James Smith - Hybrid

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.

WhenAmy 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.”

“I’m out at the lake this weekend,” Amy said. “Could we do lunch on Tuesday? I’ve got something I need to talk over with you.”

“You can come over now for tea.”

“Let’s talk over lunch on Tuesday.”

“Your call,” Molly said. “But before I forget, I had a curious conversation with Ginny Cunningham yesterday.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know her.”

“She’s one of the Boy Scout moms. Her Randy is about the same age as Michael. He’s at the Park for the big Camporee this weekend, too. I tried to call Dieter to tell him what she’d told me, but couldn’t get an answer.”

“Not sure where he is this weekend,” Amy replied. “He wasn’t very open about what he was up to. You heard something I should know about?”

“Ginny told me she was surprised that Michael was going on the backcountry trip. She had a hard time talking her Randy out of it. She felt they’re just too young. And with all that’s going on with the wolves—”

“Don’t worry. Dieter didn’t let Michael go.”

“But Michael told Randy that he got his dad to sign for permission. He was actually bragging about it.”

Mr. Little Bear had insisted on tagging along with Amy to the campground, but she was determined to handle it alone. She had filled him in on the episode with old man Loudermilk and told him to stay at home, be on the lookout. He promised her that if the bastard put a foot on their property, he’d deal with him. She should cross that concern off her list.

When Amy arrived at the Indian Creek campground, the likes of a three-ring circus greeted her. Boy Scouts were scattered around, running, shouting, playing games. She found a scout leader with badges pinned all over his uniform like Christmas ornaments and assumed he might be in charge. After introducing herself, she said she was looking for Michael Harmon.

“Yes, ma’am, we were hoping his dad would be here today.”

“He had an unexpected emergency.” The words were the first thing to pop into her head.

“That’s really too bad. We are short a couple of adults.”

“He’s a busy man. Can you please help me find Michael?”

“I believe he’s on the list for the overnight hike. They’ve already started on the trail.”

“That’s not possible. His dad didn’t give him permission.”

The scout leader sorted through the papers on his clipboard while Amy searched the gaggle of boys.

“I’m sorry, Miss Bear, I—”

“That’s, Little Bear.”

“Pardon me, Miss Little Bear, while I go inside. I’m sure the list is there.” He ducked into a large tent that looked to serve as a makeshift headquarters. Amy twisted her head about to find anyone near the size of Michael. Most of the boys were much taller. When she remembered that Michael didn’t have a uniform, that ruled out every kid she saw.

The troop leader emerged from the tent. “Well, what do you know! Michael Harmon is right here.” He held the list out for Amy to inspect, pointing to Michael’s name.