Neil McMahon - Lone Creek

"Lighten up a little," he said. "This'll make your husband appreciate you more, trust me. It's kind of like your pony ain't worth much unless another Indian tries to steal it."

A ghost of a smile crossed her face. She tipped the bottle up to her lips and drank.

I took it from her and did the same, then handed the bottle to Madbird. He swigged and started to set it down, but Laurie caught his arm.

"Can I have one more taste?" she said.

His eyes widened. "Hell, yeah, you can have all you want."

We both watched her drink, a lingering, greedy pull.

"I'm sure we lost Balcomb, but we better not stick around," I said. "He's got long arms."

"You got a place in mind?"

"I was thinking maybe where we saw those wolverines that time."

Laurie's mouth opened a little.

"Yeah, that'd be good," Madbird said. "Won't nobody find you there. Take the van, you can sleep in it." He peeled a key from his key ring and handed it to me. "Grab whatever gear you need. I'll get you some food."

He strode into the kitchen and started pulling cans from the cupboards, giving me a quizzical glance on the way. I turned Laurie toward the front door and nudged her to start walking. Then I made a quick gesture of writing on the palm of my left hand. His chin lifted again.

The van was in the big adjoining shop-garage I'd helped him build several years ago. I opened the passenger door for her, but she hesitated.

"Wolverines?" she said doubtfully.

"Laurie, anything with four legs is the least of our worries. Go on, hop in. I've got to load some stuff."

I trotted back outside and wheeled the Victor into the shop, leaning it against a wall and throwing a tarp over it-just in case the sheriffs decided to come calling on my friends. Then I started choosing camping gear from shelves and packing it into the rear of the van-a couple of down sleeping bags, a cooking kit, and the sorts of necessities you never thought about until you couldn't run down to the store for them. Every time I loaded something, I took out some of his tools to make room-including his work belt, which contained pencils and his tape measure. That had a sticker plastered onto it, a kind that was sold at building supply stores-the size of a beer can top, with a surface that worked like a blackboard. You could write down several measurements, take them to where your saw was set up and cut the materials, then wipe it clean and use it again.

I printed on it while I shifted stuff around, making sure Laurie didn't see me: Watch it. B hired pro killer. Still after us, cops too. Then I sneaked it back into its pouch and put the belt on a workbench.

As I was finishing loading the gear, Madbird walked in carrying a bulging paper grocery sack

"I took out most of your tools," I said, stepping over to the workbench and tapping my finger on the tape. "Figured you might need them."

"Yeah, you know, I try to stay out of work, but it just don't seem to happen that way."

The door opened again and Hannah came in, followed by the adoring dogs. She was carrying a nylon-shelled goose-down jacket and a lady's traveling bag, the kind that looked like an oversize purse, made of woven wool with a pair of leather handles. She gave the jacket to Laurie through the window of the van.

"It's not pretty but it'll keep you warm," Hannah said.

Laurie pressed her hand earnestly. "God, I don't care about pretty. Thanks so much."

While that was going on, Madbird stepped to the bag and parted its handles, peering inside.

"You stay out of there," Hannah said sharply, and slapped his hands. He dodged, pretending to cringe-although more than once I'd seen him come to work with a bruised cheek or raked skin, and it wasn't any man who'd done it to him.

"Hey, I'm just trying to make sure you ain't lending her something dainty that he shouldn't see." He jerked his thumb toward me.

Hannah made a scornful sort of "puh" sound. "Look who's talking about dainty," she said to Laurie. "I've never seen him once"-she gave Madbird a shove-"without dirt under his fingernails."

He drew back in mock outrage. "You ever had better dirt?"

"You think I'd tell you?" She shoved him again and handed the bag to Laurie. "You take care, hon," Hannah said. "When this is over, come on by and we'll talk about men. Maybe you know a couple."

She tossed her hair and stalked out of the room.

For the next thirty seconds or so, Madbird and I carefully didn't look at each other.

Then he leaned against the van with his forearms on Laurie's windowsill. It was like a scene out of one of those teen movies, with a dangerous cool guy from the wrong side of the tracks and a shy but fascinated rich girl.

"Now, I got to ask you something," he said to her, in a growling theatrical whisper. He nodded toward the doorway where Hannah had left-and where she was probably still standing inside, listening. "She beats me up, like you just seen. I wake up in the middle of the night, she's kneeing me in the ass, and other things I ain't gonna tell you. What you think I ought to do?"

I couldn't see Laurie's face well and I was looking at Madbird's back, but it felt like another of those moments when something silent transpired.

"I think you'd better buy her something dainty and watch her try it on," Laurie said. "If you can't take it from there, then she and I are going to have a lot to talk about."

He turned to me and nodded approvingly. "I'm thinking maybe she got some Indian blood in her."

I climbed into the van and started it. "I'll get this stuff back to you soon," I told him.

"No hurry. I got some shopping to do." He pressed a button on the wall to open the garage door. It rolled up with a metallic clanking that made me think of the iron grates that locked the hallways of Deer Lodge prison. I remembered them well from times I'd gone down there to box.

We backed out. The garage door started rolling shut again.

I just got a glimpse of Madbird stepping to the workbench and picking up the tape measure.

"I don't know exactly how to put this," Laurie said. "I didn't know there were people like that."

"There aren't many."

"Did I do OK?"

"You did great."

She had passed all the tests with straight A's. Or at least that was how it seemed.

We drove to the town of Lincoln, about an hour away, then went several miles farther north into the Scapegoat Wilderness. By the time we got where I wanted to go, the dirt road had petered out to almost nothing. I drove the van another couple of hundred yards through the trees to a little clearing beside a creek, a place that Madbird and I had found when we were fishing a few years ago. It was about as isolated as you could get and still have access to a vehicle. Hunting season hadn't yet opened and we were far from the horse trails that outfitters used to set up their camps. The chance that anybody would just happen by was next to nil.

I built a fire and broke into the grocery stash. Tonight's entree was Dinty Moore Beef Stew. It seemed like most of what I'd eaten the last couple of days had come from cans. Still, filet mignon wouldn't have tasted better to me. Laurie looked skeptical while it was heating, but she took to it fast, finally abandoning her spoon to sop up the gravy with slices of bread, then licking her fingers clean.

And Madbird, God bless him, had stuck that brandy bottle into the sack. That, she was very happy to see.

Now the fire was burning down to embers and so was I. Adrenaline and the speed had both worn off, and I felt like my veins were full of lead. I still had another dozen or so of the crosstops, but I'd reached the point where nothing could take the place of sleep. I got to my feet and trudged down to the creek to wash the dishes.

Weather-wise, we'd gotten a break. The elevation here was a good six thousand feet, and I'd feared that the rain might turn to snow. Instead, it had lessened as we'd gone deeper into the mountains, and this area was still dry. But the clouds blowing in from the west gave only occasional glimpses of stars, and the moon was a barely visible blur. The storm might move right on through, or settle in and get serious. The air was thin and sharp and clean with the scent of the forest. Even this early in the fall, the night wind carried the news of winter.