Page 83 of Head Room
Cleaning up, as Frank Jardos told Hiram he was doing.
“A firefighter talked about the Jardos cabin’s recent clear-cut.He seemed to think it was unusual, because of the season and because it’s been wet lately.”
“Can’t say he’s wrong.But ranchers fit jobs in when we can.”He squinted at me.“Disappointed?”
“Me?No,” I fibbed.“Another point that could mean something or nothing.”
“Isn’t that what usually happens when you’re looking into things?”
“Doesn’t mean I like it.”
Another chuckle distracted me, leaving a lag before I asked, “Where, exactly, are we going?”
“Noexactly, but we’re going to an area near where the west edge of our place and the west edge of the museum’s holdings meet each other and national forest lands.It’s one of the few places in that area I can drive into with the truck.”
“No hiking — that’s good.”
“Can’t promise that.No hiking if they got my message and decided to cooperate.Otherwise...”
His one-shoulder shrug was not encouraging.
But when he stopped the truck at the end of two tracks we’d been jouncing over for what felt like forever, he seemed more optimistic.
The tracks had basically been parallel strips of shorter grass than the surrounding vegetation and the right distance apart for a truck.We were not talking the Champs-Élysées.
“You and Shadow go on into the clearing.If they’re coming, it won’t be long.Better if I wait here,” Tom said.
Not because he wasn’t friendly with them.So, why?Because they’d be less macho without another guy around?Because he wanted it to be clear that I was autonomous?Because it would declare to them that he trusted them?
Maybe pieces of all those.
I was good with it.I was here in my professional capacity — even if I was bringing my dog — not as Tom’s wife-to-be.
From beside me, Shadow gave me a questioning look when I stopped walking past the clearing’s mid-point.Going more than halfway, I hoped, would be seen as a friendly overture, but I didn’t want to press.
We waited.
Shadow sat.I spared a moment’s gratitude that we were in the shorter grass so he wouldn’t bring half of it home with us on his coat.
We waited more.
Shadow stood, ears at alert.
Two dogs came into view at the tree line, about five feet apart from each other.Both looked to be German shepherds mixed with something.Possibly lots of somethings.
That could describe Shadow, too.But the mix side of these dogs’ heritage favored sleeker-coated hounds, while Shadow had more fluff, possibly from collie or golden retriever genes.
They started toward us to — well, I wasn’t sure what their intentions were.To guard, to warn, to greet?
From three yards away, Shadow and the two dogs looked at each other, tails wagging fast and hard.The tail-wag version of a teeth-baring grimace instead of a smile.
Then the older of the two dogs sniffed the air audibly and the wags softened.
Two men came forward then, almost a human mirror of the dogs’ demeanor, with the older one slightly ahead of the one about my age.Wariness of an attack blended with the certainty that they would repel any such attack.
I wouldn’t want to meet either of them in a dark alley or — far more likely in Wyoming — a shadowy forest.
Each wore mix-and-match clothing.The pieces not actually camouflage were subdued natural colors that blended into the wooded background.Each wore a slouch hat and had a beard, short and relatively neat.The older man’s had streaks of gray in it.
