded and scanned the horizon, wondering again about Michael at the Camporee. Part of him wished he were there with his son, but there would be plenty of times they’d get to go off together exploring the wilderness. For now, he had to take care of the more pressing matter.
Someday, he’d tell Michael all about it.
FORTY-FOUR
When Amy called to check on her, Molly quickly answered the phone: “It was dreadful. I can only imagine how Claire Manning must feel right now.”
Amy hadn’t heard about the fire that had happened during the night. The offices of the Gallatin County Weekly Reporter on the edge of town had burned to the ground.
“You suppose it was arson?” Amy asked.
“It’s a newspaper. They could come up with a dozen suspects off the tops of their heads.”
“But to burn down the entire operation? It’s just a weekly newspaper, for Chrissakes. Who would have a grudge on a newspaper in Colter, Montana?”
“That’s what I told the Judge. He just said to leave it to the law. What have you heard about Rusty?”
“Dieter took him up to the vet hospital in Livingston,” Amy said. “It’s going to be touch and go with the poor thing.”
“I get knots in my stomach every time I think about it.”