Montana Unbranded

“Of course you are, Joseph. We all are. They have guest teachers out there all the time. Some like it so much they come back more than once. All you have to do is talk about what you do. Tell them what it’s like to be a big-city cop. Tell them what your work is like, what kind of education and experience you needed to land the job, tell them what you like and don’t like about it.”

“Kind of like show-and-tell?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll show ’em all my bullet holes and tell them to avoid a career in law enforcement.”

“Joseph, that’s not the least bit funny.” She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “Anyway, when you’re done telling them all about your chosen career, you answer their questions and afterward you help with ranch chores. And then—” she paused for effect “—then you get to eat the most incredible meals west of our mother’s kitchen. They have a cook named Ramalda and she’s a real treasure.”

“Good food?” Joe perked up at this.

“Great food, and lots of it.”

“Sounds like you visit there frequently.”

“As often as I can, and I’ve taught there, too, several times. I told them all about law school and different choices of careers within law and Steven’s fight to save Madison Mountain from the mining industry. In exchange, the boys taught me how to throw a rope over a fence post... Well, they tried. I’m a terrible cowgirl. I rode horseback once up into their mountains to see the buffalo herd and it took me weeks to recover. But I love it out there. It’s a perfect place to raise kids.”

“And this place isn’t?” Joe looked around the comfortable room and lifted his coffee mug to the view outside the picture window. “What more could you ask for?”

Molly just smiled. “Wait till you see the Bow and Arrow.”

* * *

IT NEVER FAILED to amaze Dani how much food Luther Makes Elk could eat. She’d brought him enough to feed a family of six, and by the time she left, most of the Chinese take-out containers were half empty. He never said much when she arrived, didn’t speak while she unloaded the bags of food and the small gifts she always brought. And she left him how she found him—sitting on his wooden bench in front of his shack, hat pulled low and blanket over his shoulders, gazing back through time and into the future. He shook her hand when she got ready to leave, the way he always did. Slowly, with a solemn expression. “Sometimes the best thing you can do is nothing,” he said. Those were his only words the entire visit.

The lack of talk didn’t bother her, though. She was a quiet person herself and always felt strangely revitalized by her silent visits with the holy man. Today was no exception.

Now she headed south for the Arrow Root Mountains, the sun slanting off her right shoulder, settling toward the Absaroka Range, the Crow reservation off to her left. Her dogs had abandoned all their manners and were jockeying for position in the passenger seat, craning their eyes out the windows with mounting excitement.

A convoluted series of dirt roads took her into the high country. This was a seldom traveled place, but she noticed fresh tire tracks today. She wasn’t the only one with spring fever. Eventually, rotting snowdrifts closed off the road and she could drive no farther. She parked where someone else had parked very recently. Footprints in the mud indicated one person had continued up the unplowed road and returned, probably within the past day. A ranger from the forest service had no doubt walked up to check on the cabin, knowing she’d rented it for the weekend. The dogs bounded out of the Subaru, sprinting in tight circles of excitement as she shrugged into her pack and balanced the tripod over her shoulder. It was three p.m. and they had another hour or so of hiking ahead of them before reaching the forest service cabin. With any luck she’d have her camera gear set up by sunset and would get some good shots of the band stallion, his mares and hopefully some new foals.

She loved hiking in these mountains and photographing the mustangs that lived here. To Dani, they embodied the free spirit of the West, the part that would never be tamed. Her photographs had appeared in several major magazines, and she’d recently agreed to supply many more for a book that was being written about the wild mustangs of the West. The Bureau of Land Management, or BLM, had begun aggressive roundups in recent years to thin the population, but many felt their management goals were too low to maintain genetic diversity and long-term survival. The fight was on to preserve the purest strain of Spanish mustangs in North America, and Dani, through her love of horses, hiking and her photographic skills, had become a big part of it.

Her spirits were as high as those of her dogs as they hiked through mountain mahogany and juniper. The scenery was spectacular. Mountains framed every scene. The Bighorn, Beartooth, Wind River and Absarokee. Spring was in the air and the yeasty smell of the land, warmed by the afternoon sun, wafted in an earthy ferment around her. She knew in the higher elevations the wind would be thundering over the land like a herd of wild horses. When she was here she felt as if maybe there wasn’t a city west of Saint Louis. As if, in the four-hour drive from Helena, she’d traveled back through two centuries. Sometimes she wondered if she just kept on hiking into the Arrow Roots, would she vanish into the past? She wondered if perhaps she hadn’t already lived here in another life and maybe that was why, when she was with Luther Makes Elk, she felt no need for words. The silence between them was comfortable.

Sometimes the best thing you can do is nothing. His words came to her again as she took a breather. Luther didn’t say much, so when he spoke, she listened. As did everyone. He was, after all, a legendary holy man. What had he meant? Had Luther been referring to Molly’s brother Joe? Had he been telling her to leave the dark and dangerously handsome man well enough alone? Or had he been describing his own life, his days spent sitting on the old wooden bench in front of his shack, watching the occasional vehicle drive past?

She shifted the tripod to her other shoulder and continued on. Her breath came in short, hard gasps as the trail steepened. Her thigh muscles burned and her shoulders were already sore. She was pathetically out of shape. Cross-country skiing was good exercise and a fine way to enjoy a long Montana winter, but nothing beat climbing uphill while shouldering a heavy pack. She hadn’t slept very well last night, but she had a feeling tonight would be different. Tonight she’d forget all about how Joe Ferguson had turned her insides to mush and instead focus on finding the bright golden stallion, Custer, and his little band of unbranded mares. With any luck he’d be grazing his mares in the high mountain park that surrounded the old camp.

She was going to get some great photos. She could feel it in her bones.

* * *

“THIS IS KATY JUNCTION,” Molly narrated to Joe as Steven parked the Wagoneer in front of a small hole-in-the-wall diner called the Longhorn Café. The café comprised one of four buildings that made up a town that, except for the addition of telephone poles, didn’t look like it had changed much in well over a century. There was even a hitch rail in front of the boardwalk, which still looked well used, if piles of horse manure were any measure. “Guthrie’s sister, Bernie, runs this diner. She’s wonderful—you have to meet her. She brews the best coffee in the West, so you must have a cup. Badger and Charlie are probably here, too. They help out at the Bow and Arrow and spend the rest of their lives hanging out at Bernie’s counter and gossiping.”

Joe climbed out of the passenger seat, trying to keep track of all the names his sister tossed his way. His chest ached. His gut ached. His head ached. He didn’t want a cup of coffee and he didn’t want to go to the Bow and Arrow. He was beginning to wish he’d never gotten out of bed that morning. He’d passed on his six a.m. painkillers and that had been a mistake. He felt punk enough that Molly had put off visiting Luther Makes Elk on the way to the Bow and Arrow, and it was a good thing, too. Just climbing the three steps to the diner really took it out of him. When he reached the top step, the wall of the diner began to move in a strange way, and he grabbed on to the hitch rail to catch his balance.

“Joseph?” Molly’s face looked up at him, eyes full of concern. She’d been hovering ever since he’d arrived, as if he might drop dead at any moment. She had her hand on his arm and he felt another hand steady his elbow. Steven. Jesus. How embarrassing.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Jet lag, that’s all.”

“Bernie makes good homemade soup. We’ll stay for lunch,” Steven said.

The cold sweat passed as they helped him through the door into a small room. The tables were empty, but two men, both on the far side of ancient and dressed like the cowboys of old, sat at the counter. The slender, pleasant-looking woman standing behind it took one look at them and came around, wiping her hands on a towel as she approached. Her smile was warm and genuine. She glanced at Joe questioningly, then at Molly. “Why, Molly Ferguson,” she said, her smile broadening, “if this is your tall, dark and handsome older brother, you must introduce me.”

“How’d you guess?” Molly said.

“Except for the lack of red hair, there’s a strong family resemblance.” She extended her hand. “I’m Bernie Portis. Welcome to Katy Junction and the Longhorn Café. Won’t you have a seat?” Her hand gripped his arm firmly as she deftly guided him to the nearest table. He sat. Gave her a grateful look. She smiled and nodded imperceptibly in response. “Soup of the day is extra special because I’m using Bow and Arrow buffalo, not beef. Pony finally persuaded Caleb to take the plunge. They harvested a two-year-old bull, and I’m their first commercial account,” Bernie said proudly. “Buffalo’s wonderful meat—low-fat, low cholesterol and naturally raised on the prettiest wide-open range in the West.”

“Sounds great. We’ll take three bowls and three coffees, Bernie,” Steven said.

“Make mine peppermint tea,” Molly said.

Steven and Molly sat. Bernie looked between the two of them. “Are you feeling all right?” she asked Molly. “Is your stomach upset?”

Molly glanced questioningly at Steven, who gave her a calm nod. “We’re going to have a baby,” she announced, then to her visible mortification she burst into tears.

Bernie never missed a beat. She gave Molly’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, Molly, babies aren’t so awful. I’ve had two myself and I count them as two of the three best things that ever happened to me, my husband being the third. Joseph, how long are you planning to stay?”

“You can call me Joe, and I’ll stay as long as Molly will put up with me.” Given Molly’s highly emotional state, Joe figured this was a tactful response.

Bernie nodded. “Good. It’s tough facing such big events as a wedding and first baby when your family’s all back east. Though I will say, Molly has plenty of family right here.” She gave Molly’s shoulder another affectionate squeeze before retreating to get their beverages. Meanwhile the two old codgers on the bar stools had slid off their perches and were turning in their direction.

“Did we hear correct?” the bowlegged bewhiskered one said as they approached the table. He removed his hat respectfully. “You’re expecting a baby?” Then damn if he didn’t pull a huge red bandanna out of his hip pocket and hand it to Molly, and damn if she didn’t use it to blot her tears.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying. Badger, Charlie, meet my big brother, Joseph,” Molly introduced through her tears. “He’s visiting us for a while. He lives in a big city back east and needs some vacation from all the smog. This is his first trip west. We’re taking him out to the Bow and Arrow after lunch.”

Joe shook hands with Badger and Charlie, feeling like he’d just stepped into a John Ford Western. “Good to meet you,” he said. “And the name’s Joe.”

“Katy Junction might seem small to you, being a big city slicker and all,” Badger said to Joe, “but some mighty big things happen around here. Just ask your sister—it ain’t never dull.”

“I’ve heard some of the stories,” Joe said. “I’m looking forward to seeing how wild the West still is.”

Badger rubbed his bewhiskered jaw. “Well, everyone knows the wildest critters live in the big city, and from the looks of you, some of ’em chewed you up good. But a few days out here’ll get you back on your feet. And your sister’s having a baby, that’s real good news,” Badger said. “It’ll give that little one out at the Bow and Arrow something to play with.”

“Little one?” Molly echoed.

“Ain’t you heard? Pony just took in another’n, just knee-high to a grasshopper. I saw it this mornin’ for the first time. Cute as a speckled pup. She don’t like my whiskers, though.”

“Who would?” Charlie said.

Molly wiped her eyes, blew her nose and cast an accusing look at Steven. “Why didn’t you tell me about the new baby?”

Steven shook his head. “Pony is my sister but she doesn’t tell me everything.”

* * *

BY TWO P.M. Steven was driving his Jeep Wagoneer down the last stretch of ranch road leading to the Bow and Arrow. Joe was dozing off his lunch, but he roused in time to take in the sweeping views, the creek and the old log cabin on its bank, the ranch buildings beyond on the knoll and what looked like the Continental Divide rising up behind it. There appeared to be a lot of action down by the barns. Horses in corrals, boys riding horses, boys leaning over the top rail watching another boy on a horse in a separate smaller corral. Clouds of dust. Puddles of mud. Two Australian shepherd–type dogs chasing each other in play and yapping with excitement outside the corrals. Class was quite obviously in session at the Bow and Arrow.