Montana Sky, Taz & Kodak, Book 2

Taz  &  Kodak  II

Montana Sky

For David

Thanks Tracy for loving words and for helping me with mine

If you liked sitting on the edge of your seat at a Saturday matinee as a kid, you’ll love, Taz & Kodak II, Montana Sky.

If you never went to a Saturday Matine. You don't know what you missed, but Montana Sky will let you know what a Saturday matinee was like.

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Prologue:

Taz and Kodak have settled into life on the mesa above Gen. Walker’s Montana ranch. Taz rides fence to help to keep the cattle contained, while Kodak goes about making the line shack their home.

When Kodak gets an offer from Nature magazine, he takes it. While heading for an island to photograph the animals, Kodak’s plane goes missing over the Pacific. Once hearing the news, Taz realizes Kodak may never return.

Confronted by rustlers, helped by Indians, a Shaman threatens Taz’s stability by giving him a message from the lost Kodak. 

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Chapter 1

Among the Missing

It was a gullywasher. As beautiful as the Montana springs can be, there were the spring storms. They dropped out of the mountains from the west, moving southeast and often saturated the mesa. The line shack that Taz & Kodak called home sat close enough to the canyon wall to furnish extra protection from the worst of the weather.

Storms swept off the mesa onto the meadows below, bringing water that turned the brown grass green, starting another grazing season. The rains came up fast, lasting for days in some cases or merely minutes in others. It was a sign the seasons were turning.

Taz gathered his tools to ride back out to the northern section of fence where he’d found a new break. Keeping the cattle on the general’s ranch was a full-time job. Taz kept his eyes open for breaks in the wire where cattle might break through.

When he left the cabin, he glanced at the sky. It had clouded over. He thought it could rain but there was work to do and he intended to get it done before he lost any cattle. It was his job.

Taz was distracted by Kodak’s absence. Taz knew staying focused on his job was important. Any number of times during the day his mind might stray to thoughts of his friend, which made his work more difficult.

It looked more and more like rain the farther he rode. The grumbling thunder rolled along the canyon peak above him. Lightning flashes followed, unsettling Cyclone. The lightning came closer and the thunder told Taz to quit daydreaming and get the job done.

He wasn’t sure the lightning and thunder could drive the cattle through the broken fence, but he wasn’t taking any chances. A little rain wasn’t enough to keep him from doing his job, but he regretted needing to take Cyclone out in weather that frightened her. She was a good horse and she trusted him, so she stayed under him in spite of being made skittish by the elements.

Straining his back to join the wire tightly together, he tied it off. When he looked up, he found Gen. Walker sitting on his horse beside him.

“Morning, General. Nice day,” Taz said, with his usual sardonic wit.

“What are you doing out in a storm?”

“It wasn’t storming when I started. Fence needs fixing. Ain’t fixing itself, so I came to help it along. The rain got here after me, which brings up the question, why are you out here? This is a one man job.”

“I want you to come down to the house,” the general said.

“It’s about Kodak?” Taz surmised, checking the repaired wire.

The general shifted in his saddle, making the leather squeak. His plan wasn’t to talk out there. He intended to tell Taz down where there were people around him. It was a plan not likely to fly.

“Is he all right, General? I figure not with you coming out here. You may as well tell me. The longer you wait the worse I’ll figure it is.”

“New Zealand reported Kodak’s plane overdue on Sunday. Nature magazine called the house this morning. They were waiting for a search to be conducted. Since he had no spouse listed, they didn’t feel it was necessary to call until they got word. I wanted to be the one to tell you, son.”

“How long overdue?”

“It’s Wednesday. The plane carrying him out to the island was due back Sunday afternoon. It was listed as lost Sunday night. They checked the island and all alternative landing fields within range, but there’s no sign of them yet.”

“It’s a big ocean,” Taz said with a distance in his voice.

“I’ve got contacts in the Pacific Fleet. I’ve asked them to keep their eyes open. They’ll begin some informal maneuvers early next week. It’ll follow the flight plan filed by the pilot. They’ll report anything they find that might indicate what may have happened to the missing plane.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. It’s a big ocean,” Taz repeated, feeling like his feet weren’t firmly planted on the ground under his boots.

“Why don’t you come down to the house? We’re both going to have pneumonia standing out here in the rain. You know Kathleen will be worried about you. She’s made up the guest room. It’s right next to the radio room. You can keep an eye on Crosby for me,” Gen. Walker said.

“Sorry, General, I forgot about the rain. I don’t live down there,” Taz said, straining his back to make the final tie to repair the section of fence. “You got a bottle of booze down there you can lend me?”

“I keep a case of 30 year old Kentucky bourbon on hand. That do?”

“Good as any. Bring me a bottle the next time you ride up my way, will you?”

“Good as done, son. I’ve got my radio man on our shortwave. It’s quiet but he’s listening. If anything breaks, Crosby will pick it up. Anything else I can do?”

Taz took his hat off and wiped the sweat off his brow. The rain ran out of his short hair and over his face. He used his arm to wipe the constantly dripping water before returning the hat so low on his head the general could no longer see his eyes. Rain, having collected in his hat, ran down his wet face. Taz stood in a daze for a minute, trying to remember what he was doing.

“No, sir. Nothing I can think of. Thanks. You better get on home.”

The general knew Taz well enough not to try to convince him to do what he thought was best for him. The kind of bond that had formed between Taz and Kodak wasn’t unusual with men in a war zones. What was unusual was that it had grown stronger once they’d returned to the States. It was easy to see they went together and how important Kodak was in keeping Taz’s life in balance.

It was bound to be a rough ride for Taz, until they found out what happened to Kodak, if they found out. The general knew from years of war that there was only so much he could do for one of his men. Then, they were on their own, as Taz was now on his own to deal with his feelings.

Gen. Walker reached to touch Taz’s shoulder affectionately. He turned his horse back down the fence line toward the house. The general could have sent one of his men on the errand, but not really. When word came and he waited at the house for news, there was no one else to send. As difficult as it was, it was his mission and he never failed in his duty to his men. It’s why they called him, ‘a soldier’s general.’

Taz stood alone in the rain for a long time before climbing back on Cyclone. Sitting there for a few more minutes, he finally remembered where he was going.

“Giddy up, Cyclone,” Taz said, giving her flanks an easy squeeze with his thighs before turning her in the direction of home.

Luckily Cyclone knew where shelter and food would be found. The next thing Taz knew, he was sitting in front of the barn. It was pouring rain. The only thought that went through his mind as Cyclone carried him home was, ‘Why did you leave me?’

Not knowing how long they’d been sitting there, Taz dismounted, leading his mount inside the enclosure he’d built next to the house for the two horses, his and Kodak’s. He carefully hung the saddle and blanket before using another blanket to dry her, taking extra time to talk to her, feeling guilty for making her stand in the rain. He pulled down an extra helping of hay to make amends.

He’d built the barn the first week there, using a pile of lumber left near the shack for that purpose. Winter was threatening the mesa then and the general didn’t think the horses would make it being out in the weather all winter in a corral.

Taz learned something about building during basic training. They’d built two camps complete with tents for the men and buildings for the commanding officer, noncoms, and sergeants. A barn was a piece of cake for him, because the horses wouldn’t complain about it.

The barn went up in a week. After securing more wood, each horse got her own stall with a ledge just out of reach to keep the hay high and dry.

Even in the rain the hay was dry and Taz pulled some down for Kodak’s horse, Milkweed, once Cyclone was dried and fed. He sat down in Cyclone’s stall, unable to go any further. Still mostly somewhere else, his mind flashed from one thought to the next in no particular order.

Milkweed used his cool nose to nuzzle Taz’s shoulder over the low barrier that separated the horses, as if to thank him for the hay. Taz smiled, patting the damp nose. This was his connection to Kodak, after he left on a job he was offered but hadn’t sought. He might be gone two weeks to a month. He would fly out into the Pacific, stay a week on an island paradise to take pictures, and fly home.

He’d only been gone a week, but now, Taz fought the idea that he might not be coming back. He sat motionless, unable to process losing the only person he’d ever been close to or trusted.

“You miss him too, huh?” Taz said, rubbing Milkweed’s nose.

Cyclone got into the act, pushing Taz over with her nose, jealous of being left out of the rare moment when Taz sat with them.

“Okay! Okay, I like you too,” he said, standing and brushing the hay off his soaked shirt and jeans, suddenly feeling chilled, out of place, and alone.

A few minutes later he was closing the door as he went inside the cabin. The Hawaiian curtains over the two windows, Kodak’s idea of a joke. He’d purposely picked a pattern that resembled his matching shirts and shorts he’d worn on stage, during their whirlwind tour of the country. It seemed like a million years ago.

It was surprising what you could find in a one size fits all general merchandise store in Big Sky Country. Kodak spotted the material with a dozen other bolts of cloth. It could be made into anything you required, from clothing to curtains. He found it along one isle of the General Mercantile on an early visit and he saw curtains for the windows, a humorous reminder of the serious events that brought him and Taz together.

Once Kodak left, the place was a mess in little more than a week. Kodak kept it picked up if not clean, while Taz used his carpentry skills on the stable and a front porch, making the shack into more of a cabin. Previously men had come and gone while the main herd grazed nearby for a few weeks at a time. It was now Taz’s and Kodak’s home.

Taz decided on the improvements he wanted to make, taking his finished ideas to Kodak before beginning a project. Kodak had no resistance to Taz’s plans and likewise, inside their cabin, Kodak made the improvements he thought would add flavor and comfort to the place where they lived.

The dirty clothes and dirty dishes were piling up in a cabin too small for piles of anything. These were details Taz didn’t notice or care about. The sloppy spell of weather had dirtied all his clothes by this time. He picked through the pile each morning for the least offensive dirty clothes for a second go around, once he’d brushed off the dried mud that he swore leaped up on him no matter what he did.

He didn’t mind the sight of grossly wrinkled jeans, as long as he could get them on without a struggle. There was a big wooden tub out back that was filled with rain water. When things became too smelly even for Taz, he’d dump the clothes in there and carefully dump a half a box of Duz flakes in on top.

He was sure letting them coexist in there for a day or two couldn’t hurt. He’d hang them on the line Kodak installed for the laundry he did by hand in the same rain tub. He was sure there was a step or two he was leaving out, but water and soap were the important things after all.

Taz peeled out of his drenched shirt and jeans, stripping off his soggy socks and underwear before digging the least offensive but dry replacements out of the pile of dirty clothes. He hadn’t planned on Kodak being gone all that long or the weather turning so wet.

Building a fire in the stove next, he needed strong black coffee to warm his innards. Stoking a fire in the small stove heated the entire cabin in no time.

Kodak hadn’t been there to ride into town with Kathleen, Mrs. General, to shop. The supply of canned goods was dwindling. It was noodle soup or Hormel chili. There was a can of corned beef hash but no onions or potatoes to cook up with it the way he liked but had never fixed himself. He didn’t figure it would be too hard if he had the ingredients.

Taz put an extra scoop of coffee in the basket and filled it until the water was running out of the top, placing it on the stove that was already blasting heat out of its openings. Taz stood close to it to soak up the heat and run off the uncomfortable chill.

“That’ll have to do,” he said, sitting at the table with the checkered Italian table cloth, remembering Kodak putting it on the table the night before he left.

It was another bargain buy from the general merchandise store that made Kodak laugh. The idea of an Italian tablecloth on the Montana range delighted him no end.

“Shoulda told you no,” Taz said, never saying no to Kodak.

He noticed the stains on the tablecloth before putting his feet up on the table. It was no great crime, since Kodak wasn’t there to correct him, but he still felt guilty.

He regretted being such a slob. Kodak didn’t mind and now Kodak’s touches inside of where they lived were all that was left of him. He fought back the emptiness that crawled up out of his stomach into his chest. He stared off at nothing, trying to collect his thoughts.

Taz didn’t need to look far to find Kodak. He’d left his mark inside the living quarters. There was just the one room and they’d gone through the trouble of making up all of the four bunks built into one wall. Two bunks always remained unmade, even when they only used one, because they never knew who might drop in unexpected.

They didn’t want some naïve wrangler to get the wrong idea, or the right one, or put a cowboy in the position of making a decision about the two men who manned the line shack on the mesa. It was Montana, where people tended to mind their own business when you let them.

The general was most likely to come up. Kathleen frequently made feasts for the wranglers who ate at the general’s table, when it was feasible. Kathleen made plenty, to send some to Taz & Kodak. The general sat long enough to have a cup of coffee and to chat, after bringing something.

The general was impressed at how fast Taz built the shelter for the horses, using the leftover wood to start on the front porch, which is where they sat to watch the changing Montana sky. The general liked staying until the sun left the sky, which was quite a sight. It left him enough time to ride home before it was pitch black.

This had become their home. Taz had been left home alone.

The coffee was boiling over before he got up to pour his cup, which he overflowed. He sipped enough boiling brew to make it safe to set down on the tablecloth, but even then it left a ring where it sat. Kodak would scold him for being careless. He missed being scolded. He missed Kodak hovering around him once he came in from work, cleaning up after him.

He sat in the rocker on the porch with his hand on the arm of Kodak’s chair, watching the trail Kodak would take when he came home, if he came home.

He formed the words on his lips as he pondered the fate of his friend.

“Kodak!” came his agonized cry.

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Chapter 2

Lost

Kodak sat on the sand, nursing his sore shoulder and arm, as he regained his strength. It was his most serious injury besides a knot on his forehead. They’d crashed in shallow water within a hundred yards of the beach. Once he realized he couldn’t get the dead pilot out of the plane after the crash, he mostly floated on the water that carried him to shore. He would have to wait and gain enough strength to return for whatever he could salvage.

All his equipment had been wrapped in waterproof packaging before being loaded on the first leg of the journey. His film was similarly wrapped to assure it remained dry, even if dropped in water. The crash wasn’t what came to mind when Kodak was told his equipment could be dropped in water and remain dry. His experienced definitely changed what being dropped in water might mean.

The pilot spotted the island as the plane’s engines began to sputter. He’d turned the craft hard to the left. apparently intending to use the beach as a landing strip, only the final sputter from the engines came a few hundred yards off shore. The plane tilted left just as it impacted the water. Kodak was stunned for some time after the crash but he couldn’t be sure for how long.

That’s all Kodak remembered about the crash. He was more stunned than having any permanent serious injury from the impact. The cool Pacific waters filling his side of the plane revived him. The pilot’s side was submerged, tilted downward.

Kodak’s first instinct told him to free the pilot but by the time he finally loosed himself from his constraints, there was no way the pilot could still be alive. If Kodak didn’t get out of the plane fast, he’d drown too. Somehow getting his door open with his left hand, because his right arm had no feeling in it, he let himself float out on the water as the cabin of the plane slipped beneath the surface. The right wing was still out of the water for a time, allowing him to steady himself to regain his senses before attempting to make it to shore.

With his right arm still useless, he let the action of the waves carry him toward shore. Standing to test his legs, he walked the final few yards, collapsing on the beach from exhaustion. He slept on the sand. This was a blur of details he put together, once he thought back on the crash and his escape from the sinking plane.

The plane ended up just inside a small lagoon that protected the beach from the ocean, except sometimes at high tide, the ocean and the lagoon became one. At low tide Kodak found he could walk to within 50 yards of the wreckage in placid, knee-deep water.

He felt too lucky to be alive to have regrets, but sitting alone on that tiny strip of beach, he understood his decision to take the job also separated him from the friend he depended upon to keep his life in balance.

This separation reminded him of when the army took Taz away, during what was supposed to be a congressional reception to honor him. This was different and yet, every bit as hard on Kodak, as that separation. He was glad to be alive. He wasn’t so glad to be facing an uncertain future alone.

Touring the States with Taz as the hero and he as his photographer, had them depending on one another. That they spent all their time together for over a year before Taz’s breakdown had made his absence more significant. It was a necessary separation, but none-the-less a crushing one for Kodak.

Before Taz’s breakdown, soldiers told Kodak trouble was coming.

“Taking a man like Taz out of combat and away from the men he’s protecting, even if you put him in front of a friendly audience, won’t end well.”

Kodak learned what they meant. One instant they’d been stranded in the jungle in the midst of the enemy, and the next minute it was ticker tape and steak dinners. All of this because Kodak’s first exposure to battle meant taking pictures at a time when he was more scared then he’d ever been. Taking pictures defeated his fear.

Those pictures captured a hero in action. Once published, Taz’s story was told and the army finally had a heroic face to put on the Vietnam war. It was a stroke of genius, but their hero needed time to decompress. The army didn’t have time. Taz was immediately speaking about his tour of duty in Vietnam.

The tail of the plane was visible for the first two days. It slipped below the surface as the wreckage settled on the third day, reappearing the next morning. Kodak knew the plane couldn’t be seen from the water and probably not from the air unless someone was looking straight down into the lagoon from above.

The island was larger than it first appeared as they approached it from the air. He’d found a fresh water spring the first day, not far off the beach. The water ran down from someplace above. The fruit and coconuts seemed endless. Two important resources were no more than a few minutes away.

The tricky part of a coconut was the husk; if you could find a way through the thick fiber outer protection, the nut was yours for the taking. This was where the machete mounted on the inside of the passenger door of the plane came in handy. It made short work of getting to the inner nut and Kodak piled up a dozen at a time to open later.

Kodak developed different techniques to open the coconuts, making a small hole in the nut to drink the liquid and a larger hole to pick out the coconut’s meat. The machete and various stones gave him the tools to allow him to make the opening he wanted.

Sitting on the narrow beach he spent time watching the plane’s tail section appear sometime in the morning and disappear later in the day. He didn’t know the time but it gave him an idea of how long he’d have to get anything useful out of the plane.

Being well fed and getting the feeling back in his right arm, it took him until the third day to start planning to reach the wreckage when the tide was at its lowest, which would mean the least distance to swim. The following morning, right after the tail section came into view, he set out to retrieve his camera equipment first.

He entertained the idea of bringing the body of the pilot in for burial. He decided leaving it strapped in the plane was best. At least there would be a body to recover if someone came upon the island one day. He wasn’t certain something wouldn’t dig up what he buried.

The first thing he needed to do was break open the crate that contained the camera equipment. His camera case with camera was carefully wrapped separately in its own plastic to keep it out of the weather on days when it stormed during his island shoot. He was happy to have it back in his hands.

Several unexplored islands near the end of the Marshall Island chain were of interest to Nature magazine. They’d been left to establish an ecology without the influence of man for over a hundred years. Being as small as six miles long and two miles wide, they couldn’t sustain human habitation for many or for long.

Volcanic activity and the increasing size of storms in the region made such islands less than ideal for habitation. Being relatively forgotten and a bit too far for native islanders to access without a major effort, nature had been left to set its own course.

Nature magazine wanted Kodak to capture on film what that meant to the monkeys, birds, and reptiles native to the island. The editor of the magazine had seen some of Kodak’s pictures of the jungles of Vietnam and he was sure he’d found the photographer he wanted. It took him some time to track him down.

Kodak was eager to photograph the colorful birds and spirited monkeys that were abundant. He’d picked out a spot on the beach to watch island life before he could retrieve his camera equipment. It gave him time to make a plan to keep busy. This wasn’t the island he was going to but it had all the features he expected to find there.

The monkeys and birds were more curious about him, while the reptiles were less than thrilled by the invader that spelled danger to them. Kodak kept his distance for the first few days to let the island life become accustomed to the latest arrival.

Alone, left to his own devices, he’d encounter danger, because no place came without some kind of danger. Big fish weren’t a great threat because the mouth of the lagoon was in the shallows and he figured he was safe from sharks and such, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be vigilant. There was always a chance of something deadly coming into the lagoon when the ocean got angry and overtook it.

He wanted to establish a camp as quickly as he was able, and see about protecting himself from snakes and the larger lizards that stood off some distance down the beach to watch him from time to time. These were scary critters, making Kodak feel like he’d been dropped into the middle of a prehistoric movie location, complete with dinosaurs.

It was the third day before he felt strong enough to start stripping the plane. Opening the crate to retrieve his camera and some film was all he could do the first day. He was exhausted by the time he pushed his tree trunk back to shore.

This chore was made more stressful because he hadn’t yet learned to ignore the pilot. At first half of his focus went to looking at the corpse and how best to avoid looking at it. Even having seen war, death unnerved him and the pilot was very dead.

Cutting his first visit short, after getting the crate with his camera equipment open, made it easier on him. He still wasn’t strong enough to make a major effort, and until he was he’d go slow.

The following day he went with the idea of retrieving his suitcase. Once again, it wasn’t too much of a strain on his sore body. He hung out his clothing, except for the soft brim hat, letting it dry on his head, cutting the impact of the hot tropical sun.

Most of the fifth day was spent going back and forth to the plane as low tide came and went. Exhaustion was no longer a factor. He wasn’t too tired to regain his strength after a short rest. Then he made another dive. There were a lot of things he could use and it was on this day he decided to get it done without further delay.

He stretched his right arm, testing its strength. It felt stronger and for the first time he was sure there was no damage beyond the serious bruises that made life miserable for the first few days. The warm water and regular exercise proved to be the best medicine.

His right side was one big bruise but the bruising had begun to lose its uglier colors. His arm’s soreness reminded him to take it easy and not rush. By the sixth and seventh days he’d begun to enjoy the daily trips to the plane.

By this time Kodak talked to the pilot as he searched the plane for one more useful item, holding his breath longer on each dive. He didn’t look at the body and wasn’t able to call him by name, but he felt no presence. He talked to the only person in his world, and a week after he’d begun diving on the wreckage, everything that was of value to his survival was on shore.

He was sitting on the beach holding his knees, one day after the diving was done, when the top of the tail of the plane, all that was visible of the plane by then, did a slow motion turn. The plane slipped below the surface to settle on the bottom of the lagoon. The tail section never appeared above the waterline again.

Kodak knew how lucky he was to be alive. Had the plane settled to the bottom on the first day, he’d never have been able to retrieve anything. There was some comfort to seeing the tail sticking out of the water at some time during the day, but less and less of it was visible each time. There was no particular feeling of loss once it was gone for good.

It was what it was and he’d survived for a reason. It made no sense that he survived the crash to be eaten by a lizard later. That didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. He would do his best to see it didn’t, so he could be around to see how it all turned out. Until then, he wanted to take pictures, stay busy, until he figured out what came next.

By the end of the first week on the island Kodak had walked the beach in both directions, as far as he could go. It was then he turned his focus to moving up and away from the beach. He was building his camp just inside the tree line for the time being, collecting and storing a few days of food. Once this was taken care of, he had time to explore and photograph the island’s creatures and landscapes.

He wanted to be able to negotiate the high ground in case of a serious storm. So far every day had been warm and sunny, but this was the South Pacific and known for intense storms. He needed a secondary camp that offered protection during such an event.

He waited to begin his trek upward until he was sure he was able. On his first day of climbing toward the top of the island, he left the camera safely hung in the branches of a tree too small for monkey shines to dislodge it. For extra safety he hung the sleeveless green fatigue jacket, which Taz had given him in Vietnam, over the camera case. It was suspended five feet off the ground.

His main mission was to explore and blaze the easiest trail possible to the top. He doubted there would be time to take many pictures and once he had an idea of what he was dealing with, he could go back with the camera to capture whatever he discovered.

He was forced to change course a few times. The machete came in handy against the thick undergrowth, but even that became useless against the more dense parts of the jungle. Any idea of clearing a direct route to the top was soon abandoned.

Once he crossed the stream that fed the pool of fresh water, he tried to stay close to it, but this too ended with him crossing it and then crossing back over it to find some easy going. He spent time hacking into what looked like easier passage, only to have it turn impassable, forcing him to backtrack to the stream one more time.

As he climbed that first day, he made sure he always knew where the beach was. He’d seen the entire island from the air the day of the crash. It didn’t look all that formidable at first glance, but the intense undergrowth made going tough. He spent a lot of time keeping the stream within reach, knowing that it went straight toward the beach below, where it emptied out into the lagoon.

The island environment reminded him of Vietnam and that got him thinking about his friend Taz, as he made one false start and then another. Maybe because he was allowing his mind to drift he became confused, but he was always able to locate the stream in short order. He was unable to clear his way far enough to lose the sound of the water cascading downward. He stopped to listen every couple of minutes to be sure.

He was hot, drenched in sweat, and he was sure he was attracting every insect on the island. He made enough noise to alert everything to his presence. After a couple of hours or more, he calculated he was no more than a half mile from the beach. Looking upward told him nothing about how far there was to go.

He was ready to quit. It was hopeless and he thought he could find his way back the next day by way of what he’d cleared the first day, only it was a series of dead ends. He’d start earlier tomorrow before it got so hot. He couldn’t remember it cooling off since he’d been there.

There were no signs that men had been there before. All he’d seen was undergrowth and more undergrowth during his aborted climb. The beach showed no sign of anyone ever being on it before. He made a point of keeping his eyes open to see some sign of a fire being built. If men had been here, they’d need to build a fire for cooking food.

It was possible someone might live on the far side of the island but with the thickness of the underbrush, they’d never made an attempt to come visit his beach, which was more than odd. No, Kodak decided, he was the only man there.

Could this be one of the unexplored islands? Did anyone know it was here? Had it been created by volcanic eruption or did it surface during a storm? Then, how did the animals get here? Noah perhaps?

Kodak didn’t know there might be uncharted places left on earth. Everything could be seen from space. Maybe he’d discovered this island? He and his pilot. He could name the island after the pilot if that was the case. If he only remembered his name.

They shook hands and exchanged names when they first met. The pilot had helped to load Kodak’s gear into the tail section of the plane. The pilot knew where he was going and if he thought there was any danger in flying straight out into the Pacific, he’d not shown any sign of fear.

This was all arranged by Nature magazine. Kodak didn’t think to question the pilot’s plan or even look at the map of his route. He seemed to know what he was doing. He wore aviator’s glasses and a World War II bomber jacket that was well worn. What else did Kodak need to see for him to trust his pilot? It wasn’t his fault the engines failed, but the failure was the death of him, and only by dumb luck had Kodak survived.

Kodak was standing in the stream when he realized he was daydreaming again. Kodak walked down the stream and was back at his camp in no time. He felt suspiciously like he’d wasted an otherwise nice afternoon. There had to be an easier way to get to the top of that island; but instead of worrying about it he decided he’d take a swim, eat, and figure out tomorrow’s plan once he’d cooled down.

Before he knew it, it was tomorrow, and he went back to blazing a trail to the top of the island. The sweat and discomfort of his sore muscles made him stop for rest more often the second day. He’d put on his sneakers instead of his heavier climbing boots, and once stymied for the second or third time, he decided to climb by way of the stream. He might never make it if he had to chop his way to the top.

The jungle thinned out as he got toward the top. Once there he stood on a football field size bare spot. He calculated by the cut of the very top, this was a volcanic island and the undergrowth had returned after the last eruption.

The indentions and craters were consistent with what he’d think a long ago dead volcano might look like. It was uneven and rocky in the center, but the jungle was thin enough to negotiate three hundred and sixty degrees around the barren center of the island’s top.

When he got to a place that gave him a view of three sides of the island, he located the lagoon and knew the shadow close to the mouth of the lagoon was the plane a few feet below the surface.

He was sorry he didn’t bring his camera, but he’d be back. He hadn’t seen that much wildlife. He’d heard the rustling in the brush and there were bird sounds in the distance, but as he climbed it went silent, or at least he didn’t hear much in the way of animal sounds.

As loud as he was crashing through the undergrowth, the animals were no doubt cautious of some danger that may come with the invader. Had they seen men before? Had they learned to fear them?

He could see how the peninsulas of sand came around to almost touch beneath the lush green waters, the opening into the lagoon being no more than a few yards wide. The lagoon appeared calm. There were other areas that came with large waves beating against a rocky coast. It was a scenic perch with no sign of inhabitants.

He looked for other places that might be hospitable, but the rest of the island moved sharply upward, away from the water. The lagoon was cradled inside one of the natural turns of the shoreline. If you didn’t know what you were looking for, it would be easy to miss. Kodak searched the horizon for any sign of ships or planes. He was alone. The only plane was at the bottom of the lagoon and he was the only man.

Chapter 3

Mesa Moves

The rain pelted the roof of the cabin and the wind tore at the shingles. Taz spent a week replacing the old roof, after the first rain storm left the beds wet. It took that long because they were in no hurry just after moving in to their new home. They spent more time laughing and joking after being separated for a couple of months. The separation, after being together every day for over a year, was difficult for both of them.

Taz sipped the coffee, impervious to the heat of the liquid on his lips and inside his mouth. He was back to remembering the details of the time he and Kodak spent together, including when they were separated once before.

He’d been taken to an army hospital to dry out in a locked room in the psychiatric section his first day away from Kodak. Only the general was allowed inside, except for hospital staff. He was told that he’d stay there until his discharge was final. He was listed as being a member of Gen. Walker’s staff, but his duties were not defined. There were no hospital records kept for the man in C-11 with no name.

Lord knows the reporters tried to find him, after he was a no show at the congressional reception given in his honor. The general had been around a long time and he knew how to keep someone out of reach for a day or forever if he wanted.

“Congressional aids and staff told this reporter that Sgt. Tazerski was on special assignment and therefore was unavailable for the reception. This left in question the speech Kodak, Paul Anderson, wire service photo-journalist and the sergeant’s companion on his tour, gave to explain the sergeant’s absence. This reporter was unable to reach Mr. Anderson for comment.”

Gen. Walker was efficient and careful. There were no loose ends, no falsifications anyone could prove, and only officers he trusted knew the facts. No one in the U S Army was about to tarnish the heroic face that was Sgt. Tazerski and only the men closest to the general knew all the facts.

The general did what needed to be done to protect Taz, not for the U S Army’s benefit, but for Taz. General Walker had seen better men than Taz suddenly lose their minds, after seeing too much. After experiencing the unimaginable horrors of war, some men became drunks and others became drug addicts, and this was the cost of war that was never measured.

Because Taz quit drinking cold turkey, his fall came out of the blue. No one around him, except for Kodak, knew he was a drunk. He was merely a drunk who wasn’t drinking.

Not many men are strong enough to quit on their own and never drink again, because sooner or later they’re going to get blindsided by something. They don’t see it coming and can’t brace themselves for the impact, and they have a reflex reaction to it. They remember booze will kill the pain.

The general knew this history. He gave Taz the time and the facility where he could dry out, while keeping him away from scrutiny. The fact it corresponded with his final two months of obligation to the army meant Taz was his own man the day his discharge came.

Not even Kodak could be told where he was. Kodak was under 24 hour a day scrutiny by the media, once the press realized their DC darling had gone missing. There were rumors of a secret mission, a special commission from the president, sending him back into combat, but soon the trail grew cold as Taz quietly finished his tour of duty and Kodak dropped out of sight.

The shrink was optional but he came with the room and Taz humored him, matching him question for question, when he talked at all. Once the discharge came and the doors opened, it would be up to Taz to stay sober. No one could force him to do anything.

“We can make sure you dry out by keeping you confined here, but sooner or later you’ll walk out of here, and then whether or not you stay sober is up to you,” the shrink said. “I can give you all the reasons why you should stop drinking, but the real world is out there and I can’t tell you what to do about that.”

At first it had been a dog fight, more growling than talking; Taz soon realized he couldn’t get anywhere that way, and while never telling the doctor anything, he began to talk. All Taz knew was that he trusted Kodak and he missed his friend. He thought his lack of cooperation was keeping them apart, and so he talked on most days.

The general told Taz to trust Dr. Sharper and he’d soon be reunited with Kodak. Accepting that the general knew best, he agreed to play along. It had all worked out in the end. He started to trust the general, once his plan became clear.

“Sit tight. Do your time. You’ll have your life back soon,” the general assured him.

Now, the general had brought him the worst possible news. Kodak wasn’t returning to the cabin and Taz didn’t know if he could live without him. He’d hold off on making any decisions, knowing Kodak knew where he was and would find his way back to him if it was possible, maybe even if it wasn’t. He had to have hope.

Kodak sat on Nature magazine’s offer for some time. Nature didn’t want anyone else taking the pictures. Seeing Kodak’s pictures taken in the jungles of Vietnam convinced them he was their man. Taz knew Kodak wanted to go on a job that would pay him well and he told him he thought he should go.

The idea of being without Kodak had no great appeal, but Taz had mostly been alone, and he knew he could tough it out for the few weeks he’d be gone. It now saddened him that he had agreed. What he wanted was for Kodak to stay there with him, but it wasn’t fair for him to deny Kodak some freedom to ply his trade. He thought if he let Kodak go to do this job he’d be happier being with him in Montana.

Taz stood on the porch and watched the trail leading down to the house. It was farther overland than following the fence line, but the fence was a fifteen minute ride to the north of the cabin. He’d stood every day, watching the trail from the same spot, expecting Kodak to appear one afternoon. Even knowing he might never return, he watched anyway.

His entire life had been spent waiting to have a life, which led him to Vietnam. He was sure his life would end there, until Kodak showed up. For some reason his appearance changed Taz. Kodak was in school and a professor’s glorious talk of war had him going to Vietnam to find himself and photograph the war.

Once Kodak found Taz, his world was quickly turned upside down. Little did he know the agreement he entered into with Sgt. Jacoby was going to leave him questioning everything, including his sanity. Being made responsible for someone who was utterly irresponsible kept Kodak off balance and confused.

His curiosity being greater than his original revulsion to Taz, Kodak walked into the lion’s den unaware, and he ended up being the lion tamer. It didn’t happen right away, but slowly, the two men bonded. Together their lives had more meaning than ever before, and in a war zone that helped them stay alive.

Taz didn’t reflect on his past as a matter of preference. There was nothing behind him that had anything to do with the man he had become. He was doing a man’s job and enjoying life the way he never imagined he could, and yet without Kodak, the joy had gone out of it.

Reflecting on Kodak became painful, because of the uncertainty of his absence. The past two years were full of him. His present was empty without him. The idea of Montana with his friend at his side was heaven but without him it felt empty. Taz wasn’t eager to consider a future never knowing what happened to Kodak.

It was the day after the general brought the news, and Taz was standing on the front porch, looking for some sign of Kodak’s return. He would not change his routine. He knew, one day, he’d see him coming home. It’s the only thing that kept him from going to pieces.

He saw the rider coming ten minutes before he got to where the cabin was tucked up close to the canyon wall. The man sat too tall and straight to be Kodak. It took another minute for Taz to know it was the general. His benefactor was concerned about him and there was nothing Taz could say to set the general’s mind at ease.

“Morning, general,” Taz said, as the general moved his horse up to the porch so he was able to look Taz in the eye. “You join the Welcome Wagon?”

“Kathleen is worried about you. I have fresh soup. It’s still warm. She wrapped it to keep it that way, and she roasted a chicken for you. I brought bread and some more coffee, beans, and canned goods. She’s always picking up canned goods on sale. She knows what… Kodak buys for you.”

“Come on in. I’ve got a pot on the stove,” Taz said, walking through the open door into the single room, carrying the canvas bag the general handed him.

The sun was out and the cool night air was warming so that shirt sleeves were comfortable. Spring had grabbed hold and the days would continue warming for some time to come. The general stepped off the horse and brought the second canvas bag of fresh prepared food as he watched Taz grab the faded red coffee pot.

“No, I’ll fix us some fresh. I don’t need to grow any more hair in my ears and nose, son. Your coffee has that impact on me. You’re accustomed to that swill the army serves you, but I, I am a connoisseur.”

“You’re telling me I wasn’t getting the same coffee generals got?” Taz asked, in mock shock.

“We’d send the guy that brought us that kind of coffee out to face a firing squad. No, mine came in a silver carafe and was always replaced on the hour, until I no longer needed coffee. That’s when I was brought my bourbon.”

“I knew you officers got a better deal. No one never served me no coffee. If I wanted it I had to go get it myself. I guess I should have become an officer,” Taz kidded.

“It was one way to keep you boys in shape. Making it too easy on you would only encourage you to get careless. Here’s the bottle you asked for,” Gen. Walker said, setting down the bourbon in the center of the table.

Gen. Walker knew giving a drunk a bottle was the wrong thing to do, but Taz had to live his own life, make his own mistakes, and the general wasn’t going to treat him like a child. He’d been asked to bring a bottle and he’d brought it.

“Do you want me to wash your cup or can I wipe it out with my shirttail?” Taz asked. “You being a general and all.”

“Get away from there. I’ll take care of my cup. Get the grinder out and fill it up and grind some beans. Those aren’t ordinary beans, son. That’s my special blend Kathleen picks up for me when she gets into Billings.

“Good lord, I’ll have to clean this mess up enough to get some water in that sink. You’re way too young to be this messy. I think maybe I’ll bury most of it and bring you up some fresh paper doodads. Do you ever wash dishes?”

“Not if I can avoid it. Most stuff wipes right off dishes. Kind of adds some flavor, after I burn something. Once I dirtied them all, I figured out I could put the cans on the stove but you got to open them first. Man they sure don’t like to be heated up before you open them. Suckers go off like a grenade,” Taz explained.

“I’ll keep that in mind and pass it on to Kathleen, so she doesn’t make that mistake,” the general quipped, cleaning out two coffee cups.

The general got the coffee pot on the stove, after shoving enough wood in it to get the fire going. He put out the soup and found one clean bowl up in the cabinet to sit down in front of Taz.

“I’m really not hungry, General. I’ve been off my feed. Tell the Mrs. I appreciate it very much but I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, and the Mrs. is going to ask me how you liked her soup, and you’re going to tell me how you like it, because she knows when I’m not shooting straight with her. She took the time to make this soup for you, son, and you’re going to eat it. I brought some crackers. Coffee should be ready in a few minutes. The soup is warm enough for you. Eat! Enjoy! That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Taz sat watching the general move piles of debris out of his way. He seemed oblivious to the slovenly former soldier’s utter disregard for any order in his life. He didn’t come up to criticize or complain. His concern for Taz was real and heartfelt, but he was at a loss to find some right thing to do to make things better for Taz.

He didn’t understand Taz & Kodak’s friendship, but it was none of his business. Taz wasn’t in the army anymore and Kodak never was. Their lives were their own and all he did was offer them a place to make their lives work and plenty of work to boot.

Taz was a tireless worker. He took Cyclone along the fence line for hours each day. The constant breaches in the fence were troubling and more than usual according to the meticulous records Kathleen kept for the years he was gone.

General Walker’s spring cattle count hadn’t begun yet, but he halfway expected to come up short. If they came up short it would be time to put men on riding fence around the clock, until the culprits were caught. It was only suspicion at this point but he couldn’t help but wonder.

He didn’t sense Taz was in any danger, but he thought about bringing up a sidearm for him to carry, just in case. Then he thought about Kodak being missing, and he figured he’d wait to bring Taz a gun until his disappearance was resolved.

The general stressed that if he found anything suspicious, he was to come down to the ranch house for reinforcements before taking any action on his own, so they could mount a force to confront the bad guys. He knew Taz might try to take on the culprits if he came upon them, but telling him not to might register as an order.

While it wasn’t unusual for cows to wander off from time to time, cows rarely carried wire cutters, and the overwhelming evidence pointed to man-made cuts. Though Taz’s repairs disguised the source, the general spent time inspecting Taz’s splices.

Once they had a few days of dry weather, they’d drive the rest of the herd off the mesa and down onto the meadows, where the new grown spring grass would make the cattle happy. That’s when branding started and a head count was most accurate. The general wasn’t going to come to any conclusions until that was done.

It was rare for Taz to spend too many hours of daylight in the cabin. His natural instincts made roaming something he liked, roaming the fence line was fine. He regretted not spending more time with Kodak when he could have, now that he couldn’t. Work came first because he owed it to the general, but it bothered him now.

Kodak always kept the cabin clean, the food prepared, and only rode out with Taz when he needed help to accomplish some task, or when Kodak just wanted to stay with him. It wasn’t an easy life but it was a good life and it was their life.

Kodak spent a lot of time writing his novel, using the notebooks he kept in Vietnam to remind him of the facts. He stopped writing when Taz came in, to dish up a meal before they sat on the porch to watch the sunset together.

Many magazines had approached Kodak to do spreads for them, but besides the box canyon pictures and the Vietnam pictures he owned, his devotion was to Taz and their Montana home. Traveling required an investment of time he didn’t want to make. To do a job right required you be willing the time to do it right and Kodak wanted to spend his time making their cabin a home and keeping Taz fed.

When the offer came to do the photo shoot on an island in the Pacific, the idea appealed to him. The income was enough to put away for a rainy day. It would also keep Kodak’s photojournalist career alive in case he needed to find work later. Their Montana mesa was perfect, but things change and photographing animals seemed safe.

Taz encouraged Kodak to take the job. He’d seen the excitement on his face and a short separation didn’t seem like it would be all that bad. Mostly he wanted Kodak to be happy. He’d ridden to the house with him to bring Milkweed back to the cabin, thinking he’d take her back down for Kodak when he returned.

It had been little more than a week and it seemed like forever. Taz could hardly remember Kodak’s face at times. He lay in bed at night wondering about his friend’s fate. He couldn’t help but miss him.

Had they seen the last of each other? Was Kodak at the bottom of the ocean or in the belly of a fish somewhere? Was the first friend he ever had gone forever?

Taz was tough. Little in life got to him. He’d been kicked around as a kid. He learned not to expect much. He’d never had a friend before and he didn’t know how to lose one. The ache in his heart was something new. He’d never have let him go if he’d known Kodak might not return. They’d been in a war, shot at, lost, emerging in some alternate world of flashbulbs and media. They both laughed about it. How could life change so fast?

You follow your nose and take it as it comes, but Taz wasn’t prepared for how his life had caved in on him, once Kodak was gone. He wasn’t convinced, or couldn’t accept, that Kodak was dead. No, there was no evidence he was dead. He took off in a plane and flew off over the ocean and he was out there somewhere. Taz thought that, but without Kodak there was no proof, and the doubt ate at him.

Taz was never a hero. He became a photograph. The photograph was the hero, but the photograph was of him, so he became a hero. It wasn’t him even when it was. Taz was always a zero. He didn’t belong anywhere. He became whatever the people around him wanted him to be. The army wanted him to be a hero and he became one, never believing he was one.

He’d picked up a rifle. It made him feel taller than his five foot seven height. He picked up a rifle and he let it speak for him. It had little to do with him. The rifle had a spirit all its own and Taz gave himself to the will of his weapon. It made him taller, more visible, an important element of 1st squad. They depended on him.

Kodak’s pictures caught a fragment of a second in time on film, frozen forever. Taz was never a model soldier. He wasn’t a part of anything. He had no need for approval or acceptance. These were things he’d never had.

The B.A.R.’s (Browning Automatic Rifle) spirit melded with his, and he became more than he’d ever been before. The sound, the feel, the power of the B.A.R. blended with his essence, becoming one with him, and he with it.

1st squad and Sgt. Jacoby bought into his heroics and the whirlwind surrounding him carried them out of danger and on the road to entertaining the troops without it being any of his doing. Neither he nor Kodak took it too seriously, until the night it came falling down on Taz. The war had finally caught him off guard and unarmed. Ten thousand miles from where the guns were being fired, Taz became a casualty of war.

Taz never had a break in his life. Suddenly he was famous, cared about, and even in despair there were people doing all they could to bring him back off the razor’s edge. Even when he fell the furthest, he understood there were people who cared. This was responsible for Taz’s healing more than anything else, but being told Kodak was waiting for him made a difference. After two months, the general took him to a reunion. Taz didn’t know how he felt until he took a look at Kodak. He realized he wanted to get on with his life. He knew he was starting over, but this time there were people who cared and because Kodak cared, Taz wanted to be a better man, a sober man.

The smile, the expression, the absolute rapture Kodak expressed upon seeing him was enough to drag him back away from the gates of hell. If ever he’d doubted anyone loved him, or that he was capable of loving, Kodak erased the idea. Taz may not have understood why his friend stood by him, but he did.

They’d been together every day since flying into Montana to set up housekeeping in a broken down shack on the mesa, a half dozen miles above the house and an additional twenty miles from any sign of civilization. They’d lived there together, until Kodak went on his photo shoot. He couldn’t conceive of not seeing him again. He couldn’t conceive of going through life without him. He didn’t know if there was life without him.

He was just going to take pictures. They’d been together in a war and Kodak was just going to take some pictures. Now he might not come back. If he could come back he would. Taz settled on that.

He lay in bed that night with a fire burning in the stove, where he left the door wide open so he could watch the embers. The bottle of bourbon sat in the middle of the table. The flickering flames showed in the glass of the bottle as the empty cabin furnished deep shadows around Taz’s life.

The following morning when Taz got up, he stood in his socks and jeans, holding the bottle. He read everything written on the labels. He set it back in the middle of the table. He stared at it even after he set it down. He wanted a drink more than anything in the world but it was early. He didn’t want to drink early. He slung the coffee pot back on the stove. It was still more than half full from the pot the general made. Two days, three days, four days old, didn’t matter a bit. They may have been good beans but it was still coffee. In Vietnam Taz drank coffee he was sure could have peeled paint off a car, but he drank it, glad to have it, happy to see a new day. Happy it was the general’s coffee he was drinking and not his.

There weren’t a lot of good things about war. The coffee, having coffee, was good, even when it was bad coffee. 1st squad was good. He never minded 1st squad all that much. They had been people but they were all in the same boat together. It didn’t matter if you were Cohen and came from money or you were Taz and came from dirt, Nam was the great equalizer.

Had Taz not been there, Cohen might never have lived to make it home. Had Cohen not been there, Taz might never have lived to become a hero, an icon, a magazine cover boy. Taz laughed, holding the boiling cup of coffee as he leaned on the porch post, looking down toward the house, where Kodak would come from when he returned.

How long had it been now?

“Kodak!” he screamed as loud as he could scream. “Kodak.”

The word shattered the silence, echoed out into the box canyon, coming back at him. He went back into the cabin and sat staring at the bottle of bourbon, wondering what time it was. Sipping the coffee, shirtless, on a morning that was a little above freezing, Taz was oblivious to everything but what went on behind his eyes.

He wondered about the time again.

*****

He watched the rider coming closer through the open door. The general’s horse cantered the last few yards to Taz’s front porch. It was a beautiful red horse. Taz walked out as the horse, remembering how to take the general up to where Taz stood, moved sideways to get them eye to eye.

“She’s a beauty,” Taz said, feeling the space between her eyes and down to just above her warm silky nose.

“Thoroughbred. Kathleen saw her when she was back in Kentucky two years back. Kathleen is from Kentucky, you know? Horse country that. She bought her for me. I didn’t see her until I retired. She’d kept her in the corner of the stables out of sight when I was home on leave.

She didn’t want the horse to get used to me only to have me gone again in a few days, as I was always gone from her. She’s got a way of setting me straight. I guess it wasn’t easy on her all these years,” he confessed.

“She run the place?”

“You want to know the truth, she still does. Keeps the books, makes the deals, pays the bills. She lets me give orders to the men so I feel useful, but the men tell me she knew what she wanted and it was best not to argue when she told one of them what to do.”

“That’s a nice story. She must really love you, General,” Taz said with an understanding he’d never possessed about love before.

“Yes, she put up with more shit than any wife should, but I’m home and I’m making it up to her. I’m staying home from now on.

“Here, some clean cups. Chicken and dumplings in the tin. You must rate, she never makes chicken and dumplings for me. Here’s a tin of biscuits. She says they’re fine cold or hot. Here’s butter. Go ahead and take those in. I’ll bring the rest.”

“The rest?”

“You don’t think I came up here just to bring you lunch? Yeah, she’s still pulling stuff out to bring to you. She keeps thinking she has forgotten something.”

The general brought in a canvas bag that was hung over his saddle horn. His horse stood patiently right where the general left her.

“More canned goods. Paper plates. Burn them in the fireplace. Don’t just put them outside. They’ll blow down to the house if you do. You haven’t opened the bourbon. I brought you another one,” the general said, holding a second bottle in his hand.

“No, you keep it. It isn’t for drinking. I promised Kodak I wouldn’t take another drink. That’s for me to know I won’t drink. It’s easy to not drink if there is nothing to drink. It makes me remember why I don’t drink to have the bottle to remind me.”

“The first time we met, I sensed you were one courageous soldier. I had nothing to base it on but instinct and some pretty pictures Kodak took. It’s easier to see it here, Taz. I don’t know what you are experiencing, but most men I know would have drunk themselves silly if how I think you feel is anywhere close.”

“It’s just what I need to do, General. I appreciate your concern for me. I surely do appreciate it. Let the Mrs. know how much it means to me, knowing she is concerned for me. It helps. It surely does help. Don’t know many folks give a hoot about me.”

“More than you know, son. You’re a good man. You deserve a break. I’m afraid I can’t give you one. There’s nothing. No word. No wreckage. No sign. They’ve just disappeared,” the general said sadly.

“They’ll keep looking. Lots of navy ships out there. Most of the fleet knows to keep their eyes open for a very important fellow. A personal favor to an old general.”

“Thank you, General. No wreckage, no wreck. It helps. You shouldn’t be spending so much time worrying about me. I’ll be fine. I got my chores and such.”

“That may well be true, son, but I can’t help myself. My boys are my life and when one of you is hurting, I’m hurting. Just let me be and I’ll let you be. We’ll both deal with our lives the best we can. I just want to be handy, son.”

“Sounds like I get the best end of the deal but I can’t see anything wrong in that. I’m at home here now and this is where I belong.”

“Have some chicken and dumplings? Kathleen’s dumplings melt in your mouth. I’d be big as a house if you put them in front of me too often.”

“Sounds like you might like to join me, General. Let’s eat.”

“The smell is too much to resist. I’ll just sit here and have a taste. Kathleen doesn’t have to know. Didn’t intend to come here to eat your grub.”

Taz laughed and the general put out two paper plates and dropped a small amount of the aromatic meal on his plate and a larger amount on the other plate.

After finishing his portion, the general got up from his food and excused himself.

“Got to get back. Chores to do. Don’t want Kathleen suspecting I’m up here eating food she sent to you,” the general said, picking up his hat and heading for the door.

Taz walked to the door to watch him riding back toward the house. He’d never had friends and now he was blessed with them. It was difficult to be depressed under those circumstances.

The general was more like a father to him than his father had ever been.

Chapter 4

Island Master

Kodak looked across what he thought was the volcanic field, sealed long ago with molten rock that cooled to create a top. Vegetation grew in abundance but there were no trees, mostly shrubs and weeds. As he examined it for some sign of a breach or impending eruption, he caught sight of a brilliant red bird sitting in the nearest tree, across the crags and crevices. It was maybe fifty yards away.

The bird seemed unaware of Kodak. It would have taken a major effort to cross the lava field for a closer look. Going around was a ten or fifteen minute hike and his approach was likely to scare the winged observer off his perch.

Kodak sat to rest, while he watched the red bird primp, as it sat on a bare limb. Kodak wondered if it had seen a man before. From that perch it saw him come up to check out the top of the island. It didn’t seem to have any fear, Kodak calculated. With the size of the bird’s beak it could discourage most folks from getting too close. Being a bird, it could fly away if someone came too close.

The bird’s brilliant plumage fascinated Kodak. You couldn’t miss it. Once he caught his breath, Kodak began moving back down toward the beach. His intention was to find an easier route, using the stream as his focal point. It was still tough going and the scratches and the soreness in his muscles proved it.

He spent some time collecting a pile of coconuts, using the machete to free the nut and piling the nuts up near the pile of rocks he planned to make into a fireplace so he could cook. He’d thought to bring a package of cheap lighters.

His aborted attempt at becoming a Boy Scout taught him lighting fires was an acquired skill he hadn’t acquired. Being on an island brought it to mind, and disposable lighters seemed perfect for island living.

As he used one of the rocks to open the coconut, he drank the soothing liquid. There was something about coconut water that was refreshing, and it satisfied him enough so he didn’t need to figure out what might be easy enough to catch and cook, and yet be tasty enough he wanted to eat it. Monkeys, birds, and lizards really didn’t do it for him, and none were likely to cooperate in becoming his dinner.

He picked at the flesh of the coconut and found it filling. Once he was done, he took the empty shell and filled it with fresh water for a refreshing drink. Using a piece of the abundant plastic, he protected the water from bugs before going swimming to cool down.

He gathered several kinds of fruit that he’d seen before, but couldn’t name. He stayed away from anything he wasn’t sure was safe to eat, but some were tempting by their very beauty. He’d wait to see if the wildlife feasted on them before he did.

By this time his camp near the beach was taking shape. He slept on the cushions from the plane but he wanted to get his bed off the ground. The fireplace only needed assembling and he kept a supply of water close at hand. The one thing he needed to do was clear a trail to the top of the island where he could both see and signal any passing boat. The trip up and back was too difficult to do him any good at present. He had hung his brightest Hawaiian shirt in a tree on the beach where it could be seen from the water.

While he’d found a knife, a hatchet, some tools and a tarp in the rear of the plane, there was nothing to fish with. The flight was supposed to be a flyover to see what the island had to offer. If the beach was firm and flat enough the pilot would land, leaving Kodak. He would return with supplies Kodak would need. If landing wasn’t possible they’d return to get a sea plane for a water landing. The pilot was authorized to supply Kodak as needed to keep him happy.

It was a fine plan but the plane crashed miles from the island where they were going. They’d flown around a storm to be safe and it was during that detour that the plane’s engines stuttered and stopped. Kodak was left on his own and no one knew where he was. Lucky for him the island was relatively friendly, so far.

Kodak began each morning with a fresh shower beneath the waterfall he’d discovered. He was mindful of his clothes when he took them off and before he put them on. There was some concern about the large unidentifiable insects that seemed to show up at the most unlikely times. You only needed to find one in your pants once to check twice before putting on clothes.

He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and once more took a look at his reddish beard and mustache that had begun to take over his face. He was tanning up nicely. He’d burned badly as a boy but staying within the tree line kept him out of the direct sunlight most of the time.

Photographing the many stages of the lagoon fascinated him. Photographing the many varieties of wildlife took skill and patience. He sat, watching for hours, documenting each species he wanted to capture on film.

He was grateful they’d taken the care to pack it so carefully for whatever reason. He’d flown out there to take pictures and that’s what he planned to do. It might not be the right island but it was an island and the critters were varied and colorful.

Kodak planned out each day carefully. What he photographed depended on the light, the weather, and his mood. He first spent some time watching the creatures, who took a keen interest in watching him. He moved slowly, sat quietly, and did all within his power to look benign, which wasn’t easy with a four foot lizard lingering nearby.

One monkey had come to examine his presence after spending time sitting on the edge of where Kodak lived. One day, after opening a couple of coconuts, Kodak held one out with the tasty coconut water inside for the monkey to take.

The monkey sat staring and did not move for a long time. Kodak didn’t move, keeping the hand with the coconut extended outward. The monkey went from looking at the coconut to looking at Kodak’s face and back to the coconut.

The offering proved too irresistible. The monkey stood up and ambled over to Kodak, reaching up to politely take the coconut out of his hand. He sat next to Kodak’s leg before draining the liquid and picking at the coconut meat inside, unconcerned about the man.

From then on the monkey stayed close to camp, as Kodak spent several days weaving coconut palm fiber into a hammock he could tie out between two appropriately placed palms just inside the tree line. The monkey, Tazerski, took a keen interest in the weaving, while waiting for more coconut to come his way. He showed no fear as he sat in front of his weaver friend.

The hammock made it possible for Kodak to sleep off the ground and away from insects and things that crawled around in the night. He’d elevated his boots to allow them to dry in the ever-present warm breeze. He wore his sneakers on the beach and saved the boots for the climb to the top of the island. Trying not to use the stream, he cleared a little more underbrush to create his trail to the top.

He’d known to gather wood and some of the paper that came to the island with him, which he kept dry in plastic. Should he see, hear, or think someone was anywhere near the island, he’d race to the upper reaches of the island and light the signal fire, using the paper to start it with the dried undergrowth he was cutting making excellent fuel, but it still took too long to get to the top.

It was while he reconnoitered the terrain to find a place to put the signal fire that the big red bird flew close enough to get his attention. It flew across the lava field and perched back on the same branch where it had been sitting before. This time it kept an eye on Kodak, no longer pretending not to notice him.

As Kodak gathered wood and dead branches full of dried palm leaves, the bird came swooping down near the top of his head, before taking a perch in a suitable tree a few yards away.

Kodak had left his camera in camp, not wanting to risk setting it down while he worked, but he knew he would be back to capture this particular bird, although dozens of varieties were well represented at a greater distance with none of them showing interest in the new arrival. Kodak sat and watched the red bird, deciding it was some type of parrot that sat watching him.

Chewing on something like an apricot, Kodak held one out for Tazerski, who came over to take it before sitting next to him to eat it. Being hot and sweaty from the climb, Kodak was ready to head back to camp for a swim. He got up after relaxing long enough to want to face the climb back down to the beach.

Tazerski got up to walk with him. Kodak eased himself down the steepest part of the hill he’d been making an attempt to clear. If he had a shovel he could make it less challenging, he thought. It was important to make it easier on him so he could get to the top faster, but it was the best he could do at this point. Progress was slow.

By the time he was a dozen feet down from the top, the red parrot came swooping past, crossing the spot where the water came out of the hill and ran downward. Kodak watched it fly effortlessly a few feet off the jungle floor. It perched in a tree ten yards off to his left. What was he doing? Kodak felt the bird was interacting with him.

Kodak eased himself off the uneven path he’d created, and crossed the water carefully, using a rock in the middle to keep from getting his boots soaked again. Once he got a few yards from the red bird, the bird glided away, downward, landing in a tree ten yards further down the hill.

Kodak could see the undergrowth was far less dense as he looked down at the red bird, who flew down a few more yards as if telling Kodak to follow him, which he did, finding the going far less difficult. In fact there was evidence of grading and maybe even an ancient staircase, which had grass and weeds growing over it but none of the thick undergrowth he’d been chopping for over a week.

This way down went fine for a few hundred yards and then the steps were overgrown with some brush, heavier grasses, and ever present jungle undergrowth. Kodak used the machete to make short work of the obstacles. Man had been here and he had lived here long enough to have a staircase to the top of the island. Kodak was amazed by this discovery, forgetting the parrot who seemed to be showing it to him. Could a parrot be that smart? How long ago were men here?

It was both comforting and a bit frightening to know men had been here, but where did they go? One thing was sure, he could make it to the top in a few minutes, taking the red bird’s route.

When Kodak made his way back to the beach, the red parrot was resting in a tree near his campsite, and Kodak made his second friend, Red Baron. Red Baron kept his distance without showing any concern for his safety. He’d discovered the man and wanted to keep an eye on him. It was the most excitement there was for a bird on a small island.

It was that afternoon instead of the next day that Kodak got his first pictures of the Red Baron. He primped, posed, spread his wings, and stared into the camera lens with increasing interest for what it was. As soon as Kodak set it down on the camera case, Red Baron came calling. After examining the camera without touching it, he flew to a lower tree close to where Kodak sat with Tazerski.

“You have got to be the most beautiful bird I’ve ever seen.”

Red Baron knew he was being talked to but didn’t have anything to say. He took Kodak’s interest as non-threatening, and had made up his mind he was not in danger. The first time Kodak threw a half a piece of fruit his way, he swooped down to get it, knowing it was for him to eat.

“I see you blush when you’re admired. All the ladies must tell you what a gorgeous bird you are,” Kodak told him, as Tazerski chattered jealously.

Red Baron swooped down, glided within a few feet of where Kodak sat, then swept upward, following the same route he’d shown Kodak back up to the top of the island.

“Yes, Tazerski, I love you best. You’ve got to admit, that’s one handsome bird.”

The monkey looked at him without a bit of understanding, but he knew if he sat close enough there would be a reward, and it was way easier letting Kodak feed him than going out to feed himself.

While Kodak fed Tazerski every time he ate, it was the monkey that demonstrated to Kodak how to fish without any equipment. As they walked out toward the lagoon to see if the plane had moved closer to the mouth, the monkey reached into the water and slapped a nice size fish out of the water. It landed at Kodak’s feet.

“It can’t be that easy,” Kodak said, smiling and knowing it was time to get a fire going.

Kodak’s fruit and coconut diet was happily supplemented with fish; he’d known all along they surrounded him, but didn’t have an idea how to catch one until he saw it done.

Stacking rocks properly just outside the tree line on the sand, he created a perfect fireplace. Putting a cleaned fish on a center stone in his makeshift stove made for a perfect fish dinner. Tazerski wasn’t partial to fish but he liked fishing, and on most days they made their way out to the best fishing spot on the rocks; soon Kodak was as adept as a monkey at flipping a fish out of the water.

Kodak could rarely eat an entire fish, and Tazerski ignored any offer to get him to eat some, but the jungle wasted nothing. A rather unsavory looking lizard appeared at the edge of camp while the fish was cooking one day, and once Kodak was done he threw what remained at the lizard.

His big mouth opened, catching bones and all, and he made short work of it. Kodak had yet another mouth to feed. Godzilla slept next to the hammock, keeping the bugs and mosquitoes from overrunning the camp, and eliminated the need for Kodak to take out the garbage. Godzilla ate everything, which worried Kodak, but how do you tell a ferocious looking four-foot lizard to ‘scram’?

The sight of a four foot green lizard, his mouth lolling open all the time, was disconcerting to Kodak. When the mouth snapped shut on some juicy passing bug, Godzilla appeared even more imposing. How could Kodak be sure those jaws wouldn’t one day snap shut on him? His unsettled reaction to the presence of the lizard soon became an uncomfortable acceptance, then Godzilla became one of the family.

Godzilla was no threat and even Tazerski walked past without fear as he climbed up into the hammock next to the sleeping green watch lizard. After a swim and some coconut liquid and fresh fruit, Kodak settled into the hammock for an afternoon snooze. The heat and humidity of some days was oppressive, making anything but swimming and relaxing inadvisable.

Kodak watched the monkey climb up and sit next to him in the ever improving hammock. When Kodak let his hand touch the fur on top of Tazerski’s head, the monkey swatted at his hand as if it was a fly buzzing about him.

“I miss you, Tazerski,” Kodak whispered.

The monkey squirted off the hammock, chattering his disapproval for being disturbed from his lounging place. Godzilla sat motionless, impervious to Kodak. He spent the evening giving other reptiles a run for their money if they came near camp. It was a symbiotic relationship neither understood but both accepted as the way it was.

Kodak dozed without a care in the world. He had food, was comfortable, did as he pleased from the time he decided to get up, until the time he decided his day was over. It was a good life with companions, but the companion he most wanted to be with was absent, and so nothing else mattered as much as that fact. As he went about his everyday activities, his thoughts often came to rest on his friend in Montana.

As the breeze gently moved the hammock on one particular afternoon, Kodak reflected on his last separation from Taz. At first he didn’t know anything, except that the party was over and so was their tour of the United States. He took the picture that appeared on the cover of Time. It made Taz famous, until he drank himself back to oblivion, leaving Kodak on his own.

He smiled, tickling Tazerski, who quickly dislodge himself from the cheerful Island Master’s reach. It was the night of the reception in DC that an emptiness last shook Kodak’s life. He’d never known what it was like, being someone’s best friend, until he was Taz’s constant companion.

Then Taz was gone.

Kodak, shaking with fear, lay motionless on the ground as Taz fought his own kind of war, protecting Kodak as he did it. The camera was in his hands, and so he took two pictures of Taz doing what Taz did best, and neither of their lives would ever be the same once those two pictures hit the wire services.

Kodak wanted to get up and photograph the war, but he’d probably have been dead if he did it the way he wanted to do it. This is where the amazing rise of their relationship began. Taz, up until then seemingly totally dependent, became the master warrior; controlling the battlefield, protecting everyone on his side, a threat to everyone who wasn’t.

That day started Kodak’s respect for Taz. They weren’t friends before. Kodak was put off by Taz’s erratic behavior before he’d seen him in battle. He was a contrary soldier acting nothing like a soldier should, in Kodak’s mind.

In a few minutes Taz rose from slovenly, bedwetting, drunken soldier to warrior supreme.

It was the first day of the rest of their lives, even if they didn’t know it then. Kodak would forever be known as the photo-journalist who took the pictures of the fighting fool of 1st squad.

Kodak was in awe of Taz from that day forward. The nagging question he asked so often of the men of 1st squad, ‘why do you put up with him?’ had been answered, as the men of 1st squad told him it would be. ‘You’ll see,’ they’d said, and he had seen. He was a believer.

Taz and Kodak spent over a year together as friends. Neither of them said they were friends, they just were. Taz trusted Kodak for a reason not completely clear. Kodak was thankful Taz saved his life on more than one occasion, but the feelings he had for him were nothing like any feelings he’d had for anyone.

The truth was, when Kodak wasn’t with Taz, he was thinking about him. He thought about him every day. Sometimes the images made him smile and other times it made him sad. He was incomplete without him. He understood word of the plane’s disappearance had reached him by now. He wanted to let him know he was okay, but he could only dream and think about him.

After almost two months of separation that time, with Kodak knowing nothing except for the rumors in the local newspapers, Sgt. Kendall came to his room with a note from Gen. Walker.

“If you want to accompany Sgt. Tazerski to my home in Montana, I’m sure he’d like the idea. You are welcome at my ranch for as long as you wish to stay,” signed, Gen. Walker.

In ten minutes Kodak was packed and seated in the back of the general’s staff car. They drove out of DC. He wasn’t sure where they went, but Taz and the general were waiting behind a building on a military post a half-hour drive from the city.

Taz sat in the backseat with Kodak after the general had sent them on their way with plane tickets to Montana. Taz had nothing to say, but stared at his friend for a long time. They were on the plane before Taz wanted to talk.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t intend to let this happen. I promise I won’t let it happen again. I hope you can forgive me.”

Kodak’s smile answered the question. He patted the back of Taz’s hand and Taz just watched the familiar fingers on top of his. It was a comfort. He didn’t know what to expect. Gen. Walker told him they would see each other before he went to Montana. He didn’t tell him Kodak was going with him.

They picked up right where they left off. Taz was less and less withdrawn as time went on. The months away from each other had created an emptiness that one sighting wasn’t going to relieve. Just being around one another moved them closer and the trust was there, growing stronger each day.

Kodak smiled as he thought back to that reunion. He didn’t know how long it would be before the next reunion. Taz depended on him to be there. Letting him leave was a big step for him. Kodak regretted taking the job that led to them being separated for what would be an indefinite length of time.

By now Taz would regret letting him go. He probably wouldn’t want him to leave him again, Kodak thought, but he regretted leaving and he wasn’t going to be anxious to leave Taz any time soon, once they were back together, whenever that might be.

Kodak was sure Taz was growing, becoming stronger, and that made it possible for him to let go of him for a few weeks. It wouldn’t be easy on him because no one knew what happened. The general would have taken the news up to him in person, because he was that kind of man.

“Overdue and lost,” was how he imagined the report on the plane’s disappearance would read. Kodak knew he could be at the bottom of the lagoon with the pilot. It was by the luck of whatever force rolled the dice that he was the one to live.

He pictured Taz in the cabin. Taz had started working on it the first day they arrived on the mesa. The door wouldn’t close. There were two cinderblocks to climb up into the shack. The windows were broken and the mess inside spoke of sloppy cowboys and other varmints.

As he let his mind relive the sight of their new house Kodak smiled, remembering how Taz took the wood that had been brought to allow for an upgrade to make it livable, and how Taz was immediately going through what was there and planning what he could do with it.

Kodak smiled so big it made him want to laugh as he remembered the cowboy who had led them up the long climb, until they reached their mesa quarters.

They’d had breakfast with Kathleen, Mrs. General, fussing over Taz, wanting him to have another biscuit with honey and butter, and coffee, more coffee, and juice, more juice. Kodak laughed at how Taz didn’t know what to make of the general’s wife. It was obvious people being nice to him wasn’t what he was accustomed to.

It was Rowdy who walked the horses up to the porch as Taz’s eyes grew wide.

“What are they for?” Taz asked, not liking what he suspected.

“Well, you see that trail, partner? That trail goes up to the mesa where you’re going. I’d reckon it to be a two hour walk on account it is mostly up hill, but you see, I ain’t got no two hours to fool around with you, so we ride up to make it a half-an-hour of easy riding.”

“There’s no truck? No jeep or anything?”

“No bus, no taxi, and no rickshaw. This is a ranch. These are horses. On ranches if you want to go somewhere you ride horses.”

“I don’t like horses,” Taz said, not having had any experience with one.

“They probably ain’t too fond of you either, bud, but it’s how we get places and they know if they want to eat they got to cooperate. None want to end up dog food.”

“You ride horses?” Taz asked Kodak.

“I think I went horseback riding with my sisters when I was little. I’m pretty sure we did.”

“You get on first,” Taz said, not sure he was getting on at all.

“Okay, hold the reins, now don’t be yanking or pulling on them or she’ll put you on your ass. Simply let her know you got the steering wheel, put your left foot in the stirrup. You let your weight go onto your left foot. That’s for leverage. Once the stirrup has the weight and isn’t giving any more, you shift your weight onto it as you kick your right leg over to the other side. Be careful of the saddle horn or you’ll end up coming right back down. It’s not hard. Once you do it one time, you’ll be fine. Show your buddy there’s nothing to it.”

Kodak had let Rowdy stand up beside the horse’s head, going over the step by step instructions as he mounted the horse.

“This is Milkweed. She’s a pussy cat. Won’t give you a minute’s trouble.”

“Big damn pussy cat, you ask me,” Taz protested.

“Okay, cowboy, come on down. You saw your friend do it. It’s your turn. Do you remember what I told him?”

“Yeah, step on that thing and climb aboard. Does that thing know I’m about to climb on top?”

“Molly’s our sweetest horse. I saved her special for you. She knows she’s a horse and she thinks you’re a cowboy. Don’t confuse her by making her think you ain’t sure.”

“You think she thinks anything?” Taz asked.

“It’s cool, Taz. You can get a good view from up here. It’s great. Try it. You’ll see,” Kodak urged him.

“I like the view down here just fine. I don’t like riding on no critters and I don’t want no critters riding on me. It’s an understanding I’ve always had concerning animals.”

“Okay, get your foot up in the stirrup like I showed you. Here, you take the reins so she knows you’re the driver. Talk nice to her. She’ll do fine.”

“Driver? You got to be kidding me. Where the hell’s she going?” Taz yelped, as the horse began to go around in a circle as Taz hopped, one foot in the stirrup and one foot doing the bunny hop so as not to fall on his ass.

“Hold up, cowboy. Let off the reins. She don’t know where you want her to go. Stand still. Just put the weight on the left foot and swing your right foot over to the other side and you’re all set.”

Once again the horse began to move in a circle, nudging Rowdy off balance as Taz hopped, pulling on the reins, Molly turned in quicker and tighter circles.

“Don’t pull on the reins, cowboy. She’s just going in the direction your telling her by pulling on those reins that way,” Rowdy explained, shaking his head at the unorthodox dance.

“Damn thing’s a cyclone not a horse. Make her stand still. Stand still, damn it,” Taz ordered, and the horse stood still.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Put your weight on your left foot, swing your right foot over top to the other side,” Rowdy ordered, and finally Taz got up in the saddle, not sure he wanted to be there or if he could stay.

“All right, Tex. We got ‘er whipped now. Sit up straight and hold the reins gently. I’ll lead the way and she’ll follow me. You ain’t got to worry about the accelerator or the steering wheel and by the time you’re home, you’ll be a regular cowboy.”

“Okay, Cyclone, you heard the man. You follow him and I’ll… well, I’ll sit here and watch.”

As Rowdy moved onto the trail, both Taz’s and Kodak’s horse fell in line behind him. They were on their way to their new home and a new life they couldn’t possibly imagine.

Kodak couldn’t stifle his laughter at the memory of Taz’s first horseback ride. Within a couple of weeks it was like he’d been born in the saddle. He treated that horse like a little kid, and spent time rubbing her down, then brushing her after each ride.

He just had to build a barn to keep them out of the cool nights. Taz seemed driven to improve the cabin and the grounds they used each day. This was to be their home for a long time to come if he had his way, and he wanted Kodak to be happy and comfortable.

With no electricity and a definite rugged edge to their lives, they spent a lot of time getting to know each other in a way they’d never had time to do before. They talked about their lives, the army, their experiences together, and the new life they’d agreed to have together.

Kodak became sad again, knowing Taz missed him and was wondering if he was still alive somewhere.

‘How long am I going to be here?’ he wondered, remembering Robinson Crusoe.

Kodak had a lot of time to think, and that wasn’t always a good idea. It ran in spells, and some days were better than others, but he knew where he wanted to be and he knew he was lucky to be alive.

Chapter 5

Cruelest Cut of All

Taz came riding up to the back porch on the fly. Kicking his leg over the saddle horn, he hit the ground running as he let Cyclone’s reins hang down to the ground where she then stood. Several cowboys, seeing Taz open the gate, walked toward him as he leaped up the back steps, crossed the porch and charged into the house.

“General! General, we got trouble,” Taz yelled, as he moved toward Gen. Walker’s office.

“Calm down, Taz. You’re getting mud on Kathleen’s floor,” the general said, his glasses down on his nose and the paper in his hand.

“They cut the fence. They’re taking some of your cows. I think they’re heading toward the highway. We might be able to intercept them if we go by road,” Taz said excitedly.

“Okay, let me get my boots on. Get Rowdy and four of the men. Have them get rifles from the supply room. Bring around two jeeps and two Walkie-Talkies, one for each jeep. I’ll be right there. Thanks, son. We’ll make a cowboy out of you yet.”

In five minutes two jeeps were turning onto the main road on two wheels as they headed for the highway that crossed east to west above the mesa, eight miles from the fence line.

When they got to the turnout close to where the cattle would have to be driven, they found all the evidence they needed to conclude that rustlers were at work.

The general stood in the middle of the large dirt area big enough to pull a pretty good size truck off the road. The tracks indicated the cattle had been driven to that spot but no tracks explained where they went from there. They’d been loaded onto a truck along with the horses and riders who were responsible for the theft.

“Okay, Rowdy, you go east at top speed. That’s the most likely direction. It intersects with the interstate fifteen miles east of this point. Once you get there if you haven’t caught them, turn around and come on back. We’ll have to figure out our next move. There will be a hundred trucks out on the Interstate.

“We’ll take the westerly direction just in case they have a camp in the hills somewhere to hide out until things cool off. Taz, you come with me. We have enough rifles for everyone. You give us a call if you find anything, Rowdy, and we’ll do the same,” the general said.

The jeeps were fast in getting back into motion. The one good thing about having soldiers as your cowboys, they knew how to follow orders. The only other escape route would have taken the truck in front of the ranch entrance, and somehow the general doubted ‘these birds are that bold’, probably knowing they were messing with the United States Army in cowboy boots.

By the time everyone was back at the ranch, they’d concluded that the truck had made it to the Interstate and there was no way to identify it from any other truck. The mud from the latest round of rain made it clear what had been done, but it was too muddy to be able to identify any tire tracks or hoof prints for later consideration.

Once he got back to the ranch, Taz gathered Cyclone’s reins and guided her into the barn, putting her into an empty stall. He wiped her down, brushing her fondly before getting her some oats from the bag the general kept for General Grant, his horse.

“You remember the first day you saw her, Sarge?” Rowdy asked.

“Yeah, I remember. You fell for it didn’t you? You really thought I was a tenderfoot.”

“Yeah, I fell for it all right. I never seen no cowboy greener ‘an you, Sarge. You turned out okay, you know? You take care of your horse and to me that’s the mark of a man. Show me a soldier who does that and takes care of his weapon, and I’ll show you prime fighting material.”

“I suppose, Rowdy. I do what needs doing.”

“You be careful up there, cowboy. Those rustlers’ll kill you soon as look at you, you get in their way. Rustling cattle is big prison time in Montana. They won’t go easy.”

“I take a lot a killin’ to get me good and dead,” Taz said.

“You might want to think of having a couple other boys up there until we get them birds. Might come in handy.”

“Nah, they’d get in my way. I got my work to do. Won’t the general move the rest of the herd down to the meadow to keep a closer eye on them?”

“No, siree. He’ll leave them right where they are. Bait. He wants those cowboys, and they won’t dare come too close to the house. Everyone knows who lives here. They’re bold bastards thinking he’s going to tolerate them thieving his cattle. Bold dumb cowboys we’re dealing with, but that makes them dangerous.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Taz said. “What time’s supper?”

“About an hour. Give your horse time to rest. Come on over to the bunkhouse and we’ll deal you into the game.”

“Nah, I think I’ll go bother the general. He seems to be getting too used to all this soft living.”

“Suit yourself, cowboy. You know where we are if you need us. I’ll be sending boys to ride fence twice a day here on out, so don’t get nervous if you see a couple of cowboys riding toward you inside the fence line.”

“Tell them to memorize my face and not be taking any shots at me, while I’m riding fence.”

“Hell, everyone knows you, Sarge. No one’s going to take no shots at you. You might want to pick up a couple of six shooters from the general. Wouldn’t hurt to be armed now that we know someone is stealing the cattle.”

“Yeah, I’ll give that some thought. I like something a mite more substantial. Might shoot myself with a pistol.”

Rowdy turned and walked away as Taz dug one more handful of oats out of the canvas bag, holding them out for Cyclone to nibble.

Chapter 6

Hunted

Kodak noticed the steam rising from between the rocks at the top of the island. He was certain they were related to some thermal activity. The idea he was on an active volcanic island never came to mind as he held Tazerski’s hand as they took the steps he’d cleared of obstacles. The monkey followed him everywhere and it wasn’t just the easy food he provided.

Tazerski preferred Kodak to his monkey buddies. They rarely came close to camp, probably because of Godzilla, who ignored the monkey. From time to time he did take food from Tazerski, but Kodak wondered how safe it was getting so close to the mouth that always seemed to be in the open position.

The monkey was unconcerned and walked right up to Godzilla and held the food up, until the mouth opened, if it happened to be closed, at which time he dropped in the food. It gave new meaning to not biting the hand that feeds you. Kodak preferred the “stand back and toss it” in method. Godzilla responded equally to both techniques.

Kodak turned back to see if he could capture the escaping steam on film, thinking someone somewhere might know what to make of it. Little did Kodak know that at that moment someone was noticing it from 40,000 feet above the island.

“Start this run now,” a voice said over the intercom as a bank of cameras clicked away in the belly of the plane as the survey team documented the islands at the bottom southwest of the Marshall Island chain.

The plane left a contrail as it headed toward New Zealand, where Kodak’s flight had originated. It was the contrail that tipped Kodak to the plane being up there in a crystal clear sky. He raced to the signal fire pit. The paper was inside some plastic with a disposable lighter. He’d pinned it down with a suitable rock. Kodak hurried to get it in place to set the fuel pile on fire.

Fanning the flames, and blowing into the glowing embers, he soon had a formidable blaze going. The heat forced Kodak to step back. Tazerski screamed, not liking the fire or the heat. He chattered and waved his arms, moving backward into the lava rocks.

The Red Baron swooped close to Kodak, turning sharply upward to take a perch in a tree well past where the fire burned. After a few more seconds, he flew to the other side of the lava field. He watched from a tree a hundred yards from the soaring flames. Kodak took a few pictures, looking back up for the plane, unable to find it.

“Damn it,” he said.

He realizing the plane was gone by the time the fire got going.

Kodak looked off toward the distant horizon, looking for some sign of a ship or sail. He searched the horizon for some time, not wanting to give up the idea the signal fire hadn’t been wasted. One thing for sure, he knew it would burn and burn brightly and it furnished enough smoke to be seen for miles. Maybe someone on another island would see it and come to investigate.

He looked again to make sure the plane was gone, or at least the trail it left was gone. It wasn’t how he saw lighting the fire would go. He’d pictured a ship or a sailing vessel off in the distance. He’d race to the top of the island, light it, and then wait for rescue. He’d gotten excited. Of course a plane flying that high wasn’t looking for some idiot burning trash down below.

Keeping his head wasn’t so easy after being stranded for so long. He couldn’t pass up a chance to be rescued. Maybe a plane flying that high could see a fire on a tiny island eight miles down, maybe not. The fire smoldered for another day before Kodak began collecting wood again. There wasn’t much paper left but palm fiber burned really fast, as did the dried brush.

Kodak was disappointed. Why had he wasted the fire on a million to one shot? He had to do something. It had been weeks, a month, more than a month. He had to do something. Spending the rest of his life on a deserted island wasn’t his idea of a good life. He was fine, there was plenty of food, even company, but he missed Taz and the life they had together. He missed Montana. He didn’t think he’d be gone long enough to miss Montana.

It smoldered for two days. Kodak began adding fuel again, once he could walk across the fire pit. He spent a lot of time clearing all the dried grass and branches off the steps, carrying the fuel to the fire pit. He would be ready for any plane or boat that passed his way. The false alarm was exciting and left Kodak hopeful of rescue.

Montana was chilly. The weather was unpredictable. There were few creature comforts. Although he’d lived in Vietnam, Montana, and now in the South Pacific, with no creature comfort in any of those places, he preferred Montana because Taz was there.

Tazerski came back later in the day and scolded Kodak before climbing back into the hammock with him. The Red Baron too his nearby perched, and Godzilla sat motionless, waiting for the insects to come a little too close. Then his tongue flicked out, disappearing just as fast, and he went back to waiting for the next victim, or for someone to toss food in his direction.

*****

While Kodak waited and maintained a loosely developed routine, forces were shifting in his favor thousands of miles away. Scientists studied alteration of the earth’s surface due to earthquakes and volcanic activity in the Pacific Ocean. Kodak didn’t know he’d become part of the geography of change, but his island was under scrutiny.

“What is it?” a man said, leaning into the picture with his jeweler’s magnifier in his eye.

“Madalwa is venting? Could be the beginning of something.”

“Pending eruption?” another man asked, moving from a map mounted on the wall, where he traced his finger to an island with that name.

“Possible. Nothing else in that group. The entire Pacific has been quiet for some time.”

“What’s this?” the man with the jewelers glass asked, taking an interest in a tiny spot at the tip of the island.

“Hot spot maybe? Has the signature of irregular heating.”

“Lava?”

“Not that hot, besides, the entire field would be lit up if lava was that close to the surface. This is a single, isolated source of heat”

“Hey, Anton, bring me up to x100 magnification on the tip of the island, right here. We’ve got a hot spot on this photograph I can’t identify. I want a closer look.”

“What do you think?” he asked, leaning over to see what was being revealed by the super magnification.

“It’s not volcanic, not hot enough. Too isolated. Lightning strike? Maybe a lightning fire?”

“Max, get me a report on storm activity over Madalwa for the last day. There’s no way it is older than that. What do you think we have down there? It’s very confined and intensely hot.”

“Hard to say. Natives having a barbeque?”

“All those islands are supposed to have been uninhabited for some time. I suppose someone could be down there. It’s too small to sustain much human life. Check any other photographs we have on that roll to see if this is the best shot of the heat. Check to see if we can get a direct close up of this island. We don’t have another flight scheduled in that quadrant until next month.”

“You want to wait that long, chief?”

“No I don’t. Get me the photographs on the roll before and after the picture I’m looking at. You know the spot I want. Let’s get some magnification on it. I’m curious now. I want to know what’s down there. Call the center and see if they want to monitor a possible eruption, regardless. We might want to put some monitors on Madalwa. It’s not in a strategic location but I don’t like mysteries. We could be looking at the start of an eruption. We can’t rule eruption out and there is definitely an unidentified heat signature down there. We may as well earn our keep, gentlemen.”

The routine of the day was disrupted, once the mystery was discovered. After considering earthquakes, eruptions, and wave activities, the order of the day was double checking so they weren’t caught flat-footed.

*****

Kodak wasn’t sure he was on a volcanic island. The thought had crossed his mind but it wasn’t a thought he liked. There weren’t a lot of wild animals but there were varieties. He hadn’t ventured into the jungle portion of the island, not having any way to protect himself if he ran into anything larger than Godzilla.

He couldn’t be sure what else might inhabit the island and he wasn’t all that curious either. He had plenty of animals to photograph and going in search of trouble only assured one thing: he’d find it if he looked hard enough.

No, he needed to gather fuel for the signal fire, swim, fish, and relax. It wasn’t a taxing schedule but one that kept his mind off the idea of spending the rest of his life there.

Chapter 7

Mind Games

Taz was out riding fence a few days after alerting the general to the latest cuts when his vigilance paid off. At first he considered that the men could be Rowdy’s fence riders. He was certain until he came closer to the culprits. A dozen cattle were only a few yards away when he saw one of the men dismount to cut the wire.

Taz charged up on Cyclone, jumping off his steed before she’d come to a complete halt. He continued to charge the three men, who were so intent on cutting the fence they failed to notice the approaching cowboy until they heard Cyclone being pulled up short.

As quick as they looked up from the wire, the man with the wire cutters turned to launch them at Taz’s head, scoring a bulls eye. The blunt end of the instrument collided with Taz’s head just above his right eye. He dropped like a rock.

The horse nudged Taz back to consciousness with her damp nose. The next time Taz opened his eyes, he was looking into Cyclone’s face. Still dazed, it took some time for him to recover enough to stand and overcome his dizziness.

“Oh, man, what the hell hit me?”

Taz didn’t have a clear memory of what happened to him. When he touched his head throbbing head, he almost passed out. The fingers of his leather glove came back coated in blood. He used his shirt sleeve to wipe away the blood.

He reached for his hat, shoving it in place, wincing as the brim hit the wound. The saddle horn acted as a stabilizer as he wondered how he got back on his horse. Cyclone turned her head to where she could see the dizzy cowboy. Hanging there with less than a clear idea of what he was doing, he saw the wire cutters lying on the ground.

“You bastards,” he growled, climbing down to shove the cutters in his saddle bags; he knew what happened.

He mounted his horse, wobbling in the saddle before squeezing her sides with his thighs as he guided Cyclone through the breach in the fence.

“Come on, girl. We got to catch those guys.”

The idea of going for help never came to mind. The last time he went for help they missed the rustlers. This time he was going to catch up with them and at least be able to identify them. He did regret not having taken a six shooter the last time he was at the ranch house. He didn’t want to kill them, but he would if he had to.

Taz knew he couldn’t be far behind the rustlers, but he had no idea of how long he was unconscious. Periodically he touched his right hand to his temple to see if he was still bleeding. He wiped the blood on his jeans and tried not to lose the trail, although even pouring rain made tracking a dozen cattle a job a blind man could have done.

He couldn’t be sure about much, except more cattle had been stolen and he wasn’t sitting still for it. He had damn little to do and not losing cattle was one thing he wanted to do better. The bad guys just couldn’t be allowed to make a clean getaway again.

The odds of three to one never occurred to Taz. They were probably out of wire cutters to throw at him, and he was confident that John Wayne would do no different than what he was doing; but John Wayne made movies, and it was all fantasy, which didn’t occur to him either. The rustlers were also carrying sidearms and would be happy to use them if necessary. What was necessary to Taz was to catch them. It was also his job.

It didn’t take long for Taz to realize that leaning over to look at the tracks the cattle made was not a good idea. He expected that since he was hit in the head, the more time that passed the better things would get; but like so many of Taz’s ideas, this one was ill-conceived. The farther he went the dizzier he became, until his horse wandered to a stop.

Cyclone once against looked over her shoulder at him, watching to see what came next. Standing out in the rain wasn’t her favorite activity. Taz didn’t feel the rain. Unlike Cyclone, he had a hat, but as they sat there, it began to pour, and this he couldn’t ignore.

“What are you doing?” he asked his horse. “Why are we sitting here?”

A minute later they weren’t sitting there. Taz was lying on his back on the ground as the rain poured. He still held Cyclone’s reins. She looked down at him, wondering, what next?

“Giddy up,” he said softly, before passing out.

Cyclone snorted her disapproval, but Taz was unaware.

Taz didn’t remember being unseated. He didn’t remember he was following rustlers. All he knew was he was flat on his back looking up at… Indians… Indians? ‘What would John Wayne do?’ he wondered.

The rest was bits and pieces of bits and pieces. Taz thought he was awake, but he couldn’t be sure. Was he dreaming?

One of the Indians had his hat. Was he about to be scalped? His close cut hair would hardly be a prize for a warrior’s belt. This had to be a dream. Cyclone snorted. Taz closed his eyes to see if opening them again might change the dream and make the Indians disappear. Once closed, his eyes didn’t open up for some hours.

When he did open them, he was flat on his back, looking up into the point of some kind of tent-like enclosure. It had to be inside, because he wasn’t all wet any longer, or was that part of the dream? In fact he was all naked and lying on something soft. He reached for his head and almost passed out as the pounding became apparent; he wasn’t sure if he was in danger of dying, but it had to be less painful than this.

This time he remembered the wire cutters immediately. It was progress. He’d caught the rustlers. Well, he hadn’t exactly caught them, but he did know what hit him, not that it helped the pain in his head; and where was he?

He closed his eyes and opened them again, turning his head slightly. The Indians were back. He lay still, watching an Indian woman preparing something over a fire that had everything toasty warm.

The rain did tend to make it a little too cool, especially if you laid out in it for any length of time. It started raining and it didn’t seem like it was going to stop any time soon. The raindrops pelted the teepee and Taz decided the fire was fine, but where was he?

`It’s a teepee.’

“What’s going on?” Taz finally said, figuring if they were going to torture him, they’d have done it already.

The woman moved away from the fire. Another woman kept her distance and looked at Taz lying very still with only his lips moving, because it hurt too much to move anything else.

“I… won’t… hurt… you,” Taz said, in a voice like how cowboys spoke to Indians in the movies.

He spoke quite slowly so the Indians didn’t miss any words.

The Indian sitting nearest to the fire smiled, amused, and stifled his desire to laugh. He’d seen those movies. Hiding his amusement, he decided to go along with a characterization he’d never experienced before, to see where it might go.

“You fall off horse. You hurt. We fix. Me M.D.,” the man said in his best impersonation of his forefathers attempting English with experts in the language.

“Me grateful,” Taz said, thinking grateful might be misunderstood. “Me happy” was the only other word that came to mind.

He tried to smile to make sure they understood, but he wasn’t sure he did. It made him wince when he tried.

He wondered what the hell, ‘me M.D.’ might mean. His Indian was a bit rusty and that rang no bell.

Both women long ago put their hands up to their mouths to hide their broad smiles and stifled laughter. The man stood, moving something away from the fire and turning his back. When he turned, he moved toward Taz, who was trying to figure out what it was he took out of the fire.

Taz braced himself for when the torture might begin. He was out of kilter and not in the mood for conflict.

“You drink. Old Indian remedy. Make well quick. You drink now.”

If they were going to poison him he’d just as soon get it over with. He was too weak to fight the large man who moved his hand under Taz’s head to lift it off the bedding. The cup was brought up to his lips. There was a familiar smell he wasn’t certain of at first.

Taz coughed, almost choking, and spit out the concoction, not because it was poison but because it was a complete surprise.

“It’s coffee,” he complained. “It’s got cream and sugar in it. I drink mine black.”

“Hey, didn’t want you drinking boiling coffee, cowboy. I’ll do better next time,” the Indian said in very plain English.

In fact his English was better than Taz’s.

“What’s going on?” Taz asked, suddenly forgetting about his headache.

“Someone saw your horse standing out there. Indians notice things like that. Just seeing a horse with a saddle, standing there in the middle of nowhere, an Indian has to ask himself, ‘what the hell is he doing there? Are the white eyes trying to pull a fast one? Confuse us? Our natural inclination is to go take a look-see. We been snuck up on before.

“We went to investigate and there you are lying on the ground. An Indian’s got to ask himself, ‘What the hell is he doing out on a day like this?’ and then I remember you’re a white man. In keeping with my wise Indian veneer, ‘What are you doing out here, cowboy?’”

“I was chasing rustlers,” Taz said, thinking it sounded odd as soon as he said it, but then again, he was telling an Indian.

“And I thought my story sounded foolish. You were chasing rustlers? Maybe I need to call in our medicine man and his psychiatric support staff, but alas, I’m he. The M.D. is real. It’s required before you get a license to shrink heads, or in your lingo, become a headshrinker.

“You can change your story if you want. I haven’t written anything down yet. I’m not hard to please. We’re relatively easy Indians. We even ask permission to camp out on the land that has belonged to our people as far back as the sun first rose and the grass first grew,” he said in an all knowing voice. “I’m Jeremy by the way.”

“I was chasing rustlers!” Taz insisted, feeling his head to see if it was still where it belonged. “It sounds stupid but that’s what I was doing.”

“That does explain the way you were talking. We speak English these days and in case you’re worried, we haven’t been on the warpath in nearly a hundred years. That whole violence thing didn’t go well for us.”

“Where am I?” Taz asked with uncertainty.

“We are on a quest. A few weeks a year we get in touch with our roots. Live simple like our forefathers. You know, back to nature and all the good stuff. It’s good for the soul but a little hard on my back, sleeping on the ground. There’s a motel down the Interstate a ways I might investigate after the rest of my people go to sleep tonight.”

“Where’d you learn to speak English?” Taz inquired, noticing the rich, well thought out sentences.

“Brown University and I did graduate work at Yale.”

“Yale?”

“Look, our full time medicine man didn’t show up. Coffee’s about the best I can do. I bandaged your head, which didn’t require much more than first year medical training, but you should see a doctor to be sure you don’t have a concussion.

“We shot a deer yesterday and have some fresh grilled venison, but maybe you should stick with coffee for the time being. Get something on your stomach before eating. Vomiting would be a bad sign. I learned that in my second year. Vomiting is never good.”

“I’ll be okay,” Taz said, not having much faith in doctors.

“I’m Jeremy Goodstar. You’re that soldier. Aren’t you?”

“How’d you know that?”

“I’d tell you about our rich Indian traditions again, or I could just say we know stuff, see things, you know, but honestly, we read these days. In fact, there’s a copy of the cover of Time magazine with your picture on it framed in our waiting room.

“The nurses think you’re cute. I don’t see it myself. Besides, with that haircut, a dead give away by the way, you’re a soldier all right. You can’t fool Indians.

“Your hair is a great disappointment, I might add. Going back to our roots has me wanting to get a hold of any white man’s hair right away, but yours is hardly worth the effort. Makes my heritage seem like a waste of time, but I’ll adjust. You learn that as a shrink.”

Taz laughed, realizing how ridiculous he must sound to a college graduate.

“What’s with camping out here in the middle of nowhere?” Taz wanted to know, to get the Indian’s story.

“We aren’t exactly in the middle of nowhere. This was once our territory, you know. We ran free here before you folks came and fenced it all off. Before you brought your cattle out here to raise, the prairie was full of buffalo, but you white folks have a problem with anything roaming free and the buffalo didn’t do as well as the Indians, and we got slaughtered.”

“That all happened before I got here. I was more wondering about why you’re out here now? Not that I’m objecting. I’m glad you’re here. You probably saved my ass. I could have laid out there and died.”

“We do our best not to disturb anything, but you seemed in need of help. ‘Out of sight out of mind’ seems to work best for us Indians in most cases. We never saw any future in getting too worked up over who pretends to own which part of the Teton Sioux Territory. We figure we own it all and are just lending it to you folks.

“By the way you’re going at present you won’t last another hundred years. We’ll just take it all back one day, after you guys go back to wherever you came from.”

“I came from that way,” Taz said, pointing in the direction where he figured the line shack to be. “I was tracking some rustlers. They stole Gen. Walker’s cows. I need to get them back. I’m responsible. You ain’t seen no cowboys with a bunch of cows come this way?”

“Now that you mention it, they passed here four or five hours ago. They’re up over the next rise in an abandoned shack. It’s got enough of a roof to keep them out of the weather, which seems like what they’re looking to do. The cows are just standing around not minding the weather at all. The grass is very nice there.

“We’ve sent a rider to let the general know we’ve captured you and we’ll bargain to give you back for some beads and one of those glasses you see yourself in.”

“Very funny. You know the general?”

“Yeah, he lets us visit our land any time we want to hold our rendezvous, but there’s something about a friendly white man that doesn’t sit right with us. Indians are very suspicious, especially when it comes to white men. Mind you, we know he’s one of the good ones, but you can’t convince some Indians there are good white men. They’re all such… such… savages. No insult intended. I’m sure you’re a good one too,” Jeremy said.

“None taken. I was in Vietnam. I saw what happens in war. I know it’s not like when we fought you guys, but war is war.”

“Standing Bear and Tom Kelly were two that I know, who went to Vietnam. They may recognize you. I subscribe to Time. You were a regular feature for months, but I didn’t recognize you at first without your uniform and that rifle. That was a big sucker.”

“That was all bizarre. It has nothing to do with who I am,” Taz assured him. “I was in the army. It’s what they wanted me to do. Beat getting shot at.”

“No, popular media isn’t very representative of reality, but it is what the white man insists on wasting his time with. ‘Just give me entertainment and don’t make me think or my head will hurt.’ That attitude is why we’ll get this country back one day.”

“What are you doing out here?” Taz asked, not seeing Jeremy as an Indian just because he wore buckskin.

His English was too good for him to be a wild Indian. Taz was certain there was a story that went beyond him being an Indian.

“We have this idea that we should recapture our cultural experience, bring our people home, and reconnect with our spirituality. I don’t mean full-time or as a requirement, but as a way to make the world we’re in a little less intolerable. The fresh air is nice, once you adjust to it. It’s not easy at first, breathing air you can’t see.”

“They took the land away from you a long time ago. How do you figure you’re going to get it back?”

“If we’re patient enough, we’ll get it back. First and foremost, we’ll welcome home all our brothers. Our leaders have always believed in the one drop rule. Learned it from the white eyes. If you have one drop of white blood in you, you’re a white man and we don’t want any part of you.

“We had all we need of the white eyes. Indians do hold a grudge. My generation came up with a new one drop rule. Since we are running out of Indians, we suggested we turn it upside down. You got a drop of Indian blood in you, then you’re our brother and we want to welcome you home.

“Brother as in brothers and sisters, you understand? We use brother in the inclusive sense, because Indian women have always been at the center of tribal activity. Saying brother makes us feel important, and our sisters let us. Besides, using sister gives the wrong image if you’re an Indian, you know?”

“So far you haven’t told me what you’re doing out here and I keep thinking you’re about to do that.”

“We’ve spent a lot of time acting like white men. We’ve decided acting more like Indians is better. Minus the scalping, you understand. I bet you have nice hair … when you let it grow out,” Jeremy said covetously. “Sorry, I can’t help myself.”

“I think I got some Indian blood in me from a ways back,” Taz confessed. “My grandmother was half Cherokee. What’s that make me?”

“Hell, you’re my brother, brother. Welcome home to your Indian self,” Jeremy said, sounding delighted. “Actually I was getting a little bored sitting out here in this teepee. Glad you came along and now that I know you’re Indian, that whole hair thing has gone away.”

“Who took my clothes off me?” Taz said, suddenly remembering he was naked.

“Don’t look at me, cowboy. I don’t do dudes.”

“Who took my clothes? This isn’t funny.”

“You were lying out there in the rain, you understand. Morning Cloud and Walking Dove got you out of your duds. Sent them out to the Indian dry cleaners. They’ll be ready once you’ve regained your senses. You ought to rest a bit. Hell, you play your cards right, and they fix up some pretty outstanding meals. They’ve been doing this for years. I’m relatively new at it.”

“I feel funny lying here in a strange place without my clothes,” Taz said.

“What tribe you from, my brother?”

“Cherokee. My grandmother was half-breed. Married my grand daddy. I told you that before. What kind of Indian are you?”

“You found me out. Always trying to be a shrink. Checking to see if you remember what you said five minutes ago. You did get hit in the head.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Half blood is more correct in today’s parlance. Breed is another of the white man’s inventions to diminish our dignity, and yours, in this instance.”

“I haven’t been in very polite company for some time, so I’m a little rusty on my ethnic etiquette,” Taz said.

“We try to accommodate our white brothers, but in the category of ethnic slurs, we got over it.”

“I’m white or can’t you see? My grandma’s been dead for years.” “Yeah, you’re plenty white all right, but you’ve got Native blood. It’s in your cheeks and hair. I didn’t notice it before, because I was thinking of you as that fighting fool in Time magazine. Indians don’t do all that well in the fighting department. That’s why we need to get permission to visit our land. That’s what fooled me for a minute. It shows up more when you get angry. You’re kind of cute when you’re angry, you know,” Jeremy said, looking Taz over.

“I’m never cute and I fight because it is better than being dead. I don’t got anything against anyone, except them rustlers, and I need my clothes. I got a score to settle.”

“I can tell you’re feeling better. What was your family life like?”

“The only thing I know about my old man is he was a mean son-of-a-bitch. I don’t know anything about my mother. My grandmother sometimes took me when the old man was locked up.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re part Indian and we got to love you. Lucky for you we’ve got this new one drop rule. Under the old rule, you’d be dead meat. On account we caught you when you were unconscious. We have no fear of an unconscious white man.”

“I’m not white, remember?”

“No, you aren’t. That’s according to our rules. They more humor us than mean anything. We lost the war. I’m sure you heard about it.”

Taz laughed. Jeremy was funny. He’d never wondered anything about relatives. One father was all he could handle and never very well, but his grandmother had been kind when he was way young. He’d stayed with her when his father was away. He remembered her talking about being part Indian.

“I brought your things,” a woman said as she slipped in through the flap at the front of the teepee. “All the rocks were muddy but we dried them over the fire. They might have a smoky smell. It’s nice if you ask me.”

“How’d you know I was ready to get dressed?” Taz asked.

“Oh, didn’t he tell you? We’re Indians. We know stuff.”

“Thanks,” Taz said, sitting up to slip into his shirt.

The women slipped back out.

“That’s Sally Two Shirts. She runs the Indian dry cleaners and keeps us in clean clothes, especially in this really nasty weather. We may know stuff but we still can’t predict the weather worth a damn,” Jeremy revealed. “Someone’s in hot water for scheduling the get-together during monsoon season.”

“A lot of that going around,” Taz said. “Why Sally Two Shirt?”

“I’ve always meant to ask her that. I really don’t know. She’s good with clothes though. Not easy to get anything dry in the rain.”

“These are warm and they smell better than before you took them off me.”

“Better check them for live coals.”

“So why you being nice to me? You could have left me out there and not done anything. I wasn’t your responsibility.”

“Oh, it’s our code. We help the helpless. Feed the foodless. House the houseless. You get the idea. Besides, the brand on the horse said you were one of the general’s boys. Couldn’t leave one of his boys out in the rain. We try to respect his ranch.”

“You said something about sending for the general?”

“Yes, we saw all the signs. I’ve got scouts on the hill so the bad guys don’t slip away from us. We won’t do anything until Gen. Walker comes. He’s a natural leader. We’re just Indians. Unless they try to move those cows, then we’ll have to discourage them. The braves want to mount an attack. Check out what kind of scalps they got on them. We won’t lift them or anything, but we can think about what it would be like.”

“It’ll take hours to get the general up here. Those rustlers might be gone by then. We ought to go make sure they don’t get away,” Taz said, sounding like he was ready to go.

“They aren’t going anywhere. The truck they’re going to put the cattle on is stuck in the mud down near the old highway. General’s house is only two miles over the ridge from where we found you. We told him there wasn’t any hurry. He’ll want to secure the truck first.”

“Two miles. That’s a half hour ride at a gallop,” Taz explained.

“That’s from the Mesa. The house is just over those hills, down in a small valley. It’s six miles from the line shack, where you live.”

“How do you know where I live?”

“We’re Indians. We know everything. Besides we check the area out before we throw up a camp. Don’t want the pony soldiers to come riding down on us while we’re having our annual picnic.”

“No wonder you guys lost. You don’t take anything seriously.”

“Crying isn’t manly. Besides, if you can’t laugh at the irony of camping out on our own land, what can you do?”

As Taz finished getting on his boots, a commotion was going on outside. Jeremy ducked out for a minute and ducked back into the teepee.

“The general’s here. He’s going to ride up to the rise overlooking where the outlaws are staying out of the rain. He’s going to let us ride down on them. I’ve got to get my feathers on so we can do a respectable Indian raid.”

“Sounds like a show I don’t want to miss,” Taz said.

“The general says those boys will hold up in that cabin. My braves bet they’ll run like scared rabbits, once they get a look at us. We’re going to steal their horses first. Get them on foot. What do you think they’ll do?”

“This has got to be worth watching,” Taz said. “The guy that hit me in the head is mine.”

“You won’t get any argument from me. We like seeing cowboys squaring off.”

“The only thing that’s going to be square is his ass is going to be square on the ground, when I finish with him.”

“Your horse is at the front of the teepee. Couldn’t dry that saddle after it sat in the rain for all that time. Sally Two Shirts put an Indian blanket on it for you. Keep your ass dry. No extra charge for that service.”

“My ass has been wet before. I’ll live, but thank her for me. We’ll probably be going our separate ways once we finish this roundup.”

“You think so? You aren’t a little curious about your Indian roots?”

By the time Taz was back in his hat and on his horse, a dozen cowboys and an equal number of Indians were riding up to the top of the ridge a few hundred yards beyond the encampment. He mounted up and followed Jeremy as a half dozen women stood out beside the teepees watching the migration of cowboys and Indians.

Chapter 8

Spirit Moves You

Before Taz reached the top of the hill he heard the war whoops and yells. He stopped at the top to watch a band of seemingly wild Indians charging down on the shack a hundred yards below the ridge. The cowboys sat watching the entertainment, ready to move in if there was any serious resistance.

Before the Indians reached the shack, five men scattered in all directions, looking a bit like cockroaches reacting to the kitchen light being turned on. Without horses they didn’t get far. Taz was feeling amused until he spotted the man who hit him with the wire cutters. Without so much as an ‘excuse me’ or a ‘by your leave,’ he charged down the hill toward the running man with whom he had a score to settle.

With an Indian on either side of him, trying to corral him, Taz rode between them, throwing his body off Cyclone and onto the back of the rustler, riding him to the ground before he could take another step.

It took a second for Taz to regain his senses and he found a fist in his face as he stood up to face the man, wanting him to see who he was and why he was there. In a few seconds, after a half dozen punches, Taz had him on the ground as he punched the man senseless.

“Taz, we don’t beat prisoners in my army,” the general said as he sat above the two men. “Besides, he only out-weighs you by forty pounds. It hardly seems fair.”

The general was amused by the mismatch and Taz’s ferocity.

“He ain’t no prisoner ‘til I’m done with his ass. He’s the one that gave me this,” Taz said, pointing at the bandage on his head.

“One more punch, Taz, and let him up,” the General agreed. “We want something to turn over to the sheriff.”

“Yes, sir,” Taz grunted, taking one more very good punch at the man’s chin.

“You do take your job seriously,” the general said, admiring Taz’s spirit.

“Yes, sir,” Taz said, picking up his hat and dropping it back on his head. “I feel better now. Sorry I let them get away with your cows.”

“All’s well that ends well, son. Now we’ll find out where these birds come from and pay a visit to the brains behind this operation. I want to take a punch at him.”

Within the hour they’d delivered the rustlers to the nearby highway, where the truck driver was already in the hands of the sheriff. At the same time the cattle were being driven back onto the mesa, the fence was repaired, and Taz went down to the house to have a local doctor drop by to look at the damage done to his head.

The verdict was light duty for a week, and if he had recurring headaches or dizziness he should go to the hospital.

There was dinner at the house, with twenty men eating and two cooks cooking. It was a bit on the noisy side, and there were no bashful cowboys at the general’s table. It had been a good day’s work and a good meal was in order.

While Taz enjoyed the food and didn’t mind the company or the doctor prodding him, there was something else on his mind. It began as something indefinite, as he took the ride back to the mesa for a good night’s sleep after a rough day.

He found himself amused by his thoughts of Jeremy. Taz hadn’t laughed in a long time but his thoughts of Jeremy made him smile. The meeting was a bit unclear but the guy had taken him in and made sure he was okay.

He was no drugstore Indian, but what was he? Why would a psychiatrist choose to go sleep out in a teepee for vacation? Most things that didn’t concern Taz, he left alone, but for some reason this was different. Jeremy was different. He seemed like a nice guy.

The following morning, after sleeping long past dawn, he rode out toward the Indian encampment, having a yearning for some dried venison and some conversation.

“Good Morning,” Jeremy said, as he watched Taz’s horse mosey up to his teepee. “Come on in. The coffee’s fresh. I sure do miss my electric coffee maker though. Don’t know where Indians learned to make coffee, but it leaves something to be desired, and not a donut shop in sight.”

“I’ve got a coffee grinder at the shack. I grind beans the general brings me. I should have brought it along.”

Taz kicked one leg up over the saddle horn and slid off the saddle onto the ground. The horse moved only slightly, having become accustomed to Taz’s unorthodox horsemanship. Cyclone immediately went to work on the grass beside the teepee.

“I figured you’d be back,” Jeremy said, pouring a rounded metal cup full of coffee. “Black, right?”

“Yeah, it’s cool this morning. This’ll taste good. I didn’t bother to fix a pot. I was a little late getting going. Decided I’d come over and see how my neighbors were doing this morning.”

“Looks like a nice day brewing,” Jeremy said in his best English. “Glad the rain stopped. Everything is soggy.”

“Yeah, don’t you get cold dressed like that?” Taz asked, considering the thin leggings and shirt Jeremy wore.

“I’ve been sitting by the fire. I was warmed by it. The air outdoors is refreshing. I don’t feel the cold so much. Most mornings I get up and have breakfast and get in my car to drive to work. I feel the cold a lot more then, but not out here. It’s part of where I am and the idea I’m merely in it. There is no cold or heat. You are. It is.”

“You have a romantic notion about it all, but what are you doing standing out here if you can sit next to a nice fire?”

“I came out to meet you.”

“You couldn’t have heard us. It’s all grass the way we came.”

“No, it isn’t about hearing. I was waiting for you to return. When I went out, there you were. It’s part of this place. When a person is near, I feel the change they create.”

“I didn’t even know I’d be coming back, until this morning,” Taz explained.

“You didn’t think about it until this morning and I knew you’d return before you left. Curiosity isn’t easy to satisfy from a distance. You have questions and I recognize your search for identity. You are direct and uncomplicated, and I’m a shrink.”

“In other words I got an itch needs scratching?” Taz said.

“Exactly. My English isn’t as good as yours. Once you’ve been to college, using more words where fewer words will do is expected.”

“You’re a comedian. I didn’t finish high school and even when I went I wasn’t there,” Taz revealed.

“No, perhaps not, but intelligence isn’t taught from a book. Facts and figures come from books. I can tell you about that but about this… there aren’t words to describe what you’re in search of.”

“My curiosity is about why you do this. I know what you said, one drop rule and all that. It doesn’t answer the real question. Why come out here to the middle of nowhere if your life is elsewhere? I live here. I work here. That’s why I’m here. Why are you out here? I mean really, why are you out here?”

“You’d call it a vacation. We think of it as connecting to who we are as a people. It’s a new idea, but there was a risk we’d lose our culture entirely a couple of years ago.

“Even the reservation Indian has little connection with our past, except that we are Indians by virtue of our heritage. It means nothing when you live in a shanty and have no job and no hope.

“My father is a chief, a Shaman. I’m supposed to follow in his footsteps, according to our culture. Well, being a shrink is like being a Shaman, I suppose. Faced with that prospect, this was all going to be lost. The history of Indians ruling the plains for thousands of years would be lost with it. Once you ponder that, you’ve got to do something about it.

“It’s not written in a history book. We had to face extinction or do something to salvage our culture.”

“At least you have a culture, a heritage. I got a broken down house, a broken down old man, and nothing to go on.”

“Exactly, and you’ve come home. We were cut off from mother earth, the center of our culture. We haven’t been at it all that long but you’re welcome to join us. Find your Indian roots and you may find yourself.”

“I know where I am,” Taz said. “You seem to be the one who has lost his way.”

“What we search for isn’t found in anything we can have or own. Our search is for meaning and peace.”

“I’ve never lost anything because I never had anything. Maybe if I know how you do what you’re doing, I’ll figure something out. I probably shouldn’t have come back. What you’re looking for doesn’t exist. I know who I am.”

“I’m Jeremy Goodstar, son of Medicine Band. He married a white woman. While it is acceptable, I was half white and unacceptable to my people. It made a life on the reservation difficult. I didn’t want to be there.

“I was half the enemy and hate was killing my tribe. I was unwelcome in my own home. My father lost none of his stature but I had none, because I was white skinned.”

“But you’re half Indian. Your father couldn’t reject you.”

“To an Indian, until recently, an Indian with white blood was a traitor. I had nothing to do with how my blood got that way. I couldn’t come to the reservation without conflict, after I went to live with my mother. My separation from my father had him arguing that our tribe would soon die out if we kept hating our own.”

“…And it changed?”

“Yes, it was apparent to those of us out in the world that we were the key not to simply saving our culture but to molding it in a way to help it thrive culturally. We needed to stop clashing with each other over who was Indian enough to be an Indian.”

“Fascinating,” Taz said. “So I’m not a white man at all? Go figure. I’ve always looked so… so… white.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’re plenty white. Not as white as I am, but white. You’re working from a disadvantage though,” Jeremy revealed.

“Because I don’t know anything about being an Indian?”

“No, many of our people have never seen a teepee until they come to rendezvous.”

“I’d qualify there. Yesterday was my first teepee,” Taz confessed. “I wasn’t sure where I was at first.”

“You recovered pretty fast. Most men, once knocked senseless, take some time to recover. You wasted no time at all going after those rustlers.”

“I was responsible for those cows. I wasn’t going to let them get away with that. The general depends on me to do my job.”

“I was there. I saw you go after that guy. There is responsibility and then there is responsibility. You tore that dude up.”

“He hit me in the head,” Taz complained.

“Yes, and he was six two and outweighed you by fifty pounds.”

“If you’re going to call me short, I’d reconsider,” Taz said sternly.

“Most guys would think twice about charging in to tangle with a dude that size.”

“I’m not most guys,” Taz said.

“No, you’re certainly not most guys. You have a keen sense of honor.”

“I got a job to do and I do it. Besides, you guys rounded them up. I just jumped on one. The one I owed something to.”

“Fighting cowboys never went well for us,” Jeremy said.

“You did all right with Custer.”

“For that little victory the Cavalry was sent to destroy us. History books say we retired willingly and peaceably to a reservation of our choosing to live happily ever after. It fell a little short of the truth, but it reads nice for the people who stole our land.”

“You make it sound like your people couldn’t fight,” Taz said from a soldier’s perspective.

“Geronimo and a few dozen Apache ran 5,000 cavalry soldiers all over the southwest for two years, but what you hear in the white history of that event is he surrendered after being a bad, bad man. He refused to be penned up like an animal, until he realized it was inevitable. Geronimo fought for his people and his land. He fought the people who threatened the life he knew.

“Ira Hays was one of our brothers who helped raise the flag over Iwo Jima, after thousands died taking that island from the Japanese. The Navajo Code Talkers drove the Japanese crazy by using a language never written down to communicate, which made it impossible for the Japanese to decipher allied radio transmissions.

“The Indian has always been a valiant warrior, Taz. We held our own until the odds against us were overwhelming. Then, Chief Joseph said it best, “We will fight no more forever.” It was that or eradication. The white eyes didn’t care which.

“Mostly we let the white man sucker us out of our land with treaties we couldn’t read and didn’t understand. We honored them, hoping it would satisfy them, but nothing did. They intended to have our land no matter the cost to the people on it. President Jefferson referred to it as ‘Removal’ in letters to William Henry Harrison. That was his plan, to remove the Indian to places no one else wanted.

“We met the Pilgrims when they came ashore on the American continent. The Wampanoag showed them how to farm and what to grow. The Pilgrims wouldn’t have lasted a second winter without the Indians. We should have turned their asses around and told them they were trespassing. How could we know a hundred illegal aliens would lay claim to the entire continent before it was all over?

“We believed in sharing, helping our neighbor, and we didn’t think anyone could own Mother Earth. It was the source of all life and belonged to everyone. How can anyone own the birthright of all men?”

“I never heard that stuff in school,” Taz said.

“No, the white man writes history the way he likes to read it. If you consult white history about which war was longest, they’ll say the American Revolution, now rivaled by Vietnam, both lasting over eight years.

“The truth is, the longest war began when the Pilgrims slaughtered the Pequot Indians of the Algonquian Confederation, because the Pilgrims needed more land. This was an early 17th century massacre. In 1890 the cavalry, numbering in the neighborhood of a thousand men, massacred a little over two hundred Lakota men, women, and children at Wounded Knee, thus ending the Indian Wars. “Between the destruction of the Pequot and the massacre of the Lakota at Wounded Knee, the Indian Wars lasted over 250 years. That’s America’s longest war, no matter how inconvenient the holocaust the white eyes committed against the people who lived here when he arrived is. It doesn’t make for good reading if you’re white.

“Sorry, Taz, didn’t mean to go off like that. What I started to say was in Massachusetts, when the Pilgrims arrived, we were there. We showed them how to survive.”

“My grandmother was the only one who ever gave me an even break as a kid. She was Cherokee and I guess that makes me one, but I never thought of it until you said it. I never knew any of that stuff about Indians, or how the white men treated them.”

“Being the son of a Shaman, I’m supposed to recruit the vulnerable souls who fall under the one drop rule. It’s my job. For that they feed me and make me drink this coffee.”

“I’m getting better at making coffee. Come on by my place one morning and try mine, when you’re out riding,” Taz offered. “I miss Kodak’s coffee. He makes good coffee.”

“Kodak?” Jeremy inquired.

“Just thinking out loud.”

Jeremy nodded and listened, sipping from a cup marked with the words, ‘Doctor’s In.’

“If you’re looking for something, spend a little time with us, and you may find it.”

“What I’m looking for I won’t find here.”

“You seem very sad. Tough, but sad. Sometimes you can be surprised by what you find when you open your mind to the possibilities.”

“I suppose,” Taz said. “I’ve already got a lot on my mind.”

“Accept my offer of hospitality. We can do you no harm. You may be surprised by the good it might do you.”

“My Indian part?”

“No, your spiritual part; your heart. It’s peaceful. Listen to what’s inside of you instead of expending so much energy on what’s outside.”

“That’s the Indian way?” Taz asked.

“No, that’s the psychiatric way. I can’t help myself. It’s in your voice. It’s in your posture. You’re in search of something but you move too fast to find the answers you seek. It’s a common malady. It’s what keeps me in business.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know I was coming back. Maybe I’ll hang around for a few days. I’m supposed to avoid being hit in the head for a few days.”

“That sounds like good medical advice,” Jeremy said.

“Being an Indian is something. I’ve never been much of anything, until I was a soldier. Being a cowboy is more like how I feel about myself. It suits me.”

“Well, we’ve got to get you something to wear, so you can dress the part of an Indian. My buckskin won’t fit you but I’ll send Morning Cloud around to see Sally Two Shirt. She’s head of our wardrobe department and she keeps us in clean clothes.

“You’re just in time for our first sweat lodge this evening. You’ll need less to wear for that. You can sleep right where we put you yesterday.”

“Sweat lodge?” Taz asked.

“Think of it as a poor man’s sauna. We heat the rocks and pour water over them to heat the air. I think of it as a cleansing ceremony. I’m told it can be quite spiritual. Not for me yet, but I have trouble letting go. Medicine Band tells me to keep trying.”

“Spiritual? I don’t know I’m spiritual.”

“A connection to places and people you might not understand; other worldly. They say it is life altering. I wouldn’t know.”

“What’s it do for you?”

“My experience is physical. As spiritual connections go, I can’t get there from here. My father says I’m not ready to let go of my white man’s ways. My mind is too cluttered. Like yours, it moves too fast for discovery. It’s hard to explain.”

“I don’t get the point,” Taz said, wanting to hear more.

“Not easily explained. I’m going by what I’m told. It’s invigorating and relaxing if other worldly isn’t your bag. You’ll feel the cleansing it provides. Try it. You’ll like it. I rather enjoy it.”

For Taz, being alone in the cabin was fine, but the Indian encampment intrigued him. His grandmother’s Cherokee part was part of him. If he was Indian he wanted to know what that meant.

Up until yesterday when he woke up in Jeremy’s teepee, his Cherokee part had remained invisible. When you spend your time just surviving as a child, the minor facts and details are lost on you.

Taz had never questioned why his life had gone the way it had. He didn’t have time for that either. He took it a day at a time, an hour at a time, one clash at a time, as he grew older, made tougher by the experience of living. As a kid, he also learned when to duck and when to become invisible fast.

He’d never dared to raise a hand to his father, not that he didn’t consider it. Life was hard enough for him, creating combat would end in his death or maiming. He had thoughts of taking retribution on his father, but he decided to join the army instead.

He wasn’t opposed to the idea of having a better understanding of who he was. He was too young to understand himself as a boy. He was too busy to think about it since leaving home. He didn’t know why he was the way he was, and maybe the Indian deal might help him figure it out.

After being a boy, he became a soldier. He volunteered for Vietnam. He had little control other than that, until his sergeant was shot. Then Taz took charge of the ‘big rifle’ the sergeant brought from World War II.

The rifle was a B.A.R. (Browning Automatic Rifle), and in that rifle Taz found himself for the first time. He finally had an identity. He wasn’t a soldier any longer. He had become a cowboy without knowing how it happened.

Settling into his spot inside Jeremy’s teepee, Taz didn’t feel out of place. He was brought some buckskin. They were a snug fit, but felt nice against his skin. He sat across from Jeremy, eating venison that was brought earlier in the day. Taz enjoyed the flavor of the meat.

“You look comfortable,” Jeremy said.

“Oh, I’m fine. The bruise hurts some but nothing major. The doctor said it would be sore for a few days.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I meant comfortable as in at home. I can’t say I was immediately at home, even after coming home to my people. I’d visited my father often. Coming back home to be Indian felt odd. I’d always been an outsider, and then I wasn’t.”

“In the army you are put in with guys you don’t know all the time. It doesn’t bother me. I’ve never had a home. I’ve never belonged anywhere. Not until I got here. I belong here, on the general’s place. I like being there.”

“No, it’s not that. You have no resistance to it. It’s like you are in search of something and you feel you might locate it here.”

“I don’t know about that. I am part Indian. It’s not something I know anything about. I’ve got nothing better to do right now. I want to see if it means anything.”

“Yes, indeed. Why not?” Jeremy agreed.

Taz enjoyed the venison more the second time. There was bread and coffee, which Jeremy drank liberally. The conversation was uncomplicated and mostly Taz spoke of the mesa, his journey there, and the general’s fondness for him.

“That won’t be what you want to wear to the sweat lodge. I assume you want to attend. It’s the closest thing to ceremony we do out here. We have a wicked rain dance you’d like, but it hasn’t stopped raining since we got here. Even Indians know not to do a rain dance in the rain. No challenge in it. We just think about the rain dance and it rains. We are powerful people, but not doing the rain dance means everyone thinks it is just a rainy day.”

“You’re funny, Jeremy.”

“What makes you say that?” Jeremy asked, with an analytical tone in his voice.

Taz laughed pleasantly at his host. It felt good to laugh. It felt good being away from the cabin. He was comfortable.

The loin cloth for the sweat lodge was of similar deerskin construction to the shirt and leggings. It covered only the crotch and was just enough to keep the personal goods out of the way of the steaming hot rocks. Jeremy explained that the heated rocks were brought in periodically. Water was poured over the hot rocks to keep the inside of the sweat lodge hot enough for sweating.

As the two men became better acquainted, Jeremy christened Taz ‘War Eagle’; a name not given lightly, but a name well earned. By this time the younger Indians knew of Taz’s fame from the same war many of them fought. Seeing a wounded Taz in action the day before told them all they needed to know.

Taz found the sweat lodge uncomfortable. After a few minutes, he went outside to allow the early evening air to cool him. The sweat lodge was small, and most of the braves as well as the elders of the tribe were seated inside.

Once cooled off, he tried it again. His place was reserved and he sat back down. He wasn’t the only one that left and returned. Most stayed without needing to go out. They seemed to breathe deeply, with some keeping eyes closed and others keeping eyes wide open. Taz tried both and found the heat less oppressive with his eyes open. He tried taking deep even breaths, and lasted longer each time he came back into the sweat lodge.

He focused on not allowing the heat to beat him. What other purpose came from the ordeal remained a mystery. He was aware of the other participants, but except for some labored breathing there was silence.

The elders never moved once they took their place at the middle of the circle. These men wore blank facial expressions and kept wide open eyes that looked at nothing. Taz tried to figure out what it was all about but couldn’t. One thing was for certain, the elders were impervious to the heat that drove him outdoors more often than anyone.

“What’s he staring at?” Taz asked Jeremy in a whisper. “He keeps looking at me.”

“No, he’s seeing beyond the sweat lodge. The smoke carries his spirit into a land beyond the beyond. He is Medicine Band, a chief and a Shaman. This world can not hold such men. He moves in the spirit world and knows many things.”

As Taz became determined to endure the heat, Medicine Band fascinated him more and more. The blank stare was always directed at him, as if there was a connection between them. While he was told he didn’t see Taz, Taz wasn’t buying it. Not only was the old man staring at him, but he made Taz feel naked. It wasn’t the kind of nakedness that comes from a lack of clothes. Taz felt the old man peering inside him, and he didn’t like the way it made him feel.

Each sat quietly as if he were alone. No one spoke, and there was no interaction between them. Taz refused to get up again, though his discomfort grew.

Medicine Band did not blink or move.

The heat built and Taz sat silent, struggling to get enough of the hot air in his lungs.

*****

Gen. Walker told Taz to take as much time as he wanted, now that the rustlers were under lock and key. Most of the cattle on the mesa were moved down into the meadows and with Taz not 100%, he got a pass on the routine tasks.

Two of the Vietnam vets came calling the following morning. Standing Buck and Tom Kelly were both in different parts of Vietnam from Taz’s company. They compared notes, the discussion moving away from the war in a few minutes.

Of the four Indians in Jeremy’s teepee Taz was closest to the color of the full blooded Indians, but he was no more than a shade or two darker than Jeremy or Standing Buck. Tom was the lightest skinned and was reluctant to make the journey to Montana because of it. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea but he and Standing Buck knew one another from the army, and it kept Tom from feeling out of place. After a day they forgot who was more Indian and who was less. The gathering was more about brotherhood, men coming together in an activity to celebrate life and the joining of spirits.

Jeremy claimed that white men often had far too little contact with other men outside of competitive and somewhat unhealthy environments, such as bars. Every once in a while his psychiatric identity slipped out in the middle of a conversation.

Morning Cloud brought coffee and something that resembled bread, along with more dried deer strips for the new arrivals. Once her ceremonial duties finished, she sat across from the four men.

“You are a warrior?” she asked, looking at Taz.

“Some say,” Taz said, admiring the pretty girl’s ability to pull up a piece of Montana and sit down with the guys without hesitating.

“My brother was there. Vietnam. He didn’t come back,” she said, already knowing everyone but Taz.

“I’m sorry,” Taz said.

“I’m glad you did. I’m glad you all did. I try not to think of my brother as gone. Medicine Band says he’s only a little way from here.”

“Wise old Indian,” Jeremy said.

“Yes, he is. He knows things I can’t possibly process. I’ve looked forward to this gathering so I could see him again. Whenever I see the darkness more than the light, I know I need to come home. I may stay with my people this time. I’m not sure yet.”

“You weren’t raised here?” Taz asked.

“No, but my people are here. I get lost in the other world now. People don’t care much if I’m there or not. At first I thought that was why I was there, because it required so little of me. I could live up to that with no difficulty.

“Once I came home, back here, after my brother died, I’ve been increasingly more interested in living with my people. It is not as glamorous, but once you get past the glitz and glitter, I have no reason to stay there. When you come down to it, there is nothing in that world to keep me there.”

“You really like living out here like this?” Taz asked, not realizing it is where he lived, except his cabin was a hard structure.

“I like it here. Here I am part of these people and they are part of me. I think of them when I’m in the other world. I’d say I belong here. I don’t miss anything from the other world when I’m here. But I miss this when I’m there.”

“Not much different than in the Nam,” Standing Buck observed. “Camp out and chase the bad guys. Never thought we’d be playing cowboys and Indians out here. Pretty awesome. Just like old times, when we chased Charlie through the bush.”

“Except it was Charlie’s bush,” Tom Kelly observed.

Taz needed to rest in the afternoon. As much as he felt like he was okay, he tired out without notice, and having people around didn’t stop him from leaning back and drifting off. This wasn’t the best place he’d ever been, but it was far from the worst, and he rested easily.

Chapter 9

Visionary

It was on the third evening’s sweat lodge that something happened. It wasn’t something Taz could accept or explain. Whatever he had come looking for, this wasn’t it, and it didn’t take long for him to leave and return to the world he understood.

His time at the Indian encampment was over.

He wasn’t thinking about Kodak at all. He reserved those thoughts for when he was alone. The idea his friend was lost and he didn’t know where he was, was his business and not anyone else’s. At a time when he was letting his guard down, his mind wandered, and Kodak was on it. He no longer expected his return. Whether or not Kodak returned wasn’t within his power to alter.

Taz made every attempt to feel Indian at the encampment but he still felt very Taz-like. He’d never been much of anything until he’d gone to Vietnam. There he had become what he was expected to be, putting his heart into it, because that’s what he was told he should do.

The sweat lodge was no longer a challenge. He could sit inside for as long as he liked with the heat no longer feeling as severe. It wasn’t so much that he adjusted to it; he didn’t feel the heat. That’s not to say he didn’t know it was hot. He did. He just didn’t mind. Once he was there he stayed. He would no longer be the first one to leave.

On the third night the teepee held twenty Indians. Taz thought nothing of it when he was face to face with Medicine Band once more. He couldn’t be sure it wasn’t by design but it wasn’t something he’d considered, until that night. The wide open eyes of the chief and Shaman were always upon him.

Taz sat there each night, Jeremy to his right, Standing Buck to his left, and Tom Kelly sat behind him. The other time they were together was in Jeremy’s teepee and so sitting together at the sweat lodge seemed familiar. As far as Taz knew, there was no seating chart, but when they took a spot, there he was across from Medicine Band and those eyes.

“He’s staring at me. Look at his eyes,” Taz said in a whisper to Jeremy, feeling like he had done this before.

It was then Taz realized Jeremy wasn’t there. No one was there. Medicine Band sat directly across from him and they were alone inside the sweat lodge. They’d all been there when he leaned to whisper to Jeremy, and in that instant everyone was gone. He decided right there and then, he’d had enough. When he decided to get up and leave, he couldn’t get up.

He sat cross legged and immobilized, compelled to look at Medicine Band’s eyes. He wanted to scream at the old man, tell him to cut it out. No words came out of his mouth.

The old man’s eyes were open wide as the smoke drifted up between them. Taz looked around him, unnerved by the absence of the other Indians. Where the hell had everyone gone? He didn’t need this shit.

“He is okay,” Medicine Band said, not changing his position or expression. “He wants you to know he is safe. He is okay. He is not in danger.”

“Who?” Taz demanded, not understanding the comment that came out of the blue.

“Your friend with the eye that holds images inside. He is near water. Much food. He is safe. He is thinking about you. He asks you not worry. He will return.”

Taz was alarmed and disoriented by the old man’s pronouncement. He choked on the lingering smoke and on Medicine Band’s words. He wanted to get up but couldn’t. He opened his eyes and the sweat lodge was full of Indians. Jeremy sat at his right elbow. Standing Buck at his left.

This was crazy.

“What did you say?” Taz asked, standing up as other men noticed only vague motion around them.

“Sit down, my brother. Medicine Band has not spoken.”

“The hell he didn’t. How does that old man know that stuff?” Taz complained loudly, looking at the motionless man.

“You’ve touched the spirit world. Sit and calm yourself.”

“I don’t care what you say. He was talking to me.”

“We are no threat to you, War Eagle. There is no danger here,” Jeremy said softly.

“I got to get out of here.”

Taz looked around, feeling light headed. He went out and went back to Jeremy’s teepee, dressing in his own clothes before going to saddle his horse to ride back to where he belonged. It was dark but he didn’t care. He would be fine. He knew where he lived.

“Where will you go, War Eagle?” Jeremy asked.

“My name is Taz and I’m going home where the hell I belong. I don’t care what you say, that old guy was talking to me. How did he do that? How does he know about Kodak? I don’t talk about Kodak to anyone. How could that old man know anything about my life?”

“The spirit world holds no secrets. You took a journey with the spirits and I suspect you found a truth you were seeking when you came to us. The spirit world guides us and my hope is that it will guide you back to us soon. Good luck, Taz. Go in peace. We would not do you harm.”

By the time Jeremy finished talking, Taz was on his horse. He heard every word and didn’t believe in spirits or flying saucers. He’d made a mistake staying and now he’d correct it by going back to where he belonged.

Maybe he’d been hit on the head harder than he thought.

He rode back toward the line shack, where he needed to regroup and gather up his sanity once more. He knew better than to lose control of himself. He would continue doing what he did every day. He had a job and he’d do it.

He sat at the table reading the labels on the bottle of bourbon by the light of the stove. He liked how the bottle felt in his hand. He pushed it back into the back of the cupboard, where he’d put it the last time he’d been tempted this much. He sat back down in front of the stove. He wasn’t cold but the heat felt good.

*****

He warmed the coffee and drank it. His hand shook as he held the cup. He wasn’t scared of anything. Death didn’t scare him. Taz was sure of himself, and he accepted life for the underhanded adversary it was. Whatever happened to him at that sweat thing, he didn’t like, and he wasn’t looking for any repeat trips down voodoo lane.

He propped his feet up on one of the roof supports on the front porch, sitting on the back two legs of the chair. His cup of coffee was in his hand and his eyes were on the rider coming slowly from the north. It took him ten minutes to draw a conclusion about who it was. He didn’t move, wouldn’t run, and wasn’t looking forward to a conversation with a shrink, after feeling like he’d lost his mind.

“Hey, cowboy,” Jeremy said, sounding like a dude.

“Hey, yourself. You lost? They went that a way,” Taz said, pointing his cup in the direction from which Jeremy had come without being unpleasant.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, waiting to be invited off his horse. “I brought some venison. Thought you might enjoy it. Once you get used to it, you can’t stop. It’s the Indian fix.”

“Coffee?” Taz asked, remembering Jeremy had made him feel welcome.

“Sounds like a good way to start the day. I don’t suppose you baked any donuts this morning?”

The two men sat across from each other at the table. Taz had given up the table cloth and thrown it in the pile of dirty clothes he was building. He slapped the metal cup down, spilling the coffee over the edges and onto the table, which he wiped with his hand.

“What brings you out here?” Taz asked, between sips.

“You,” Jeremy said, letting the word linger and stopping there.

“It was time,” Taz revealed. “You are there searching for something. I’m right where I want to be and right where I belong. My search ended here.”

“I want to know why you left so abruptly. You were there one minute and gone the next.”

“I don’t like people picking at my brain.”

“I understand that much. What you thought happened wasn’t what happened. You went where you needed to go. You didn’t understand the journey.”

“You trying to call me stupid?” Taz asked, not sounding happy about Jeremy’s inquiry.

“The furthest thing from the truth. You see, I’ve never been able to have a vision or a spiritual awakening. I think you did. I think it scared you.”

“Oh, I’m not stupid, just crazy?”

“I’m a psychiatrist by trade. My father was a different kind of doctor. I had to be a doctor to become a shrink. My mind is too indoctrinated to let loose and embrace my spirit. I’ve been trying.”

“So I’m stupid and crazy. I’m not buying it. My life is fine and I don’t need some old man wandering around in my brain.”

“Medicine Band is my father. I asked him about you. Professional confidences, he said. He can’t reveal your connection. He did say that he was in your brain and you did speak.”

“No, I didn’t speak. That old dude had no right doing what he did.”

“You accept he spoke to you? It’s not his choice. The spirits serve it up. A Shaman would be guilty of malpractice if he didn’t deliver it as he saw it.”

“I heard him. You guys can say you didn’t hear him or that he didn’t speak, but he did. I haven’t figured that part out, but whatever it was, I didn’t like it.”

“He wasn’t inside your head, Taz. He was in the spirit world. You met him in the spirit world. That’s what I want to know about. What was it like?”

“You’re nuts. It wasn’t like anything. I wasn’t anywhere. He spoke to me and I heard every word.”

“It must have been something disturbing enough to make you leave. He wasn’t the one in search of answers. Medicine Band is a Shaman and the spirits speak through him. They gave you an answer you wanted, except when you got it, you didn’t know what to make of it. You did something in a couple of days I have been trying to do for years. I really want to know what you experienced. What was it like?”

“I can’t tell you anything more about it. He knew something he had no right knowing. It’s private. I don’t talk about it. You can go practice your shrink skills elsewhere.”

“Did you dream last night?”

“What?”

“The door to the spirit world has opened to you. My father’s channeling of the information you wanted is merely him being a telephone to what you want to know. Did you dream last night?”

“Yes,” Taz said, feeling a bit unsettled by Jeremy’s persistence.

“Did it have a connection to my father’s words?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you dreamed.”

“It makes no sense. It did involve the same information. I mean it came from the source of the information he gave me. It was nothing he could know. My dream was bizarre and involved what he spoke about without having anything to do with it. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“The doorway is open. What did you dream?”

“One word. That’s all it was.”

“What happened after you heard the one word?”

“I got up and had some coffee.”

“It disturbed you as much as what my father had to say?”

Taz sat for a minute and leaned back on his chair, sipping from the cup, pondering why Jeremy wanted to know.

“What was the dream?”

“It wasn’t so much a dream as it was a word. I heard it as clear as if he was standing next to me. Kodak is my friend. He was going to the South Pacific to take pictures. He was a photographer. The plane that took him out there never returned. I want to believe he is alive. That’s what your father told me. ‘He is safe,’ he said. “How could he know that?”

“The word that upset you? Tell me what the word was.”

“Tazerski.”

“Your name? Why would that upset you?”

“His voice saying as plain as day, my name? Only one problem with all your voodoo. He’s never called me Tazerski. He didn’t know that was my name for a long time after we met. He always called me Taz. If he used Tazerski it would have been almost never. In my dream he called me that. How do you explain that? Wishful thinking.”

“I can’t explain anything, my friend. I’ve been trying to do what you did but I can’t. My mind is too cluttered with routine and the indoctrination education provides and saddles you with. I feel that is the barrier to my spirit. I can’t explain what the meaning of any of it is, but I can tell you that you’re on a journey. I’m seeking a way that leads me to mine.”

“I’m not going anywhere. That’s your story. I’m just a cowboy cowboying.”

“You can run away from us but you can’t run away from the spirit world. You can’t ignore it and my bet is it won’t go away. You and my father met in the spirit world. He gave you the message there. I can’t explain it. I don’t understand it, but that’s what I believe.”

“I like you, Jeremy. You’ve treated me nice. You make me laugh. I’m not all that smart. You can believe what you want and what all that education tells you, but me, I’ve got to deal with my world, and I don’t see how I can get where you want me to go. I don’t know that much.”

“That’s the reason I came, Taz. I don’t think you have anything to say about it. You’ve been there. Maybe you’ll never go back. Maybe you can slam the door shut and walk away. I don’t think so, and if I’m right, then me being around might save you from going off the deep end.

“You don’t want to stay at our village, so let me stop by here. Besides, your coffee is way better than at the encampment.”

“You can come back when you want, but I do have a job. As for me going off the deep end, well, I’ve been teetering on the edge of insanity all my life. Haven’t fallen off yet, but I think they say I’ll be the last to know when I do.”

“I think you’re safe, but having your own shrink can’t hurt.”

“It means nothing. It was a dream. You’re trying to do this Indian thing and want me to buy into it. Well, there’s no sale. Maybe I’m part Indian but my life isn’t about that.”

“My old man spoke to you without words. He spoke of things he couldn’t know. How do you explain it?”

“You’re the shrink. You tell me. I don’t need to explain it. Bad venison maybe.”

Chapter 10

Sheriff and the Prosecutor

Taz rode down into the meadows to the ranch house before breakfast. He found himself thinking about the food the general’s wife might provide. He didn’t think of food all that often, because left to his own devices it came out of a can, except when the general brought something up when he came to see how he was.

The first appearance in court wasn’t for another two weeks, but Taz had to identify the culprit that tried to brain him with the wire cutters. It was all part of a case being built against the rustlers. They no longer hanged rustlers in Montana, but they did get stiff jail time for stealing valuable beef.

The general signed the central complaint, but the assault on Taz figured into the charges and the time the men were looking at. Taz picked the three men he’d seen at the fence out of three separate lineups. He sat with the general as they listened to the prosecutor describing the case.

“We’ve got clear identification. The rustling charges carry substantial time. The assault charge gives us a bit more leverage with the assailant, but as of yet, we can’t get anything out of any of them.”

The sheriff was waiting at the jeep when Taz and the general came back to head home.

“Gen. Walker, I’ve got a bit of news, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Sheriff Ward, what can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure you can do anything. Do you know Bob Meeker?”

“I’ve heard the name. I’m not up on my local officials.”

“He’s no official. He’s an attorney that works exclusively for the White Brotherhood. They have their place on the other side of the pass from your ranch.”

“Not familiar with it or him,” the general said.

“White Brotherhood is a white supremacy group. Meeker is their attorney. They bought a place out your way three years ago. We get alerts from the Justice Department on local militia and militaristic groups. They’re all mixed up in mock military type activities.”

“I see. Well, that’s all fine, but what does it have to do with me?”

“Meeker is representing those rustlers. They’re connected to the WB. They’ve been rustling cows in the area to finance their activities. We’re right long on suspicion and right short on proof. We’ve tried to get a man inside their organization, but they’re pretty careful about who they take up with. We haven’t even got a look inside their compound. No probable cause.”

“Sheriff, I don’t see where this involves me or my ranch. I’m an old cowboy and not into local politics. I pay my taxes, and I keep clear of trouble whenever possible. If you have something else to say I suggest you get on with it. I got cows to tend to.”

“No, sir. I want you aware of what’s behind the men who took your cows. They might get out on bond, and the likelihood of them ever showing up for trial is slim and less than slim. So, your herd isn’t safe and those men are going to be out there somewhere beyond my reach. I don’t have enough to tie them to WB to get a search warrant for their compound.

“The WB isn’t going away and if we can talk the judge into holding onto the rustlers, I’m going to need your help. The judge might respond to your request to deny bond. So far we’ve been able to hold onto them, but I don’t know how much longer. Meeker is arguing for bond as we speak.”

“Under those circumstances, give me the judge’s name. I’ll give him my two cents worth, but I’ll have to use you as my source of concern.”

“No problem. He’s already heard from me, but he isn’t convinced yet. If I can convince him they’re likely to disappear because they are with the Brotherhood, he might go for it. You calling to express your concern would make it more likely. Your being willing to back the judge’s play with that small army you got out at your place would probably allow him to rest easier.

“We don’t have a big budget to defend the jail, and at the moment I’ve got no reason to suspect they’re about to come take those boys away from me; but then again, I don’t have any reason to think they won’t if they have a mind to.”

“What do you think these boys are up to? What do they do?”

“They want to take the country back. Get it in the hands of the rightful owners. If we were further south, the judges down there would cut those boys loose in a minute. They’re all right wingers and big believers in being armed and dangerous.”

“The Indians? Why would a white supremacy group want to give the country back to the Indians?” the general wondered out loud.

“Indians aren’t people to them, Gen. Walker. I can appreciate your sense of humor, but white men are people. Everyone else is something else. They think this is their country.”

“Yes, lot of that going around. Doesn’t sound like your average Sunday school class. I think I’d like to keep an eye on those fellows if you don’t object? I may be retired military but I’m not without influence. I’m still a reserve officer with a lot of cowboys that are reserve soldiers. Any breach of the peace becomes my business.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. I’ll be bolder if you’re backing my play. If I’m right we’ll be able to smoke those boys out of there and shut down the WB.”

“Okay, Sheriff Ward, I’ll do what I can. Keep me posted on this thing. I have a communications man on duty at all times. You need a small army, I just happen to have one. I’ll see what I can rustle up from my side of the pass. I’ll be in touch. I won’t move without telling you.”

“Thanks, General. I was told if I explained it to you, you’d come through for me. I feel a bit easier about this deal now. You don’t want that crowd living up there.”

*****

Taz sat in the back of the jeep. Kendall turned off on the mountain road to go back to the ranch. The general didn’t have anything else to say, but Taz could tell he was thinking about what the sheriff told him. Random rustlers were one thing, but a dangerous organization rustling to fund illegal activity was another.

The arraignment was scheduled in two weeks, and they’d need to go back to town to be available for whatever might come up. The general made a statement about the rustlers being a flight risk and their attorney objected, but the general prevailed and bail was denied. This alarmed the rustlers, who didn’t take it well. Their attorney had obviously misled them.

There were some extra precautions taken to keep the herd closer to the house, where the general’s men could manage them and keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Orders were given over dinner as the general had side arms taken out of storage for his cowboys to wear while on patrol.

The general didn’t like having weapons out around the house but he was a practical man, prepared for any contingency. There was the possibility he and his men might be called on to go clean out a nest of desperadoes. Having soldiers for wranglers meant there was a small army at hand should he need one.

He intended to be a rancher and nothing else, but something else always managed to take place to remind him he was a general, and he came from a line of generals, and saying he was a rancher didn’t change that. He’d seen enough war and dying, and long ago lost the taste for it, but no one was going to threaten him or his ranch.

Taz saddled Cyclone after dinner and headed back for the mesa. It was the first time his thoughts about Kodak went beyond missing him. For the first time Taz wondered where Kodak might be. It wasn’t a wonder if he was dead or alive, but a wonder involving his whereabouts.

He didn’t know it meant anything, except he felt differently, as he tried to picture where his friend might be. Taz had never missed anyone before. He’d never been as close to anyone as he was to Kodak, so missing him was no surprise. It was the idea he was alive that surprised him. He wasn’t any great optimist. It went beyond optimism to a feeling he had and didn’t understand. That damn old Indian was still fucking around in his head, but how angry could he get if it made him feel better?

He didn’t mention his change of heart to Gen. Walker. The general saw Taz as a pragmatist. It was how a general had to be to keep from getting in his own way. Taz was realistic about his life, and not expecting too much from it was good for him. Kodak was good for him.

He’d never gotten much of value out of life before Kodak. Each day was just a new struggle. After doing his best to remain hopeful, once he’d heard Kodak’s plane was missing, Taz began to doubt. His heart was full of optimism, though he kept it to himself because he was pragmatic.

If he told the general about his dream and his new feelings about Kodak, the general couldn’t help but wondering if the bottle of bourbon remained sealed. Taz wasn’t sure about the dream or its meaning. Thinking about it created doubt, and so he didn’t think about it.

The dream was part of it. There were other things. There was Medicine Band’s edict. There was Jeremy’s visit, and the conversation about Medicine Band’s ability to go into the spirit world to bring back answers. There was nothing to explain how Medicine Band knew anything about Taz. Not only didn’t he mention Kodak to anyone at the encampment, he didn’t mention Kodak to anyone. He was private, and it had nothing to do with anyone but the two of them.

Taz wasn’t sure what he knew or how he knew it. He felt something. Maybe Medicine Band was responsible. Maybe his own need to believe Kodak was alive had him believing he was. No matter what the reason, he held onto his hope silently, waiting for another sign.

The general had not mentioned Kodak, and that meant there was no news from his connections with the Pacific Fleet. They had found nothing, which meant there was no wreckage, which meant there was no proof Kodak was at the bottom of the ocean.

With the rustlers caught, the fences stayed in good repair. Regardless of that, Taz rode the fence line each day. When he was done riding fence to the north, he rode the fence line between the mesa and the meadow, to make sure the cattle were safely confined where the general wanted them.

Some days he took out Milkweed for this chore. Cyclone snorted and objected to being left in his stall. And when Taz brushed and treated Milkweed affectionately, Cyclone didn’t care much for it, and so Taz would always brush Cyclone last, making sure she had all the hay she wanted, which soothed hurt feelings.

It was early the following week that he rode back toward the Indian encampment, but the field where more than a dozen teepees had stood was empty. He sat for a time, thinking about the events surrounding his visit to the temporary village. It was difficult to be sure that what happened actually happened the way he remembered it.

The evidence was gone. He rubbed the spot on his head where the wire cutters had hit him. He wanted to believe Kodak was alive, but it had been a long time, and he couldn’t even pin down something that happened a week ago.

He pondered how long someone could survive out in the Pacific alone. As he rode back toward the cabin his mind wandered, and he felt a bit out of sorts. He decided to ride to the ranch house to see if he could get enough wood to build the two horses a corral, where they could run during the day.

With the sound of wolves at night, he didn’t want to let the horses roam free. There was no guarantee they’d be there when he wanted one, so a corral seemed like a good idea. He explained what he wanted to the general and he would have the wood delivered about the time of the arraignment.

Taz collected a Winchester during his visit, in case the wolves came closer to the cabin. He didn’t intend to kill one unless it was necessary, but the rifle created options that might be necessary. He also remembered the rustlers, and didn’t want to remain unarmed. He was having thoughts about things that could happen, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Maybe it was because something happened to Kodak.

The arraignment was routine. Gen. Walker and the sheriff objected to bond. Their connection to the White Brotherhood was cited. Previous defendants with similar connections had disappeared once they were released on bond. Attorney Meeker objected, the judge overruled his objection, and denied the rustlers bond. They were marched back to jail. The trial was set in 30 days.

Taz drove the wagon load of wood back up to the cabin with Cyclone walking behind. He spent the rest of the afternoon piling the wood where he wanted it. The weather turned warm and sunny, but the soil remained soft from the spring rains that encouraged the grass to grow green.

Using a post hole digger in the soft soil, he planned the corral to be near the canyon wall to offer the horses some shade for the really hot days. First came the posts, and then he nailed the cross sections to fashion the enclosure. It wasn’t pretty, but it would keep them inside where they could exercise.

As he was working his way around to the front side of the corral, nailing the wood as he went, Taz realized he wasn’t alone. Jeremy was in jeans and a button up shirt, while riding an Indian pony with no saddle.

“Need some help, cowboy?” Jeremy asked.

“Sure. Nothing like a little help to speed things along.”

“For the horses?” Jeremy asked.

“Yeah, give them some running room.”

Jeremy held up the wood for Taz to nail in place. It was late afternoon when Taz drew some water for them as they went to sit on the front porch.

“Brought you some dried venison. You need a root cellar. Keep things cool. Do you have a shovel?”

“Yeah, but I don’t keep much in the way of roots,” Taz said.

“It’s a cool place where things will stay fresh longer. Roots, dried meat, canned goods. It’s cool storage, since your fridge don’t work.”

“Sounds like something convenient.”

“Any news about your friend?”

“No.”

“Any more dreams?”

“I don’t know I’d call them dreams. I hear his voice at times. Not anything I understand. It’s just words. Sometimes it’s in the daytime. He’s saying Tazerski. Wishful thinking I think. Why’d he be calling me that?”

“It’s your name.”

“He didn’t use it. I don’t remember him ever calling me that. He probably did, but this is just like he’s talking to me. Why would I be imagining him saying something I know he never said?”

“When did you start hearing his voice?”

Taz sat for a minute, taking a long pull on his glass of water. He knew precisely when it started, and he wasn’t so sure that it wasn’t a suggestion put in his head by Medicine Band. The man had talked to him, and now Kodak talked to him, but he wasn’t there.

“The night I left the encampment. The night your father spoke to me.”

“You said there was no one there, when my father spoke to you; but don’t you see, I never left the sweat lodge until you got up and left. The sweat lodge was full and no one left but you. Your conversation with Medicine Band was taking place in the spirit world. You were in the middle of the sweat lodge with twenty other Indians and you’re the only one that heard my father speak.”

“That’s your story.”

“I’ve heard about it happening. I’ve done my best to have it happen to me, but I can’t let go of my reality. I can’t do it and I think you did. I’m hoping I can figure out how.”

“Putting it that way, it’s downright scary. I keep thinking I’m crazy. I just want my brain back.”

“The door has been opened. I don’t know you can close it. You’ve got to accept the spirits are present in your life. It’ll make you crazy if you don’t.”

“That’s your version. I’ve got my own. I don’t plan to let spooks make a fool out of me. I can do that all by myself. I don’t need help.”

“I’m fascinated, as a shrink and as an Indian. I don’t know I understand, but you’re proof the spirit world exists. I want to know how you opened the door. I’m not going to stop trying to figure it out. You’re proof it can be done.”

“I’m just a guy with a friend who is missing. I try to make sense of it as best I can. What I hear in my head makes no sense.”

“Not in conventional sense, but we don’t know everything,” Jeremy said confidently.

This was as close as Jeremy could get to the answer he was seeking.

“I’ve talked with my father about it for hours. He thinks I’m limited by the world in which I’ve lived. He says, I’ve lost my connection to Mother Earth and all living things. I came home to get it back, if I ever had it. Now that I’m educated, I want the knowledge my father has and could never get me to want to see.”

Jeremy knew his desire to be well-educated disconnected him from what he didn’t see as important when he was younger.

“My father says, by following the path I picked, I was always on a journey back to my people and my roots. While psychiatry had little to do with what I needed to find, what was in the mind, its capacity to see beyond any random boundaries established for it, was key to the answers I seek. He’s a smart man and I came home.”

“That’s his story.”

“Yes, it is,” Jeremy agreed.

Taz was not an easy man to pin down. The more Jeremy prodded him the less he had to say. Never having a great understanding of himself, or what came after survival, survival was on his mind, which kept his life manageable.

Letting anyone know what Taz was feeling wasn’t an easy proposition. It took Taz a lot of years to figure out what he felt. Only because people asked him about feelings did he wonder if he might have some. He didn’t so much feel life as he endured it for most of his childhood. There was one feeling he’d had and did not like in the least, and that was pain. Only after meeting Kodak did he become aware that life wasn’t merely pain or no feelings at all. Once he met Kodak he thought there might be more to life than survival.

The disturbing part of what had taken place in the sweat lodge was how much it upset him. The meaning of it went far beyond his ability to understand it. Discussing it wasn’t on his mind. Being unnerved by hearing Kodak’s voice speaking his name so clearly to him, was.

Where his feelings ended and his brain power picked up left him a little short in the substance department. Taz thought he had a firm grip on his life, but no one had to tell him that hearing a voice he hadn’t heard in a month saying his name was impossible. He had been hit in the head with a pair of wire cutters and all the weirdness since might be a result of that.

He wanted to believe it was the blow to the head that accounted for the voices and the sleeplessness that came with them. If Kodak was talking to him, why didn’t he do it in the day time? What time was it where he was?

Jeremy wanted to believe some mysterious door had been opened to another world, and Taz wasn’t buying into voodoo. No, there had to be a reasonable explanation that covered it all, but Taz was unable to come up with one. Silence seemed to be the best answer when Jeremy claimed to know. What kind of shrink was he?

Chapter 11

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

Kodak stood in the middle of the lava field, watching the steam rise from between the rocks. He thought he’d seen steam the day of the signal fire, but wrote it off as some odd response to the size of the fire he’d built.

One afternoon he stood in the lava field, trying to imagine some thermal pool somewhere beneath him. The steam coming up through the rocks seemed more noticeable. He understood what it could mean but without any certainty, he wrote it off as a thermal pool.

The other thing Kodak became aware of was that the waterfall where he showered each morning was getting warmer. He didn’t mind having a warm shower but he wondered what made it warm. He’d considered where he was and where he could go and the best idea was to live each day as best he could, keep taking pictures and exploring the world that belonged to him, and forgo worrying about those things he couldn’t control.

He still found his way to the center of the lava field each day, as he tried to see if there was more steam today than yesterday. Tazerski wouldn’t walk out there with him, letting go of his hand and squawking, obviously annoyed, when Kodak walked out onto the steaming rocks. He didn’t notice any temperature change, but he hadn’t thought about the temperature before. The rocks were warm but the sun shinned on them all day.

Each day on the island was perfect. The nights were pleasant with Godzilla keeping the insect population at bay. The afternoons were hot and humid. If Kodak took to his hammock, the breeze kept it from being too hot, even in the middle of the day.

Tazerski didn’t seem to mind the heat, and he liked sitting beside Kodak when he was in the hammock. The comfort of another creature made them both happier, but even with Tazerski so close, this was the time Kodak thought most about Taz. It always started when he called the monkey by name and talked to him as if he could understand. He felt like Taz was listening, and no matter how crazy that was, it encouraged him to talk to Tazerski like it was Taz.

“I miss you, Tazerski,” Kodak would say with the monkey climbing onto his stomach, wanting to be tickled, which was his most favorite thing once he’d sit still for it.

“I love you, Tazerski,” Kodak said fondly.

****

“I love you too,” Taz said, sitting straight up in his bed with his heart racing. He felt Kodak’s presence.

*****

Tazerski chattered and made a happy sound when Kodak paid attention to him. These play periods usually ended with Kodak taking a nap, being sure to wake up before dark so he could go on the hunt for something new and exciting for dinner. Sometimes it would be waiting for a fish he didn’t recognize as one he’d eaten before. Other times he wanted something familiar that he’d enjoyed before.

He’d yet to see anything dangerous lurking in the lagoon, but he was careful once he’d selected a fish for dinner, making sure to come straight back in off the stones that were just under water when he fished. The final ten steps back to the beach were in knee deep water, the last opportunity for his dinner to execute an escape, but he guarded against it.

Kodak, unfamiliar with the slippery nature of fish, lost dinner a couple of times early on. At times the fish wriggled and wiggled in a sudden spasm, slipping out of his grasp, disappearing into the water. It didn’t take long for Kodak to learn to keep a firm grasp on the fish. There was nothing worse than his mouth watering with anticipation, and then losing dinner before he got it back to shore.

Godzilla became particularly animated once a fish was being grilled on the hot rocks. He’d leave his constant perch beside the hammock to make certain Kodak didn’t forget he was there. It was difficult to forget a four foot lizard that always looked hungry.

By the time the fish dinner was finished, Godzilla’s mouth hung open waiting for what he knew was coming. Godzilla’s mouth shut around his meal. He didn’t chew, didn’t drop any, and soon moved back to his usual spot, satisfied.

Some nights, breaking brush and the sound of something moving in the jungle nearby alarmed Kodak. He’d wake up in a sweat and make sure Godzilla was standing guard. It was enough to keep Kodak out of the jungle. He was curious about the jungle that came right up to his camp, but he confined his activity to the areas he controlled.

There had been snakes, smaller lizards than Godzilla, birds galore, and whatever it was that he heard but never saw late at night. It was a good variety for photographing, and nothing he took pictures of seemed threatening; even the other monkeys kept their distance as Tazerski had the run of the camp.

Whatever the larger creature or creatures were, he didn’t get enough of a look to know if it might be a cat or some animal he had never seen. He thought about the people who made the steps to the top, and why they might have left. Was something on the island that forced them off?

Being alone created some fear that he controlled by keeping busy. Had Taz been there with him, there would have been no fear. Even in a war zone he felt safe as long as he was with Taz. Without Taz, he didn’t feel as secure.

Whatever was out there, it had no desire to meet up with Kodak. Whatever it was had come close enough to camp in the dark that he knew it was there. It had never come any closer, so far.

Did it feel fear or was it waiting for something?

It was for certain that if a large animal wanted to charge into the camp, there was nothing to stop him. Whatever it was had enough intelligence to know to steer clear of something it wasn’t sure about. Was the thing in the night responsible for the steps?

This was the closest thing to danger Kodak sensed in this tropical paradise. There was no other threat he could detect, and he wasn’t going to sit up nights worrying about something he couldn’t do anything about. Had something wanted to stalk him he would be easy prey, but so far so good.

The following morning Kodak came in from collecting a new pile of coconuts with Tazerski screeching in his favorite tree, waiting for his favorite treat. Kodak put the dozen nuts in a pile once he’d cut away the protective fiber covering.

He used a rock particularly suited for opening a small hole from which he could drink the coconut water or he could offer it to Tazerski. If he wanted peace and quiet, the monkey got his first. Kodak had become adept at getting the most out of each nut.

As the monkey retrieved his breakfast, Kodak’s attention was drawn to the lagoon. Rowing ashore was a rubber boat with three men in it. Beyond the lagoon was a larger boat that had appeared while Kodak was gathering coconuts. Kodak’s mouth fell open as he saw another human being for the first time in over a month, maybe two months.

Walking out from between the trees, the three men were as surprised to see Kodak as he was to see them.

“Who are you?” one of the men asked, as they pulled the boat onto the beach.

“Paul Anderson,” Kodak said, responding with the name he’d used for the first nineteen years of his life.

“What are you doing here?” the leader asked.

“Plane crashed. That’s it out in the lagoon opening,” Kodak said, pointing at the spot where the plane sank. “My pilot was killed.”

“I’m Dr. John Corbin. We’re here to investigate this island’s potential for eruption. You’re alone?”

“Yes. I was the only other one on the plane. I’m a photographer and was flying to an island to photograph some new species that had been discovered there. We hit a storm. The plane had mechanical failure and I ended up here.”

“How long have you been here?” the doctor asked.

“I’m not sure. More than a month. Less than two months. I’ve lost track of time. Could be longer.”

“We’re here to set up sensors to monitor the venting taking place here. Get your things, we’ll take you back to our boat and contact someone about your location. We’ll be an hour or two if you want to gather your things up.”

“Sure,” Kodak said, a little flustered by the unexpected rescue. “Follow the area I’ve cleared over there and it will lead you to steps to the top of the island.”

“You’ve been busy,” Dr. Corbin said.

“No, the steps were already here. I just cut away the jungle.”

Kodak’s life had been going in slow motion for so long he didn’t have a lot to say and wasn’t sure what to do. He gathered his camera, film, and camera case. He left most of the faded and torn clothes, putting on the cloth Hawaiian hat before focusing on Tazerski.

“I’m going to miss you Tazerski. You’ve kept me sane. I’ve never had an animal for a friend, but you were a good friend.”

Tazerski sat with a half coconut, picking out the coconut meat, while Kodak drank the liquid from his, still stunned.

The Red Baron took off toward the top of the island as soon as the three new arrivals headed up the steps. Before the men got back to the bottom, Red Baron came gliding back into his treetop perch.

“You packed?” Dr. Corbin asked, as he was the first man down.

“Not much worth taking,” Kodak said, patting Tazerski’s head and walking toward the boat as it was being pushed out into the shallow water.

Tazerski stood up, waving his arms over his head the way he did when he was upset, chattering louder than Kodak had ever heard him carry on. Kodak followed Dr. Corbin and was ready to step into the boat, when he heard Tazerski coming toward him, making a relentless fuss.

“Oh, Tazerski, I can’t take you with me. I’ve got to go. This is where you belong,” Kodak said, not the least bit deterred by the three men who were watching him talk to a monkey.

Tazerski was having none of it and he screamed and chattered, standing at the water’s edge. Kodak set his camera case in the boat, bent down with his arms out, and Tazerski came running into them. Kodak lifted him up and stepped into the boat with his friend.

“I’m sorry. I can’t leave him,” Kodak said, and no one responded as the boat was rowed back out of the lagoon, passing directly over top of the plane that had brought Kodak to the island. He looked down but couldn’t see anything but the shadow of it as it sank deeper into the sand.

The rubber boat was pulled onto the front of the larger boat and secured. Kodak was introduced to the captain as Tazerski held tight to him, keeping his face buried in Kodak’s neck, not wanting anything to do with the other men.

No one mentioned the monkey as the captain of the vessel made radio contact to give their base station a heads-up that they’d rescued a plane crash victim and were waiting for instructions.

They’d originated at a scientific outpost in the southern portion of the Marshall Islands. After a short stop at another island a few dozen miles away, the boat returned to its base with two more passengers than when they’d left.

Communications had been established with the United States Navy and they were advised that they’d recovered Paul Anderson from Madalwa. The Navy said to keep him until they could make arrangements to get him back where he belonged, which would take a day or two.

“They weren’t surprised we rescued you,” Dr. Corbin said. “I thought they’d have a lot of questions about who you are. They’re coming to get you as quick as they make arrangements to get you home.”

“Thanks,” Kodak said without having a clear picture of what it all meant.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Kodak had a meal prepared for him by an island cook who worked at the station. Tazerski wasn’t as pleased by the food or the people. He didn’t let go of Kodak and Kodak made no effort to set him down.

The station didn’t have direct contact with the outside world, but through their shortwave communications with the Interior Department, details about Kodak’s rescue were revealed. The Interior Department deferred to the US Navy, since they were taking control of Kodak and his monkey.

The communication said he was safe and in good hands. They were told arrangements were being made to retrieve Kodak to get him back to where he belonged. New Zealand was informed about the missing plane in the Madalwa lagoon.

Life at a scientific outpost wasn’t a big change for Kodak. There were no luxuries but any kind of civilization was okay. He could go to the kitchen any time he wanted and get something to eat, and there were books to read, if a little on the dry side. Not being able to call the ranch didn’t bother him, because Taz would be on the mesa and there was no phone there.

Kodak was given a private room, where Tazerski was more relaxed, as long as Kodak didn’t leave him. The two of them slept around the clock once they settled into the room. Kodak dreamed of seeing Taz again and Tazerski dreamed of coconuts.

It was the third afternoon after his rescue that they were put back on the motor launch that rescued them. Kodak knew he was finally on his way home. He was told a naval ship would take them to Hawaii. He be put on a plane to California, and then he’d be put on a plane to Montana. For a couple of hours they headed farther and farther out into the Pacific in search of a navy ship.

The ship was breathtakingly large and visible for miles. It came with a number of other ships of various sizes. Climbing up the rope ladder was no piece of cake for Kodak, while Tazerski held on for dear life, not daring to look down at all that water below him.

It was the biggest ship Kodak had ever been on. It stood tall and long, looking foreboding on the horizon. Up close it looked even bigger. He was met by a seaman 1st class who helped him get the last few feet onto the deck.

“I couldn’t leave him behind,” Kodak said. “He depends on me. Is it okay?”

“I’m a seaman, sir. I just follow orders. I got nothing to say about nothing, but odds are the captain won’t throw him overboard.”

Tazerski hung tightly to Kodak but made a squawking sound when the subject of throwing him overboard came up. He obviously didn’t understand, but maybe it was the tone of the seaman’s voice.

Kodak was told there was no communications with the mainland but Gen. Walker had been sent a message about his rescue and arrangements would be made to meet him once he reached Montana.

Kodak assumed Gen. Walker was the behind the direct transportation backed to where he belonged. He asked no questions, figuring the less said the better it was for all concerned. He’d been out of touch for months and in a few days he’d get his life back and he’d be back where he belonged.

*****

At the same time the navy ship was steaming to Pearl Harbor, Jeremy Goodstar was digging into the base of the canyon wall beside where they’d constructed the corral. Taz found a pick right where he’d found the shovel and they decided the sandstone and soft red earth was going to make a fine cool root cellar.

Jeremy couldn’t let a good opportunity go by without prying into Taz’s mind, and where that mind had taken him the final night he attended the sweat lodge. Taz continued to be evasive, not protecting anything in particular, except the feeling that whatever had happened wasn’t anything he was interested in exploring or repeating.

Taz had no difficulty being quiet. It was normal for him. He let Jeremy go on with his logical translation of the events that meant far more to him than to Taz. From time to time Taz responded to an innocuous inquiry or hypothesis to reassure Jeremy he was capable of speech.

Specializing in people, Jeremy was content to observe and offer assistance to Taz when possible. It gave him a reason to be there. His own search was a lonely one. The idea of Taz having answers that applied to Jeremy, kept him paying attention.

Wanting to see his own mind more clearly, Jeremy needed to overcome the conditioning that proved to be more of a handicap than he expected it to be. He stopped seeing the discovery of the spirit world as an intellectual exercise. He wasn’t sure of what approach to take to get him where he wanted to go, but Taz had been there having little more than a lost friend as motivation.

Medicine Band told his son, “Entering the spirit world isn’t something you do. It is something you accept and receive. The white man’s world blinds you to what is vital in the search for the truth that leads you there.”

Taz wasn’t sure Jeremy’s elevator went all the way to the top, but his own elevator got hung up between floors at times. He wasn’t going to judge Jeremy too harshly. Having company at a time like this did help. Kodak stopped talking to him at night, which was more worrisome than hearing his voice saying, ‘Tazerski.’

Taz’s simple life offered no resistance to external forces that came to the mesa. The loss of the person he trusted and depended on most left him open to the possibility of other worldly experiences if they came for him. He was available because nothing obstructed the need he had to be in touch with Kodak, wherever he was, but not resisting and understanding were separate things.

It was only troubling for Taz because he was hearing Kodak’s voice and feeling his presence, especially late at night, but not recently. Perhaps Jeremy’s arrival kept him preoccupied. Taz had firm control over his world, and the one thing he wasn’t discussing with Jeremy was Kodak.

While Taz didn’t seem all that impressed by people, Jeremy could see that he had no particular animosity toward anyone except his father, who was spoken about even less than his friend but in far less affectionate terms.

*****

Gen. Walker was out reconnoitering the White Brotherhood compound for Sheriff Ward, when a message came for him from Admiral Clark of the Pacific Fleet. The radio operator, knowing the general wanted to see anything coming from that direction right away, put the message in his inbox on his desk.

Kathleen, doing the monthly accounts, and making her list of supplies she wanted for the ranch, put the books and the list in the inbox on her husband’s desk an hour after the radio operator put the message there.

Gen. Walker selected a spot for an observation post on a hill a mile from the entrance to the WB compound. The spot gave the observer a full view of the front gate and most of the driveway to monitor the comings and goings. Because of a clump of trees, the post wasn’t visible from the compound.

He would make sure someone was there from noon until dark each day to monitor the activity.

Sheriff Ward was interested in catching the founder of the White Brotherhood in the commission of a major felony. Gen. Walker was more than happy to assist, after learning the rustling started and ended with Sam Jones.

The one question either the sheriff or the general couldn’t answer, why did Jones send his own lawyer to represent the rustlers? Did he think local law enforcement was that oblivious to the fact attorney Meeker only represented the WB? This move had Gen. Walker suspecting he might find stolen cattle wandering around their compound, but no one was that dumb.

The equation changed with the arrest of the rustlers. Gen. Walker was receiving information on the White Brotherhood from Washington, and he was encouraged to learn more if he could about the relatively undocumented survival group.

Gen. Walker’s years in the military gave him access to a lot of official Washington by merely picking up a phone. Though he had no official power or position, his opinion was sought on matters of war and respected, when offered, in other matters.

Even under the circumstances the invitation to look into a shadowy group wouldn’t have tempted Gen. Walker into action, except they’d decided to cut his fences, steal his cows, and injure Taz in the process. It wasn’t anything this general was sitting still for. Once he had time to think about the sheriff being in over his head, he had to move on the threat.

People who disrespected him, his family, or his property were marching down a long hard road.

“Did you see my list?” Kathleen asked, as he hung up his hat and moved toward his desk.

“No, whatever you want, dear. I’ll get Rowdy on it. I have an observation post and I can see the WB compound entrance and part of the driveway. What do you think?”

“Depends on what you want,” Kathleen said. “Until you get them to court there isn’t much cause for you to be anywhere near them.”

“No, but I got a feeling,” Gen. Walker said, looking at Kathleen’s list.

“Set up a three day recon mission to learn all you can. Rotate teams every four hours to keep them alert. You might get a read on how well armed they are and how many men they’ve got.”

“Just what I was thinking,” he said, pulling her arm so that she ended up on his lap. “We might have won over there if they’d made you a general. You taught me everything I know, Mrs. General.”

“Yes, I did, but I didn’t teach you everything I know, yet,” she bragged, kissing her husband and draping her arm around his neck.

“Hey general, sheriff on line one,” the man in the radio room announced.

“Thanks. Can we recapture this mood a little later, if you aren’t too busy keeping me in business?”

“I suppose. A woman’s work is never done,” Kathleen said cheerfully, as she moved out of the way of the phone.

“Walker.”

“I’ve got some answers that might explain things.”

“I’m all ears, sheriff.”

“The guy we’ve got booked as John Smith is Bob Jones. We’d had the names of the other two but we just got the Jones I.D.”

“The son? That seems to explain why Sam Jones sent Meeker to represent the rustlers. He knew sooner or later we’d identify his son and tie him back to the White Brotherhood.”

“Yeah, the old man is trying to keep his son out of prison for the next ten years.”

“Why would a man that runs a survivalist militia send his son out on a lame brain rustling scheme? That doesn’t calculate.”

“Maybe the lame brain rustling scheme was the son’s idea. He’s obviously the ringleader of these boys. He fancies himself a tough guy.”

“So Daddy didn’t know what the kid was doing. Probably freelancing to line his own pockets. All those cattle just standing around, a shame to pass up on all that money on the hoof. A cowboy would know better. They aren’t from around here, sheriff.”

“They’re around here now, General. Thought I should let you know what we’ve got. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Yeah, I’m setting up an observation post. We’re going to keep an eye on the compound for a few days. See what comes and goes. They can’t see us but we can see them.”

“Good idea. You keep me posted.”

Gen. Walker sat for a long time, pondering the kids he’d seen do stupid things to prove their manhood. It often ended badly, and with him writing letters to the next of kin.

Gen. Walker sat thoughtfully, remembering precisely why he’d left the military. While the military would never leave him, he no longer wanted to watch things taking place that no one could explain to him; and while he bled army green, it was no longer his responsibility. He hadn’t expected all his years in the military to mean much once he was merely a rancher, but there was always someone wanting his opinion, a committee wanting his input, a Senator needing his endorsement. His career had accounted for something more than being witness to the futility of war.

“General, you off the phone?”

“Yeah, talk to me.”

“Note in your inbox. From Pearl. Admiral Clark. You need to read it.”

“Cappy called?”

“Shortwave. Radio message.”

As he opened the note, his life improved remarkably.

“Kathleen, they got him,” he yelled.

“Got who?” she said, leaning in the door.

“Kodak’s safe. He’s in Pearl. He’s on his way here. We’ve got to meet him at the field over by Bozeman day after tomorrow. Air Force is flying him there for us.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard in ages! We need to send someone up to tell Taz. He’ll be beside himself,” she said.

“No. We won’t tell him anything. Once we know what time he’s going to be here, I’ll send for Taz to come down to the house to talk about the court case. He’s expecting that. No point in having him sit on the edge of his seat for two days after all this time. Bad weather, some kind of glitch, and he might be later than two days.”

“Sounds like you ought to entertain the idea of being a movie director, general. I think that’s perfect.”

“Get me Kendall,” Gen. Walker yelled happily.

He told Kendall what was up and for him to make preparations to go pick up Kodak as quick as they knew what time he would arrive.

Over the next few hours it was discovered that there were no pictures of the senior Jones. Samuel Jones hadn’t appeared in court or in town. No one knew what he looked like and no one had more than general information about where he came from.

He was a rich oil man who made his fortune in the rich Texas oil fields of the nineteen forties and fifties. He’d sold his holdings and spent the last decade traveling. He remained relatively invisible inside the oil industry and the world of high finance, where he was well-represented by his money.

His attorney Meeker came to Montana a few years before, buying up property that included the compound in the name of the White Brotherhood survivalists. They were about returning control of the country to the people, especially the ones who believed equal rights meant the White Brotherhood and similar groups should run the show. If Jones resided in the compound, no one could identify him and Meeker wasn’t saying.

As events unfolded, the town and the countryside began talking. Rumors had gotten to the sheriff that some kind of attempt to remove the junior Jones from his custody was being planned. The less anyone knew about the White Brotherhood, the more suspicious it made everyone.

Montana was a country of individualists who took care of themselves, but there was a point when too individual became too dangerous, and that was the feeling the White Brotherhood was leaving their neighbors.

The general took a shift at the observation post, keeping his glasses trained on the gate.

*****

Tazerski liked the plane a little less than he liked the boat rides. He clung to Kodak, trying to figure out where he was and where they were heading. Kodak talked with him, trying to reassure him, but he remained unsettled. Kodak was anxious as well. He was going to be back with Taz soon, and he couldn’t wait.

Kodak suspected that life together was going to be made that much better after their separation. The idea of his fonder heart making it home to the man he loved had his excitement rising.

*****

There were a lot of activities at the ranch. Men were cleaning and preparing the supplies kept in Gen. Walker’s armory. They made certain all the equipment was in good working order. The ranch resembled a military camp by the time Kendall was ready to go to pick up Kodak.

The FBI knew of all the survival groups active in the northwest. They didn’t know that a routine rustling case involved one of the groups that was making a point of becoming better and better armed. The FBI knew a lot about the WB’s weapons, having an undercover agent who was selling them guns as a way to keep an eye on them.

Once becoming aware of Gen. Walker’s involvement, the FBI forward as much information to him as they thought he might need. In turn they wanted to be informed about any violent activities that could be pinned on the WB. An FBI agent was on his way to attend the court proceedings.

Kendall left two hours before the plane was due on the ground, to be sure there was someone there to meet Kodak. Gen. Walker wasn’t a man to be caught unprepared. He’d asked for some specialized surveillance equipment along with some surplus AK-47s to go on the flight with Kodak.

The cowboys sat around the back of the house and the barn, cleaning and checking equipment that had been stored for some time. They began to look more like soldiers with fatigue shirts and their soft military hats replacing the everyday cowboy way they dressed to chase cows and ride herd.

Gen. Walker carefully picked the men who received an invitation to work on his ranch. Once there, they could stay as long as they liked. Some men loved and needed peace and quiet, as they readjusted to being Stateside. Others needed more activity to make them feel more alive.

He knew the kind of man who would thrive on a ranch in Montana. The same man might not adjust well to a fast-paced dog-eat- dog world. Each man invited was someone he had personal contact with in his active duty role. Many of the men were wounded, not always visible wounds. They faced being shipped home to whatever awaited them.

These were the men he was most concerned about. Seeing they had time to readjust, even spend time on his staff, gave them time to get to know one another. The life of a cowboy was no walk in the park. Like the life of a soldier, it required an inner toughness. Instead of facing a threat to your life every day, you faced horses and cows. It took a tough man to gentle a horse and handle a cow.

Kodak wasn’t a military man, but he’d lived with a rifle squad in a war zone for most of a year; he’d taken an iconic picture seen around the world. The picture of Taz became the face of a heretofore misunderstood war. A picture taken of a man Gen. Walker came to regard with a father’s affection. Sergeant Tazerski was a courageous soldier, born of a bad circumstance. He was precisely the kind of man Gen. Walker wanted around him in war and peace. There was no soldier better suited to Montana than Taz.

Kodak’s role in creating the environment that brought Taz to Gen. Walker’s attention got Kodak an officer’s respect. The idea of separating Taz from his stabilizing force wasn’t a consideration. Like all his cowboys, he took them as is, as long as they didn’t create a surplus of discord. Montana wasn’t simply right for Taz, Taz was right for Montana.

Offering Taz and Kodak a way to live on the ranch, while not being forced to act in any way inconsistent with their friendship, meant offering them a spot on the mesa. Normally a difficult place to keep men for long, because of the isolation, for Taz, a soldier drying out, it was perfect. The fact Taz and Kodak shared a friendship other cowboys might not understand made the mesa a place where they could feel at home and be at home. Taz didn’t need to make apologies to anyone for who he was, because he was Taz.

Now his men, tempered by war, were being asked to keep the peace. It was an officer’s preparedness that might never be needed, but if it was, his men would be in the proper frame of mind. So as Kendall drove to pick up Kodak, Gen. Walker’s army cleaned and got their equipment shipshape. It was a familiar role they knew well.

The back of the jeep had been filled with crates and containers full of weaponry and equipment Gen. Walker arranged to have sent. After fondly greeting Kendall and introducing him to a reluctant Tazerski, they were on the road back to where Kodak’s unexpectedly long misadventure began.

“What’s in all the crates?” Kodak asked.

“Military supplies for the general.”

“Why?” Kodak asked. “I thought he retired.”

“Mine is not to reason why….” Kendall said agreeably. “I just do the driving.”

“Is something going on I should know about?”

“Could be a war brewing. There’s a white supremacy survival militia group that rustled some of the general’s cows. We’re getting things ready in case we need to get their attention.”

Kodak looked at the crates again and measured Kendall’s description of what was going on. It did not please Kodak to know Taz might be at risk. After leaving Vietnam behind, he thought they’d left the violence behind them. Taz was happy to have survived. He didn’t miss war, but Taz would be the first one to volunteer if the general needed him.

Tazerski was a little less happy traveling in the jeep than he had been with all the other forms of transportation he’d been introduced to in the past five days. He hung on to Kodak, sitting on his lap with one of his arms hung up over his head and around Kodak’s neck. He watched the landscape peeling past the fast moving vehicle. His wide open monkey eyes were not happy eyes.

“How’s Taz?” Kodak asked, once they’d turned onto the highway.

“Taz is Taz. He’s building a corral for the horses. He got hit in the head with a pair of wire cutters by a rustler, but he took care of that guy. He won’t be throwing nothing at no one for a while.”

“He’s stayed up on the mesa?”

“He’s been down to the house a few times. He goes to court with the general. He had to identify the rustlers. He comes down for dinner every now and again if he’s after something. The general is sending word for him to come to the house tonight. You’ll have time to relax before dinner. He’ll be there by then.”

Kodak knew he wasn’t going to catch up in one conversation. Taz wasn’t in the habit of telling anyone what was on his mind. That had become Kodak’s strongest connection to him. Taz did like to talk to Kodak about the things that were bothering him. On the mesa those discussions were fewer and farther between, as the mesa suited both of them and kept the ghosts of war and lonely lives away.

Going to a place more isolated than the mesa would be hard to do, but Kodak had done it. He had a purpose for leaving, but he was happy to be back. He didn’t plan to leave the mesa for some time to come, and then, only if Taz went with him.

Now that the reunion was straight ahead, he couldn’t wait. He was anxious, worried, and a bundle of nerves. Seeing Taz’s face, knowing they were together again, was almost worth the wait. He wanted to grab Taz and hold onto him and never let him go again. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed without his man close to him. It exhilarated him to be going home, but at the same time, the closer he came to ending their separation, the more agonizing the waiting became.

Tazerski stared straight ahead and was reassured by Kodak’s arms that held him. This was a wide open space. It wasn’t quite as frightening as the wide expanse of the ocean, but the treeless, uninterrupted landscape puzzled a monkey who spent most of his life up a tree.

Kodak was his only connection to his former life. It was enough to keep him calm, but nothing made any monkey sense. Even Kendall’s voice aggravated him. He’d had a similar reaction to the people on boats and planes. They passed by him like he wasn’t there, staring at him and ignoring him at the same time. Tazerski knew where he belonged. What he couldn’t figure out was where he was, and that scared him.

Chapter 12

My Old Montana Home

Turning into the driveway at the ranch made Kodak smile. Kendall looked at him, realizing the change as he came to a stop next to the back porch. A couple of the wranglers came over to get a look at the monkey. Once more, Tazerski buried his face in Kodak’s neck. The cowboys that knew Kodak said hello, explaining to the new arrivals about Taz, the picture Kodak took, and Time magazine putting it on the cover.

“We’re home, sir,” Kendall said, before turning into the general’s office with Kodak right behind him.

Gen. Walker stood up and came around the corner of the desk, putting his hand on Kodak’s shoulder as Tazerski considered it and the man attached to it.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes. You look wonderful, Kodak. I’ve never seen you with so much color. You lost a little weight, and who do we have here?” The general asked, touching the back of Tazerski’s head with a gentle hand. “Hi, buddy. Welcome to Montana.”

“How is he?” Kodak asked, shaking the general’s hand as Tazerski kept his eye on him.

“Under the circumstances, he’s held up pretty well. I didn’t know you were coming until you were almost here. We’ve had a situation and I wasn’t in my office for a few days. The news of your arrival didn’t give me much time to prepare him. You know we didn’t know if we’d ever see you again. I decided to send word I needed to see him and ask him to come down for dinner.

“You have time for a shower. Do you need anything? What can I do for you? How about this guy? He need a banana?”

“Some fruit for Tazerski would be nice. I’ll have to give him canned once we get up to the mesa.”

“Not a chance. We’ll have fresh sent in a couple of times a week. He looks like a growing boy to me,” the general said, smiling large at the ranch’s newest resident.

“I just saw a bunch of bananas in the kitchen. Would he like one of those?”

“Yes, I’m sure he’d like a banana. He’s never had one. They had some on the navy ship but they’d spoiled.”

“Come on. Kathleen will love to see you. She’s got the kitchen going full tilt to give you such a welcome. She’s been floating on air since we got word you were on the way back.”

The general led the way as they headed to the kitchen.

“Look who I brung you, Kathleen.”

“Oh, my goodness,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron before coming to hug Kodak. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you. Taz will be beside himself. I’ve been so worried about that boy.”

“Thank you. I’ve been worried about him myself.”

“Kath, I’m stealing a banana for his friend.”

“Oh, my word. I almost ignored him. How are you, little guy,” Kathleen said, smiling for Tazerski.

“He’s really been confused since we left the island. He wouldn’t let me leave without him.”

“Well, we can always use another ranch hand,” the general said, handing Tazerski a bright yellow banana. “Here you go, fellow. Is he a fellow?”

“Yeah, I named him Tazerski.”

The general and his wife laughed.

Tazerski lost all interest in everything but the yellow fruit, as he worked on getting at what he seemed to suspect was inside.

“What would you like? I have a pig in the oven. We’ve got chicken and several casseroles. Can I get you something to hold you until dinner? It’ll be a few hours before we’re all set up to eat.”

“No, ma’am. I’m fine. Maybe a shower and I’d like to lie down for a few minutes to regroup. I’ve been in one place so long, and for the last few days I haven’t stopped moving. Now that I’m home I’m finally able to relax. I wondered if I’d ever see Montana again.”

“Or Taz, I bet,” she said, feeling Kodak’s cheek. “You’re so tan. That beard makes you look older. I’ll make sure there are some towels in the guest room, but I bet you can’t wait to get back to the mesa?”

“No, ma’am. I’ll be all the way home once I get there.”

“Nice having you home, Kodak,” she said, leading him to the guest room at the back of the house.

“Kendall, get those things in the armory. Uncrate it all. It’s stuff we might need to convince the enemy they don’t want to mess with Montana. Get Rowdy on making sure it all works.”

“Yes, sir,” Kendall said, heading toward the back door.

As dinner time neared, the cowboys slowly began cleaning up and meeting on the back porch, waiting for word the feast was on. Kodak went to the window in his bedroom from time to time as he showered, shaved, and got into a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt Kathleen brought for him.

Tazerski sat on the bed, watching Kodak do things he’d never seen him do before. Without the beard, Kodak looked far younger than the young man that had come in an hour earlier. Tazerski held his hand as they walked back toward the kitchen.

It was after he left the window in the bedroom that the lone horseman rode off the hill toward the gate that separated the meadow from the house. Taz only knew the general wanted to talk about the court case and he’d get dinner that didn’t include anything burnt or dried.

As Taz leaned to release the gate, Kodak walked out onto the back porch. His eyes were immediately on the figure at the gate. He froze. Seeing the man he loved, after so long, filled him with emotion.

Cyclone carried Taz around the gate and he leaned to close and secure it. When he wheeled Cyclone around toward the house, his eyes locked on Kodak’s eyes. Cyclone stopped. Taz sat frozen, seeing a sight he wondered if he’d ever see again. His prayers had been answered.

He slid down out of the saddle, taking his hat off and dropping it on the saddle horn. After composing himself for a few seconds, he turned and began to move toward Kodak, who was already off the porch and on his way to Taz.

Coming together near the middle of the compound, their embrace turned a lot of cowboy heads. It was heartfelt and long overdue, filled with the affection the two men felt for one another. There were no words because neither of them could speak. They just held on to one another for dear life.

Tears ran down Taz’s face. He shook as he held tightly to the man who had given him a life.

Rowdy and then Kendall started to applaud, feeling the emotion of the moment. The general and Kathleen clapped their hands, needing to do something, and half the cowboys clapped, while the other half wondered if the embrace might be held a little too long, even for best friends.

The cowboys who knew Taz & Kodak were happy to see them together again. It seemed right. Men sharing affection wasn’t such a big deal, once they’d shared the brutal side of war. This wasn’t something that everyone understood, but few needed to know all there was to know about a man who held his own in battle. Whatever it took to get them through the night was fine. Whatever it took to bring peace to their hearts was fine.

A good portion of the cowboys knew Taz and Kodak as friends and most knew of their fame. Until then they didn’t know Kodak was alive. With all of Gen. Walker’s cowboys being soldiers, Taz didn’t need to explain himself to them. Heroic men rarely needed to explain themselves to other warriors.

Tazerski took Gen. Walker’s hand as soon as Kodak left him alone. The general looked down at the monkey and Tazerski looked up at the general, who seemed trustworthy. A minute after the embrace was broken, and Taz and Kodak stood looking at one another, Tazerski let go of the general’s hand. He went down the steps, walking to Kodak to take his hand.

Kodak looked down at the monkey looking up at him. Taz looked at the monkey. The monkey looked at Taz.

“Tazerski, Tazerski,” Kodak said, introducing the two.

The monkey jumped up to hang his arm around Kodak’s neck, leaning his back against Kodak’s chest to look Taz over.

“You named a monkey after me?” Taz complained, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Tazerski squawked and stared at Taz, keeping his hold on Kodak.

“You don’t look so hot either,” Taz said to the monkey.

Tazerski chattered some more, sensing this man was to be part of his life.

“I missed you so much,” Taz said, not able to take his eyes off Kodak. “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again.”

“Me too. I’m home now. I won’t be going anywhere without you.”

“Good,” Taz said, the tears running down both cheeks as the monkey watched their interaction.

No attempt was made to dislodge Tazerski, and Taz and Kodak held hands as they walked toward the back porch, overwhelmed by coming together again.

Cowboys patted their backs, the general smiled, Kathleen cried, and Tazerski chattered up a storm, not sure he liked so many people.

The meal was a feast and a good time was had by all. Food kept coming. Kodak kept eating like he couldn’t get enough. The conversation was loud and full of laughter and joking as the general’s house was alive with the celebration of life and the best things in it.

They celebrated with their extended family present. There were the soldiers who needed to decompress after fighting a war and the general who gave them a home and whatever time it took for them to heal. They could each come back to the world in his own time. A general who loved his men, wanting to lead them back to a productive life. A general who intended to keep his ranch and his men safe from any threat.

The feast was about life’s resilience under the best of circumstances. One of their own returned safe from his mission, but Kodak wasn’t entirely home until they were back on the mesa. The food was superb. The company was good but he wanted to go home, after another piece of Kathleen’s pie, …and maybe another hamburger.

Tazerski had begun to take each new experience in stride. The horseback ride wasn’t the most fun he’d ever had, but the horse fascinated him, and he groomed her mane as they made their way up to higher ground. The wide open spaces made the monkey feel small.

Kodak was already planning to plant some trees for Tazerski to hang out in. Tazerski liked hanging on the corral cross members, watching the horses stroll and stand and stroll some more. He allowed Kodak out of his sight for the first time.

Kodak wasn’t sure what Tazerski thought of Taz. At the moment he was tolerated and watched. He didn’t fully understand the relationship between the two men, but the monkey wasn’t blind. He felt safe with Kodak, and he could see Kodak felt safe with Taz. Seeing them together, touching, talking, holding hands, was no threat.

Inside the cabin was fine. Outside with the horses was better, and having a top bunk gave him a place to swing and feel more monkey like. When Taz took Cyclone out to ride fence, Tazerski was there when he left and he met him when he returned. He liked it best when Taz and Kodak, Cyclone and Milkweed were all there.

Kodak placed an order for a dozen coconuts a week and several bunches of bananas, now Tazerski’s favorite thing. Kathleen was checking to see what kinds of fruits to buy for the ranch’s latest new face. Kodak accompanied Kathleen into town once a week to shop for the cabin.

The three of them loved nothing more than picking at a fresh-opened coconut a few mornings a week. It was a treat Taz had never experienced. Once Taz had enough of the delicacy, he handed what was left to Tazerski, who never refused coconut.

While Tazerski was out of place on the range, he didn’t mind. Milkweed had taken to him immediately, while Cyclone was a little less sure. Milkweed tolerated Tazerski’s climbing from the top corral rail onto her back, and she either stood or strolled as if Tazerski weren’t really there. The monkey would tire of it after a time and climb back on the rail, grooming Milkweed’s mane from that perch.

Cyclone learned patience with the picky monkey, but she only stood still for it for so long, walking away to end the monkeyshines. It didn’t take long for Tazerski to be able to read both horses, and neither threatened his place on the mesa.

Kodak thought the corral was a great idea and the new root cellar offered a flexibility they hadn’t had before. Cool nights allowed them to keep milk for several days at a time and potatoes, onions, and garlic were always on hand. Jeremy brought dried meats to offer a greater variety of food Kodak could learn to cook. Kathleen could send food in larger quantities now that there was cool storage.

Kodak was delighted with all the improvements Taz made to the outside of the cabin during his absence. He wasn’t nearly as pleased when he opened the door to go inside the cabin the first time. Taz cringed even before hearing a familiar name.

“Taz!”

“Didn’t want you to think you weren’t needed here,” Taz said sheepishly.

“Taz!”

The piles of clothes, the trash, and even dirty paper plates decorated every surface. It didn’t look like anything had been picked up since Kodak left the cabin.

In one afternoon Kodak had control over the debris. It was slow going but he washed the curtains, the table cloth, the bedding, and anything that he could fit in the wash tub. Later he took the pile of dirty dishes the general put outside, dumped them into the tub, and covered them in soapy water to let them soak for a few days or maybe a month.

Restocking the cupboards with canned goods that could be made into easy-to-prepare meals was Kodak’s first planned outing with Kathleen. After unloading the bag onto the table, he started putting the cans in the cupboard and found the bottle of bourbon pushed far back on the shelf.

“What’s this?” Kodak asked, holding out the bottle for Taz to identify.

“It’s a bottle of the general’s bourbon,” Taz explained.

“Yeah, I recognized it. What’s it doing in our cupboard?”

“It’s what I asked him to bring me after he told me you were lost.”

“How many did he bring?”

“Well, he brought another one later on, but I told him the one was enough,” Taz said, leaning back on the two legs of his chair and sipping the delicious coffee Kodak just made.

“It’s not open,” Kodak said, putting it down on the counter.

“No. Just wanted one to look at.”

Kodak looked over his shoulder at Taz, with a warm, proud feeling in his gut. He climbed down and went over to where Taz leaned and kissed his cheek. It was a lovely cheek.

“You know, I love you,” Kodak said, smiling at Taz.

“You do? Why’s that?” Taz asked, aloof.

“Just because I do,” he said, kissing him again. “Could you have made a bigger mess? I could have felt needed with a little less work to do.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t try. I probably could have. You got another one of those?” Taz asked.

“What?” Kodak asked.

Taz pointed to his cheek. Kodak kissed him again, feeling like the luckiest person in the world to be there with this man. Taz let all the legs of the chair back on the floor, pulling Kodak closer as they hugged and kissed.

It was hard for them to let each other go when they were in the cabin together. They frequently hugged, and hugged, and hugged some more. They couldn’t make up for lost time but they intended to make the best use of this time.

*****

After Kodak’s first week home, Jeremy came. He felt there was something more settled about Taz. The inside of the cabin had taken on a warm, friendly glow. He didn’t ask any details about Kodak, but it didn’t take a doctorate in psychiatry to see the fondness the two men shared for one another.

It was when the monkey arrived, pushing the door open from his morning corral visit, that Jeremy began to put two and two together.

“This is Tazerski,” Kodak said, as the monkey climbed on his lap to look at Jeremy.

“Tazerski?” Jeremy repeated. “You named the monkey after Taz?”

“Taz asked the same question.”

“He said you never called him that,” Jeremy said.

“He said I never called him that? Why would he say that?” Kodak asked, a bit confused.

“You didn’t tell him?” Jeremy asked with surprise, looking at Taz.

“No point. He’s home. It’s not important.”

“What’s important?” Kodak asked.

“You can’t deny what it proves. You were hearing his voice,” Jeremy insisted. “It’s proof. You were hearing him call the monkey.”

“That’s your story,” Taz said, taking his usual stance.

“What story?” Kodak asked.

“Nothing,” Taz said. “He’s looking for something.”

“Nothing!” Jeremy said. “Tell him. See if he thinks it’s nothing.”

“I dreamed I heard you call me Tazerski. I told Jeremy you never called me Tazerski. That’s all.”

“You dreamed what?” Kodak asked, his mouth now open.

“You heard me. I speak English. I heard your voice but you were calling me Tazerski. I don’t remember you ever calling me that.”

“That’s impossible,” Kodak said, knowing he had been talking to Tazerski like he was Taz.

“Tell him the rest. Tell him about Medicine Band. Tell him about what he said.”

“He’s not interested in that stuff. He’s got a life, Jeremy.”

“What stuff?” Kodak asked.

“I was chasing some rustlers. I ran into some Indians. That’s Jeremy. He’s a shrink. He thinks everything means something else. It’s hard to explain to him stuff is stuff and it don’t mean nothing.”

“Tell him,” Jeremy said. “I dare you.”

“I sat in on a sweat lodge. His father Medicine Band, the Indian version of a shrink, told me you were safe. He was sitting closer to me than you are, and I heard him say it, but the place was filled with Indians and none of them heard him speak. They probably fell asleep, you ask me. I was supposed to be getting it through some spirit thing or other. Jeremy is convinced I had this great spiritual journey. Somehow his old man got inside my head, moved some of the furniture around. Told me someone he knew nothing about, you, were safe.”

“There were twenty people in the sweat lodge with him and no one heard Medicine Band say a word. I was there. My father didn’t speak.”

“Mass hypnotic suggestion,” Taz said.

“Not a word,” Jeremy said.

“Okay, I’m crazy. He didn’t say anything. I dreamed he told me my friend was safe.”

“You were both in the spirit world. He talked to you there.”

“How’d he know I was safe?”

“He didn’t. He just told me you were,” Taz said.

“How’d he know I was lost?”

“He didn’t say. He learned it from the spirits. He passed it along to Taz, because it’s what needed to be done. It’s all according to Hoyle. There are rules about such things.”

“Well, he’s home. He is safe, so it doesn’t mean anything.”

“You heard me calling you Tazerski?”

“I dreamed it. Besides, you never call me that.”

“He found his way into the spirit world. Once the door opens, it doesn’t close behind you on your way out. He’s got a special gift,” Jeremy explained.

“You telling me,” Kodak said, touching Taz’s hand. “Real special.”

“It scares him,” Jeremy said.

“I did get hit in the head, you know,” Taz explained, but the first time he heard Kodak call the monkey Tazerski, he knew what he’d heard and he knew it wasn’t a dream at all.

He didn’t know how, but once Kodak was home it didn’t matter. Taz didn’t question it was Kodak’s voice he’d been hearing. He didn’t know how, except that the Shaman put the idea in his head; but admitting it made him sound a little crazy, and while that possibility occurred to him, he tried not to dwell on it. Being difficult was easy for Taz and more fun when it came to Jeremy.

Tazerski only sat for a minute before grabbing a banana and heading back to his perch on the top corral rail to watch the horses. It was a pleasant day and Jeremy stayed for lunch. It allowed Kodak to bring things from the root cellar in Jeremy’s honor.

*****

It was less than a week before the next court appearance, and Taz began to feel uneasy about leaving Kodak to make the trip into town. When he said as much to Kodak, it didn’t take any persuading for him to say he’d go along. The truth was he didn’t want to be separated from Taz. He’d go shopping and maybe take a few pictures of the town.

They’d tried life together. They’d been separated twice, after meeting each other. They agreed that life together was far more enjoyable than life apart. Kodak’s return had them closer and more affectionate than they’d ever been before.

Taz had never wanted Kodak to leave, but was willing to go along with what he wanted to do. He was a photographer, and he did want to practice his profession, but Taz hated to think of life without Kodak, even for a short period.

Kodak was back, no more than an arms length away most of the time. They settled back into life on the mesa, until the day came when they had to go to town to do the kind of business neither liked, but Kodak was going with Taz.

Taz didn’t say anything about it, but his fear and apprehension extended beyond leaving Kodak. There was something buzzing around on the inside of his head and he didn’t know what it meant. Having Kodak beside him didn’t quiet the disturbance he felt.

As they rode off the mesa early on the morning of the court appearance, Tazerski stayed in his bunk, understanding he didn’t go with them to the house. He rather liked the mesa and having his own way of doing things. He knew when Kodak said goodbye that he’d be back soon. This is what happened on shopping days and Kodak always came back with treats Tazerski loved to eat.

Chapter 13

Courthouse Showdown

Breakfast at the ranch was a treat, with a variety of choices the boys didn’t get on the mesa. The general was dressed in jeans and a white shirt and tie to appear more respectable in court. Taz wore his jeans and a button up plaid shirt, not needing to look good for the city elders who were expressing an interest in the local rustling.

Everyone in and around town had something to do with the cattle industry if they were permanent residents. Land and cattle furnished the local economy with cash. There was no small uproar about the White Brotherhood having a presence in the county. Seen as something untoward, the elders had a stake in seeing to it the rustlers were convicted. What started as lawbreaking ended with a community priority.

“General, is anyone going armed?” Taz asked, across his third cup of coffee.

“No, it’s only an arraignment. You think we need to go armed? There shouldn’t be trouble today.”

“No, there shouldn’t be, but I got me this tickle, General. I used to get the same tickle on the back of my neck about the time Charlie hit us out on patrol. I’d feel a mite better if someone was armed.”

“I know better than to question someone’s tickle,” Gen. Walker said.

The general stood on the back porch and called the wranglers to gather around.

“Rowdy, I want two jeeps. Two riflemen in each jeep. Open up the armory and let each of the riflemen pick a weapon. When we go into court, the two jeeps will follow five minutes after we leave. Keep your distance. Park a jeep behind the bank. Park a jeep behind the General Mercantile. Once you’re there, put a lookout on top of both those buildings. I want to keep an eye on the courthouse.

“Leave the weapons in the jeep unless you need to use them. We should only be there a half-hour to an hour, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Those guys have robbed us once.”

“Yes, sir,” the men agreed.

“Kendall, get a .45 and bring mine. The rest of you hang around the bunkhouse, until we get back and sound the all-clear.”

Gen. Walker wasn’t given to flights of fancy. He hadn’t been in combat since his youth, but he’d been a witness to war most of his life. You stayed prepared just in case. You never let yourself get caught with your pants down. Taz’s warning reminded him that it was the innocent looking circumstances that could turn deadly.

The drive into town was without incident; both Kendall and Gen. Walker had .45’s strapped to their hips. Kodak sat in the general’s jeep with his camera at the ready, photographing Taz and the general as they went through the front door of the courthouse.

Inside the courthouse the sheriff’s deputy tried to disarm the general before he entered the courtroom. The sheriff came along in time to intercede, having his own worries about the prisoners.

“I’ve got no evidence anything is going to happen. I’ve got no evidence something isn’t going to happen. Rumor has it, there’s going to be an attempted jailbreak. I’ve got everyone armed at the jail.”

“I’ve got a few men outside. We had our suspicions about how long Jones senior will let you hold onto Jones junior.”

“Having you watch my back helps, General. I tried to recruit some deputies. No takers. State Police have been alerted and I’ve asked for assistance to hold onto these birds. My four deputies are armed inside the courthouse. I’ll make sure they know you men are watching the outside.”

“Keeping the peace is my life’s work, Sheriff. We’ll try to keep those boys in your jail until you make other arrangements.”

“Yeah, well, they aren’t in my jail. The judge insisted they be in the courtroom. They’re sitting in the hallway behind the courtroom with two of my deputies.”

“It wouldn’t take a military genius to overpower your deputies.”

Once in the courtroom, the proceedings moved fast. The deputies marched the prisoners into a holding area. The action didn’t take long to develop. Meeker made a motion for bond. The judge promptly denied bond. Meeker stood to raise an objection. It was the last thing attorney Meeker ever did. One of the first shots knocked him down with a bullet in his chest.

Weapons appeared as men moved from the observers section toward the prisoners. A deputy took cover behind a desk, the judge objected, an exchange of gunfire had everyone diving for cover. Two more deputies tried to regain control of the prisoners but a barrage of gunfire forced them into retreat.

After the door at the back of the courtroom opened, people were scurrying to safety, Kendall held the door open for the general and Taz. With his .45 at the ready, he wasn’t about to fire into a courtroom in chaos. Kendall backed out, covering the strategic withdrawal of his commander.

“We can’t let these guys get out of here with those prisoners. We need to secure the outside of the courthouse somehow. I can’t be sure how many men they’ve got in here, but if I made a move like this, I’d have everyone backing my play,” Gen. Walker said as they hurried toward the stairs.

The general had seen four gunmen in the courtroom, but there was fire coming from the street and on the first floor. The general knew his men outside were already engaged.

“General, they’re going to have hostages,” Kendall said as the three of them rushed down the steps.

“They’ve got hostages,” Gen. Walker said.

As they hit the bottom stair and turned toward the exit, two gunmen appeared at the far end of the hallway, opening fire. The general dodged into the first door they passed with Taz and then Kodak close behind him. The office was empty, and a door to the street at the side of the building stood open.

*****

Once Taz, the general, and Kendall disappeared into the courthouse, Kodak went over to the General Mercantile to pick out some sweets for Tazerski. He picked out some unusual cloth for window curtains and he picked up a bundle of things for Kathleen.

It took fifteen minutes in the store, which made it a few minutes after nine, when he was paying the clerk. The hearing began at nine and he was told it wouldn’t take long. He heard the gunshots as he stepped outside. Setting the bag down just inside the door, he checked his camera.

There were four men with rifles on the far corner of the courthouse to his right. They were exchanging fire with the cowboy on the roof across the street and someone on the roof above him was also firing at the gunmen.

When other cowboys came running with assault rifles in hand, Kodak captured it on film, using the supports for the overhang outside the Mercantile for cover. As the cowboys fired from the street and the roof, the gunmen reluctantly went into the courthouse. Merchants and customers came tentatively out of their shops.

There was a man from the barbershop draped in the protective covering for his shirt. Half his face had shave cream on it and the other half didn’t. The barber had a razor in his hand and they both leaned around the overhang supports to see what was going on. Kodak clicked pictures of them and other people, who came out of the stores.

Once the gunmen disappeared, the cowboys split and two set up a position on one side of Main Street in front of the courthouse and two on the other. Kodak could see they had all the exits covered in the front and the only exit in the back opened directly across from the sheriff’s office.

Rowdy had taken control of the street, yelling orders at the other men. In a few minutes the street was back to normal. Kodak had been exposed to firefights in Vietnam and this was child’s play compared to that. His heart didn’t race and he didn’t sweat as he went about shooting pictures.

Gen. Walker, with Taz beside him, exited on the left side of the courthouse. Kendall brought up the rear, checking behind him before leaving the building.

“We’re coming over,” Gen. Walker yelled to his men. “Cover us.”

His riflemen fired a couple of bursts so the general and Taz could cross the street safely. The general stood beside Rowdy, making a count of their adversaries.

“How many do you count?” the general asked.

“Four outside. Four inside on the ground floor. Those two groups arrived separately. We engaged the first four and ran them inside. The four over there now came just before you came out,” Rowdy said.

“There were four gunmen I saw in the courtroom. They’ll no doubt arm the rustlers. That gives them nine armed men with maybe ten hostages. We can’t let them out of the courthouse.”

“They’ve got us badly outnumbered,” the general said, considering his options.

“They’re armed to the teeth but can’t shoot worth a shit,” Rowdy said.

“Okay, I’m taking your jeep, Rowdy. You stay put. If you need to retreat from here, go ahead, but the two alleys offer a strategic advantage. I’ll bring back reinforcements. It’s going to be an hour before we can mount a counter-attack. Can you give me an hour?”

Rowdy spit a wad of tobacco into the street.

“Stop talking. Get moving, General. We got the high ground. I ain’t letting them go nowhere.”

“Here’s my .45. That’ll buy you a little time. Carry on. Come on, Taz; we need to move,” the general said, leading the way to the jeep.

Turning onto Main Street, Kodak stepped out of the shadows. Taz wanted to stop for him, but Kodak pointed at his camera, waving for them to keep going. Taz knew Kodak was in his element and he’d faced far worse next to him in Vietnam.

*****

The general handed out rifles to a dozen cowboys, who had stayed put that morning. There would be four addition vehicles, four men per vehicle returning to town with them.

After arming each of the men with an M-16, the general kicked a crate down at Taz’s feet.

“Here’s your weapon, soldier,” he said.

“Damn right,” Taz said, as he removed the top of the crate to retrieve his B.A.R.

He hadn’t seen the big rifle since his breakdown, during the tour of the States, where the B.A.R. was a prop he took on stage with him. In Vietnam the B.A.R. was the difference between life and death for many a man, including both Taz & Kodak. It felt good to have it back in his hands.

*****

The general and his small detachment were back in 50 minutes and came down the top of the two alleys where Rowdy Kendall, Boyd, and four cowboys, with the help of the sheriff and two deputies, kept the outlaws inside the courthouse.

Setting up a crossfire from the two alleys that ran behind the businesses on Main Street, they kept the situation under control. The opposition’s amateur soldiers were confused by the unknown amount of firepower they faced.

Several of the bad guys with rifles, using the two second floor front windows, tried to put enough fire into the alleys to gain an advantage from above, but the angle was severe, making the effectiveness of the gunfire minimal.

The general directed half his force into each of the two alleys.

“Remember, they’ve got hostages. If someone comes out of there and they aren’t firing at you, don’t fire at them. We don’t want to be killing any townies,” the general told his men.

The general took Taz through the bank to Main Street, where Kodak was photographing the men firing out of the windows at the alleys.

“Nice day,” Taz said.

“Nice rifle. Big. What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Kodak asked in his flippant way.

“I’m the guy with the big… gun. You got a long lens for that thing?”

“In the general’s jeep,” Kodak said.

“Go get that lens, and you stay farther away to shoot your pictures,” Taz ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Kodak said, heading for the jeep.

“See those two windows?” the general asked.

“Hard to miss with all those guys shooting from them.”

“I’m going to tell Boyd to draw their fire over to this alley. Can you cross over and go out the back of the Mercantile and tell Rowdy to draw their fire as soon as Boyd does? It’ll get those boys focused on the alleys. Once you’re done, meet me at the front of the Mercantile. I'll give you the rest of the plan then.

The general moved back into the bank and Taz peeked out to make sure the coast was clear, dashing toward the front of the Mercantile.

Taz kept his eyes on the doorway of the Mercantile as he dashed across the street. A few feet from the sidewalk he felt a stinging impact on his side. Once he was safely out of the line of fire, he looked down at the B.A.R. The stock had been split in two by a bullet. He had wood splinters in his hand where he held the rifle against his side. The bullet it hadn’t hit him. He checked for blood and found none.

“I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch,” he said, expressing his surprise.

Taz ducked into the Mercantile for repairs. The man behind the counter peeked up just enough for Taz to see his eyes.

“I’m one of the good guys. Duct tape?”

The merchant pointed at a shelf. Taz grabbed a roll of tape, wrapping the splintered stock. Yanking the splinters out of his hand, he wrapped the tape around the wound.

“Thanks. Bill the general’s account for the tape,” Taz said, rushing out the back door to alert Rowdy to the plan.

Taz came back through the Mercantile to meet the general a couple of minutes later.

“You get those sons-of-bitches and I’ll keep you in tape, son,” the man said as Taz passed the counter and went to the front door.

Kneeling beside the general, Kodak clicked pictures.

Taz started out of the doorway and bullets hit down the wall on either side of the door, breaking the store windows. Taz leaned more carefully out of the doorway.

“General, someone’s making a getaway at the side of the courthouse,” Kodak said, taking a series of pictures as men piled into a waiting car.

“Shit, time to get this show on the road. How’d they get out of there? I thought the sheriff had the first floor covered. If they don’t fire on my men, they’re going to escape.”

Gen. Walker stood, dashing across the street toward Taz. He got within a couple of feet of the sidewalk before a bullet knocked him down.

Taz dropped the B.A.R., leaning forward with his arm extended, pulling the general to safety. Both of them ending up on the floor just inside the Mercantile.

“General, you got a hole in you,” Taz said, seeing the blood on his shirt.

“Damn it,” the general said, looking at his side and feeling the pain. “Look, Jones and the rustlers are getting away as we speak. I’ve got myself in a bind. My men are pinned down in the alleys and the men in those windows are becoming better shots. I need you to take them out of there. Did you tell Rowdy the plan?”

“Yes, sir,” Taz said.

“Once they draw their fire, can you step out in the street with your rifle and clear those windows out? I don’t want heroics. There’s eight of them now. They should all be returning fire toward the alleys. I figure you’ll have ten seconds before they realize they’re taking fire from the front. I don’t want eleven seconds, Taz. Ten seconds, five on each window, and you get your ass back in here or I’ll come out there and drag you back in here. Can you do it?”

Taz peeked out at the street and the front of the courthouse where the shooting had become more fierce.

“I’d rather not, …but sure, I can do it. I’ll take them out for you.”

“What’s wrong with your hand?” the general asked, noticing the tape when Taz cradled his rifle, preparing to make his move.

“Splitters,” Taz said.

Taz listened, peeking out one more time to see the men in the courthouse dedicating their fire toward the two alleys where Gen. Walker’s men were drawing the fire so Taz could go to work. He listened to the increased gunfire go on for a minute more.

Moving out across the sidewalk, he took two steps into the street, where he faced the windows in question. Jerking up the barrel of the B.A.R., he opened fire on the window to his right first.

“One, two, three, four, five,” he counted before turning his fire on the window directly in front of him. “Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.”

Glass shattered, wood splintered into shards from the force of the automatic weapon’s fire, dangling over the outlaw’s heads, just before the windows were empty of gunmen and fire from the courthouse ceased. The crossfire from the alleys continued for another minute before the street went silent.

Once Taz did as much damage as he could, he stepped out of the line of fire. This confined all the fighting to the ground floor and the general’s men controlled the street.

Sam Jones and his kid were gone, which pleased no one, but what could have been a disaster ended in a whimper.

Kodak smiled across at Taz, after taking a couple dozen pictures of him in action. Seeing him move out into the street alarmed him, but before he knew what was going on, Taz was standing back in the doorway safe and sound. Kodak had a camera full of pictures to prove it really happened. It seemed like old times, when he photographed Taz in Vietnam, while he took it to Charlie.

Samuel Jones, his son, and the rustlers were on their way back to the White Brotherhood compound. There was no way for the general to get anyone in the way of their escape. Most of the ammunition was spent and that left them in vulnerable. The bad guys knew where they were going, and the general began to plan to seal off the WB compound until reinforcements arrived from elsewhere.

Once the courthouse was taken back, the body count gave the good guys an advantage. The courtroom folks didn’t do so well, with Meeker dead and the judge and a deputy wounded. The judge was still objecting, gavel in hand, when he was loaded into the ambulance.

Taz didn’t want anything to do with the doctor and charged a bottle of alcohol to the general, after taking the duct tape off his hand, he doused it in alcohol as Kodak cringed. Taz put the alcohol in his shirt pocket.

“Where’d you get the rifle, Taz?” Kodak asked.

“The general had it in the armory. How ‘bout that? Like an old friend. Needs a little work though. It got shot.”

“You always stand out in the middle of the street to get shot at?”

“No, only when that’s what needs doing. Sure convinced them to get out of those windows,” Taz said proudly.

He’d done his job, and getting them out of the window ended the siege, with the general the only one of his men seriously wounded.

“Nothing like jungle warfare,” Kodak said with a smirk.

“It’s all the same. Bad guys getting shot and me doing the shooting.”

“How’s your hand?”

“Just some splinters. Ruined the Browning’s stock. That pissed me off.”

The State Police arrived on the scene before the general’s detachment withdrew. They pieced together what happened, with the sheriff giving a rundown on what went on inside the courthouse, and Rowdy provided details of what went on outside.

*****

The compound wasn’t very interesting to Gen. Walker, but he’d put his men on guard on the hill across from the gate. He wanted the people inside to know they’d escaped the courthouse but they weren’t out of Montana yet. This didn’t take much energy and the guys inside had put a bullet in him, which made it personal.

Several of Kodak’s pictures featured Samuel Jones. Once compared to pictures of him in his youth by the sheriff, it was obvious. Both the FBI and Montana law enforcement wanted copies of the pictures for their files.

While Dr. Westphalia poked, prodded, and patched the general, he laid it out to Rowdy.

“Jones had to know once he sprung his kid his compound wasn’t a good idea. Why would they go back there? They hadn’t expected resistance. He pulled off the great escape without a plan if someone objected.”

“Sheriff,” Gen. Walker said, as the sheriff came in with his arm in a sling.

“You know he might be smarter than I think. Jones could have switched vehicles. They could be long gone. Jones expected to take the courthouse with no trouble. He knew you’d have a couple of deputies on duty. Jones didn’t know you’d identified his son. With Meeker dead, not a victim of poor shooting, I suspect, no one could tie father to son or the rustling to the WB. They make a getaway and start over in another state and no one is the wiser if junior lays low.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought. The only piece of luck I got was having a man with his own army a few miles out of town. We’d be burying a lot of innocent people if not for you, General.”

“I do believe in community service, Sheriff. I don’t aim to get shot doing my civic duty however.”

“General,” the police officer said. “I can patrol the Interstate to stop them if they get that far, but I won’t have any reinforcements until some time tomorrow. If you keep an eye on the compound until then, I’d sure be grateful. Keep the sheriff informed.”

“Hey, Doc, a little easy on that padding,” the general complained.

“You need to be in a hospital. Both of you,” the doctor said, including the sheriff. “I’m going to do my job right. You hush.”

“Yes, sir,” the general said, regretting letting Kathleen call the doctor.

“We’ll keep an eye on them. I’ve got some radio equipment I can give the sheriff so we can communicate. Other than that, I’m not getting my men shot at any more if I can help it.”

Chapter 14

Siege

The general spent an hour explaining his plan to his men. Every cowboy on the ranch was in the dining room to listen. No one was required to participate in a ‘military action’. None of his men would miss it. They were all military men at heart.

Boyd was the oldest man on the ranch and retired after being a Master Sergeant in the general’s command. He took charge of installing radios in every vehicle. This kept the radio man, Crosby, in touch with everyone.

The observation post just outside the WB compound had a similar radio installed. Two riflemen were kept at the observation post. A few hundred yards away were two other riflemen, in plain sight of the WB compound.

Periodic radio checks began that morning. Crosby marked the position of every vehicle four times an hour. There was to be no engagement. The jeeps were to make a fast exit if necessary to avoid a gunfight and inform Crosby immediately of the move.

“We are there to contain them. No one is to fire upon the compound. This may change from hour to hour, but not before we control all aspects of any fight that develops.”

The general had spoken.

The idea was no longer invisibility. It was mobility. There were always at least two jeeps on patrol, and during daylight hours there were four. All of the jeeps were heavily armed and ready to engage, but the order was to avoid engagement at all cost.

Taz sat next to Kodak in chairs placed against the wall for the cowboys. Taz didn’t touch Kodak; the desire was there, but the environment was wrong.

Taz was uninhibited and had done outrageous things ,but shocking people at inappropriate times didn’t appeal to him. There was business and there was the rest of the time and he’d learned the difference.

For years outrageous behavior kept people at arms length, which is where Taz had wanted them, until Kodak. When he did things to alarm Kodak, he found Kodak mostly curious. Taz decided he didn’t want to repel him after Kodak refused to be driven away. Taz had never had a real friend before.

Taz was unapologetic about loving Kodak, and when the need arose, he held his hand; but at the general’s table, in the general’s house, at this particular time, it was out of place. There was no reason to force others to consider his love life, especially in a country where the idea of love was cockeyed at best. Taz had seen love and he’d seen war and in his mind, love ruled.

They were together, even there, and the comfort of being in one another’s company far exceeded anything that might come from holding hands or embracing just to prove they could. For too long they had been apart and together now, even in danger the comfort was enough.

Once the meeting ended, Kathleen brought coffee and sandwiches for the men. She poured coffee for the general and didn’t insist he rest, go to the hospital, or lie down. Mrs. General knew that her husband had control of the situation and he’d rest once the job was done. She wasn’t used to his command demeanor at home, but she knew better than to argue with her man when he was on a mission.

When Gen. Walker indicated with his eyes, she let him lean on her as he went back to his office. He had leaned on Kathleen in many ways over the years, relying on her to run the ranch. As advisers went, she was number one.

She sat with him in his office and he discussed the entire plan he’d conceived. She listened and gave him her opinion, and she dialed the numbers for him when he called to enlist the help he needed to accomplish the outcome he desired.

Taz was reluctant to leave. He wanted to check with the general about what he wanted him to do, and make certain he was ready when called upon.

“How’s your hand?” Gen. Walker asked, after inviting him to sit in his office.

“It’s fine. A little sore. How’s your side?”

“It’ll be fine. There’s a guy who works on my antique rifles. I’ll send your B.A.R. over to him. I’ll have a walnut stock put on it.”

“That’s nice. I’d like that. What do you want me to do, boss?”

“Go home. You and Kodak take a break. You did the Lion’s share today. It’ll all be routine until we move tomorrow.”

“You are a mind reader, my love,” he said, touching Kathleen's hand and watching her fondly.

“I’ve got to go see to Tazerski. I think he misses Milkweed and Cyclone as much as he misses us,” Kodak said.

“Nothing will happen before tomorrow. I’ll have all the pieces in place before noon. We’ll discourage the WB boys from leaving home, until I’m ready. So you boy’s go get some rest.”

Taz and Kodak said goodbye.

*****

Kodak went in to greet Tazerski, while Taz put the horses away. Once done, he headed for the cabin. He was looking forward to a little relaxation.

“I’ve got beef stew heating. I’m not all that hungry,” Kodak said.

Taz shut the door and Tazerski walked over and took Taz’s injured hand in his hand, walking with him into the room. He’d never held Taz’s hand before. Once Taz sat at the table, Tazerski climbed on his lap, looping his arm around Taz’s neck.

Taz looked into his face and smiled at the unusual behavior.

“I love you too, little guy,” Taz said as the monkey stayed close to him.

“What’s gotten into him?” Taz asked. “He’s never bothered with me before.”

“He sees you hurt your hand. He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. How did it feel wielding that thing again?”

“I don’t know. It felt familiar and it felt strange. It didn’t take any thinking to get the rounds where they needed to go, but I felt awkward.”

“Awkward?”

“I was scared. I felt fear and I don’t know I’ve ever felt fear in circumstances like that before. It’s like that part of me used to shut down. I just did what needed to be done without any thought. I guess I’m getting soft.”

“You’ve got something to lose now,” Kodak said, turning away from the stove.

“What’s that?” Taz asked.

“Me, asshole. You’ve got me.”

“I got you babe and you got me,” he sang in a raspy voice.

“And we have Tazerski. Don’t we,” Kodak said, talking baby talk and holding his arm around Taz’s neck while patting Tazerski’s head.

The monkey chattered before getting down off of Taz’s lap. Tazerski turned the knob on the door and went outside.

“Where’s he going?” Taz asked, and Kodak went to look.

“He let himself into the stable. He’s gone to see the horses. They were gone all day. He really likes them. Milkweed is fond of him.”

“Cyclone doesn’t know what to make of him. She doesn’t know what to make of me either. Maybe I can get Jeremy to talk to her.”

“Remember that first day? You were scared shitless of Cyclone.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me. I’d never ridden anything before. How was I supposed to know what to do?”

“Didn’t you go to movies?” Kodak asked, sitting on Taz’s lap and kissing his cheek.

“Yeah, but those horses knew how to act.”

“So did Cyclone. You didn’t know how to act.”

“I did have that problem until I met you. I figured out how to act pretty damn quick, didn’t I?”

“You did not. You gave me a hard time. You said awful things to me. You made me feel like a fool.”

“That’s because I liked you. You didn’t know that?”

“You were the most contrary person I’d ever met. You were nice one minute and you acted like a viper the next.”

“Yes, I did. What’s a viper?”

“A snake.”

“Oh, I did? I thought I was playing hard to get,” Taz said, smirking as they kissed. “You know what?”

“What?” Kodak asked.

“I’m sure glad you couldn’t keep your hands off me. It’s only because you found me irresistible that I let you have your way with me.”

“Irresistible? You were a pain in the ass.”

“I try,” Taz said, as they both laughed.

“That is an understatement, my love.”

“Did I tell you how much I missed you?” Taz asked.

“No, you didn’t. I wondered if you noticed I wasn’t here cooking your meals and picking up after you.”

“You couldn’t tell when you got home?”

“No, I just thought a cyclone hit the place.”

“I missed you every day, Kodak. My heart ached for you. Any time I wasn’t working, keeping busy, I could hardly stand it. I knew I cared about you as much, more, than I’ve ever cared about anyone, but I didn’t understand what love was, until you were gone.”

“I’m back and I’m not planning on leaving again.”

“I hope not. I’m not sure I can live without you. Living without you is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“When they took you to dry out we were away from each other then,” Kodak remembered, leaning his head against Taz’s and hugging him closer as he sat on his lap.

“I wasn’t really alive back then. All the life was sucked out of me all of a sudden. Besides, we’d only been together on the road, as a traveling circus. We weren't living, we were performing. I couldn’t have done it without you, and having you close to me was like having a best friend. I’d never had one of those before either. Once the touring ended, I had to find a reason to live. Gen. Walker saw it and told me about it, when he visited me. Even then he included you in the conversation. He knew you were good for me. He didn’t know the extent of it. He knew you were the one who could keep me under control. He’s a pretty smart man.”

“Taz, you’re one of the most controlled men I’ve ever known. You only act like you’re out of control.”

“You’ve known a lot of men, have you?”

“I know you. You maintain perfect control. You could be in a war and ignore it, when you weren’t fighting it. You could be on stage and absorb a crowd, just by being Taz. Once we came here, you owned it. That first day with Cyclone told me this might not work. You own Cyclone now, like you own the ranch, and everyone on it. No one has ever amazed me the way you amaze me.

“Today, when you stepped out in that street, your gun was taped together, you were taped together, and you did what I watched you do a dozen times in Vietnam. You turned a battle in a few seconds. You didn’t flinch.

“I can’t say what other men know or do, but you are the most in-control man I’ve known. You own your world, Taz.

“You were a drunk in Vietnam. You went cold turkey once we left there. Then the chickens came home to roost. You sat with a dying soldier, and once he died, you drank yourself into oblivion. Because of who you were, the general wasn’t about to let you go. He pulled you back from the abyss.

“…And just to prove you were a better man than the rest of us, when you didn’t know if I was dead or alive, you asked the general for a bottle. Even though the general knew it could be the death of you, because you are you, he brought it. You never drank a drop. You did your job every day. You chased rustlers and cavorted with Indians and you were always in control.

“You’re quite a man, my love. I thought about you every day, every hour, because I wanted to be with you. I wanted to experience the control you have over everything around you without being pushy or demanding. You own it all. People respect you. I respect you.”

“Sounds good when you say it. Maybe I should make you my PR man. I wouldn’t need to do anything, just let you talk, and me, I’d just cowboy.”

“I’m done talking. Kiss me and when you kiss me, realize I’ll never willingly leave you again. I don’t think I could survive being separated from you again. You’ve taught me what being in love means.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Taz said, moving his face the few inches to get his lips on Kodak’s lips.

*****

Tazerski returned to the cabin after grooming Milkweed and pulling down some hay for both horses. He climbed up onto the bed with Taz and Kodak, sitting on top of them as they talked to him. He climbed up into his bunk and spent some time leaning over and watching the lovers hold one another. He understood and smiled his monkey smile before going to sleep, while counting his toes.

‘What comes after one?’

Shortly after daybreak, Taz got up to saddle the horses while Kodak put on a pot of coffee. Sitting on the porch with coffee was how they began most days. Before they left Kodak set out two half coconuts for Tazerski, leaving a banana on the table with two pieces of candy.

Tazerski knew this meant he was being left behind. It was more fun for him when he had the horses to play with, but catching some extra shuteye was okay too.

The sky was turning a brilliant blue as they rode away from the cabin. The horses kicked the morning dew off the grass as they walked the familiar trail to the house.

The smell of food was waiting at the gate and the table was set with a wide variety of food. The cooks were taking orders and cowboys came and went from the dining room. Taz & Kodak stopped for a cup of coffee and headed for the general’s office to greet the general.

“Morning, General,” Taz said, handing him the cup of coffee Kathleen sent him.

“Oh, yeah, thanks. I can use this,” the general said. You up for a bit of a tussle?”

“Tussle?” Taz queried.

“That’s rancher talk for kick some butt.”

“As a wise old Indian once said, “it’s a good day to die,”” Taz said.

“Won’t be no dying on my watch, son,” the general advised. “Funny you mentioned Indians. Who fed you that line?”

“Jeremy Goodstar talks about wise Indians. I can’t help but pick something up now and then.”

“He’s a good man. He’s having a hard time dealing with his Indian part. First time I saw him, he was in a suit and tie. Wouldn’t be caught dead in costume, and now he’s a regular encyclopedia of Indian culture. He’s finding himself.”

“He’s finding himself at my place more and more.”

“He sees you as having a rare spiritual power.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure he knows what it is he’s seeing,” Taz said.

“He sees what I saw the first time I saw you, son.”

“I wasn’t much to look at, General.”

“You’re a poor judge of character then. You’re a good man.”

“Yes, sir,” Taz said, squirming. “You figured out what we’re doing yet?” Taz asked.

“Funny thing about generaling. I got to see what the other fellow is going to do before I know what to do. I’m working on it. It won’t be long. This bird ain’t a deep thinker. You boys go eat. I’m waiting for some calls.”

“What do you think?” Kodak asked, on the way back to the food.

“Everything is copasetic, son,”

“That’s army talk, I bet,” Kodak said. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

The first word came from the observation post radio.

“Riflemen at the front of the house.”

“Radio check!” Crosby said, listening to the jeeps report one at a time.

“Tell them to keep their eyes open. It won’t be long now,” Gen. Walker said.

It was an hour after Taz & Kodak arrived before the general came out into the dining area.

“What’s the plan, General?” Taz asked.

“No movement beyond a couple of riflemen moving around. The plan will be up to Jones. As long as they don’t move, we’re in fine shape. The sheriff is monitoring our radio. He has some deputies waiting for them to start moving. He says the State boys are on their way from Billings.”

“No plan yet, Taz. We’ll take a ride over there if they start moving around before all the pieces are in place,” Gen. Walker said.

“I don’t recall you letting anyone else call the shots for you. You sure you don’t have a plan?” Taz asked.

“Maybe a little one. That hand okay?”

“Fine,” Taz said, unsatisfied.

“I can’t find another B.A.R at the moment. Get a .45 and I’ll make you a lieutenant. I want you to ride with Kendall and me today. Bring Kodak and his camera. I might want my picture took. Some good damn work you did yesterday, Kodak.”

“You find some keepers?” Kodak asked.

“You haven’t lost your touch. We got pictures of Jones splattered from here to DC. He won’t be able to be so slippery from now on.”

“I do what I can, General. The work excites me.”

All remained quiet.

“General, six riflemen have come out to the gate of the WB compound,” Crosby said, just receiving the message in the radio room.

It was nearly noon and Gen. Walker had just come out of his office for a cup of coffee in the dinning room.

“This might be it. They’re starting to move. We’ll want to neutralize the guys with the guns nearest the road. I don’t want to give them a chance to take potshots at my men. Let’s load up. I want to see what they’re up to.”

Taz was happiest when there was movement, and being in the jeep made it seem like something was happening. As they drove toward the WB compound, Taz checked the .45 he’d been given, making sure he could hold it firmly in a sore hand. Just in case, he held it in his left hand, letting that hand adjust to the weight of the weapon.

Kodak likewise checked his camera and loaded it for business. He was the only one in the jeep not wearing a sidearm.

Taz wished that he had the B.A.R., because it gave him a security that other weapons didn’t. He knew tactics defeated force every time, and the general, being the man with the plan, wasn’t supposed to be exposed. Maybe being in the general’s jeep was the problem, because that meant he wouldn’t be exposed.

The jeep jerked to a halt beside the observation post. A call went in to the sheriff to report movement had begun. Gen. Walker listened as the sheriff reported on the elements of the plan only the two of them knew about. The general instructed certain men to get in position as per their instructions earlier in the day.

Kodak took pictures of the gunmen standing around the gate at the front of the compound. They couldn’t see the jeep for a clump of trees that blocked the view of the compound, but they did see riflemen stationed on the hill some distance away. They weren't showing any interest in them.

If anyone drove up to the gate unaware, they’d face some major firepower, with each WB gunman carrying an assault weapon. There were six of them, two standing on either side of the gate with two more standing in the middle of the driveway 50 yards from the gate, creating a formidable obstacle in front of the house.

Taz pictured firing the .45 in his head. He felt the weight of the gun in his hand again, checking the safety, imagining its kick. He’d never used a .45 before. He reached into his pocket to check the extra clips. He didn’t feel nervous but he was anxious. He wanted to be part of whatever was going down.

“They’re still in there, General,” Taz said. “We going in to get them out?”

“What makes you think they’re in there?” he asked.

“They ain’t guarding Santa Claus. Don’t make much sense though. They should be making a getaway before they’re surrounded. They got to know they can’t break guys out of jail and go home for lunch.”

“Taz, if bad guys were smart, they wouldn’t be bad guys in the first place. They think those six men are going to hold off a small army, but that’s not necessarily so. By the time they realize those six men are sitting ducks and aren’t going to stop diddly squat, they’ll get moving in a hurry. They’ll come to us. We don’t need to do a thing.”

“How?” Taz asked. “You think they’re going to drive out the front gate, expecting no one is laying for them?”

“You take out those sentries and there’s no way out. That’s the only road. If they drive out, they’ve got to drive out that gate. If we hold that gate, they can’t drive out. They know that. They know they’re being watched. Those riflemen are a distraction, while they make their getaway.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“No, I checked a map. Once they returned to the compound, there was only a couple of options. Obviously they aren’t coming out the front gate. Those riflemen don’t know that. They think they’re in on the getaway, but they’re expendable. Mr. Jones thinks we think he’s coming out the front door, because it is what people do.”

“How do you know this stuff?” Taz asked.

“If you knew what I knew, Taz, you’d be the general.”

“Not me,” Taz said certain of his facts. “I don’t even know what I don’t know.”

“That’s what makes you a lot smarter than those birds, Taz. They think they know something.”

The general smiled, picked up his radio microphone, “Let’s get this ball rolling, cowboys. Boyd, Rowdy, move in. Take them out if they even look like they want to fight,” Gen. Walker said into the microphone. “Men, move in from the sides. Make sure you’re behind their position so they can’t make a dash for the house. Everyone else hold tight. They’ll be coming your way in about fifteen minutes.”

“Everyone else?” Taz asked, leaning forward to speak to the general confidentially.

“Relax, Taz. General at work. I brought you along to watch. Enjoy the scenery. One thing for sure, it should be interesting.”

Taz sat back to watch, as two jeeps with two soldiers in each came speeding up to either side of the driveway just outside the gate. The arrival of the jeeps got the attention of all the sentries. As the sentries moved toward the jeeps, four men came from the woods on either side of the driveway inside the compound, firing at the feet of the sentries, who were trapped between the forces.

They’d done nothing to protect their flanks, which was a fatal mistake. They couldn’t wait to throw away their rifles and raise their hands.

“General, gate secured,” Rowdy announced on the radio.

“General 1 bad guys 0,” Taz said proudly. “All right, General! How’d you know they’d give up without a fight?”

“Didn’t. Had to wonder what they felt might be worth dying for. Didn’t figure it was the assholes in that house, but then again, these aren’t your best and brightest.”

“I’ve got to admit that was pretty slick,” Taz said.

“Taz, you meet force with superior force. It’s decisive and convinces the enemy the battle is over before it starts. Not many men want to die for a lost cause.

“Now those guys in the house know we’re inside their compound. They’ll be moving soon. With my guys on the gate, doesn’t leave them a lot of options.”

“You’ve got them trapped. They can’t get away now,” Taz said, realizing that even without the sheriff and the State Police, the odds were in the general’s favor. “We can just go in and get them out.”

“They aren’t trapped but they won’t get away. Kendall, let’s go watch the turkey shoot.”

Kendall started the jeep and drove back to the highway, speeding past the gate at the front of the compound. In five minutes they reached the crossroad that ran down beside the property, where Kendall turned right. In another five or six minutes they reached the next crossroad. Kendall turned right.

“Okay, we’re behind the house here,” Kendall said, after driving a few more minutes.

“Drive on up that hill. We’ll just sit inside the tree line and see what turns up.”

“General, your men are at the front gate. What are we doing here? If you think they’re heading this way, how do we aim on stopping them with a couple of peashooters?” Taz wanted to know.

“It goes back to the me being a general, Taz,” the general said. “Sit tight and you’ll learn something. A general doesn’t win battles. He arranges for them to be won.”

“I’d feel better with an automatic weapon in my lap,” Taz said.

“Patience, Sergeant. Some days you don’t need a big gun.”

Kodak removed the nearly spent roll of film from his camera, replacing it with a new roll. He wanted to be ready.

It was very quiet and there was no sign of any action. Kendall yawned, Kodak kept his camera aimed in the direction of the house, and Taz kept his hand on the .45, tapping his index finger on the butt.

The jeep sat out of sight for a little over fifteen minutes. The radio crackled a couple of times, but no one spoke.

“Movement behind the house,” a voice said.

“The foxes are loose,” Crosby’s voice said a minute later.

The general took the microphone and said, “Fall in behind them. Don’t let them see you. Just be there in case they try to execute a retreat once they realize they’re in the trap.”

It was another ten minutes before the first men on horseback appeared out of the woods and into the field, heading for the highway. As soon as those men came into view, three vehicles pulled off on the shoulder of the road across from the field.

“General, they’re going to get to those cars,” Taz said. “Once they do, they’re gone.”

“Shh!” the general said. “Watch the show.”

There were three men with rifles in front of six men, then Jones father and son, followed by three more men with rifles. They rode toward the waiting cars. Once they’d crossed half of the field, a god-awful noise erupted from either side of the horsemen. Two dozen Indians, firing AK-47s in the direction of the bad guys, came charging off the hills from both sides, riding toward the escaping horsemen.

The Indians waited for the riders to go past before chasing them. The bad guys were too busy running for their lives to entertain the idea of stopping to fight. The idea of wild Indians riding down on them was an anachronism that couldn’t help but bring Custer to mind.

All the horsemen took off at top speed with their bodyguards joining them in the race to the road. It was just like cowboys and Indians with automatic weapons, led by their own Vietnam vets, who were well acquainted with Gen. Walker and the tactics of overwhelming force.

In two or three minutes the men reached the road and jumped from their horses, leaving them to wander around in circles. They were all in the cars in a couple of minutes, with the cars skidding from the dirt shoulder and onto the highway, when a dozen State Police and sheriff’s vehicles came speeding up to block any idea of a getaway.

The trap snapped shut without one casualty on either side, if you didn’t count hurt feelings, which had to be endured by the brain-trust of the WB. They’d have plenty of time to figure out where they went wrong.

Troopers leaped out with guns drawn, using the doors of the patrol cars for cover. The Indians set up a perimeter, firing over the top of the immobilized cars. Men began to appear with hands raised, aware the gig was up, and peace and tranquility returned to the general’s domain.

“Pretty damn neat, General. Pretty damn neat,” Taz said. “You planned all this out?”

“All but the arrival of the State Police. The sheriff hadn’t talked to them when I talked to him last. They might have gotten away… but they didn’t,” he said, smiling. “Kendall, let’s go to the hospital in Missoula. I think I’m bleeding again.”

Kendall started the jeep and drove slowly off the hill as the Indians were getting back on their horses to ride back to their encampment. The old world and the new waved victoriously at one another as the jeep turned onto the highway.

*****

Taz got his hand looked at but refused stitches. They gave him alcohol when he asked for it, and he poured it on the place where he’d pulled the piece of wood out of his hand. Kendall shook his head, Kodak wasn’t surprised, and the general watched dispassionately as the doctor booked a room for him to have his side repaired properly.

“You do understand we must report gunshot wounds to the police department,” the stern intern warned cautiously.

Taz took to laughing and Kendall grimaced.

“I should send you to Vietnam, son. You’ll have more gun shot wounds to report than you can possibly count,” the general said without humor. “When you talk to your local policeman, have him call the Commandant of the State Police. Have him say it is Gen. Walker with the gunshot wound. It’ll cut down on everyone’s paperwork. Now I’m feeling dizzy, so if you’ll get me somewhere that I can lie down, I’d be forever in your debt, son.”

The intern looked at the man with the cowboy boots and farmhand shirt, not knowing him from Adam, but he’d do what the man asked. He had no reason not to. Cutting down on paperwork sounded like a good idea to him.

Gen. Walker called Kathleen, once he was in his room, to tell her that the mission was successfully completed and he was at the hospital getting the wound taken care of, and there was no reason to worry.

He then dismissed Kendall, Taz & Kodak, saying this was something he had to do alone, as the doctors were examining him and ordering an operating room to be readied.

“We’ll be having a little celebration to the completed mission at the ranch, once they slap a Band-Aid on me and get me back on duty. I’ll send word for you boys to join us, Taz,” the general said weakly.

“Wouldn’t miss it, General. You get well fast and that’ll be worth celebrating. You amazed me today, sir,” Taz said, snapping to attention and throwing him his sharpest salute.

Kendall drove Taz and Kodak back to the general's place and they rode back to the cabin and were happy to be home. Tazerski squawked loudly to protest being alone all day yet again.

Worn out from the excitement, they were content to collapse together in their bunk, putting the chores off until later.

Chapter 15

The Meaning of Life

The regular routine picked back up the morning after the rustler roundup. Taz & Kodak were up drinking coffee on the front porch before the sun began to light the far horizon on the west. The horses were out, free to run in the corral on a rare day off. There would be no riding fence today.

Taz spoke of plans to put an additional room onto the cabin to have a bedroom separate from the cabin. The bunks were fine, and after the army they seemed normal, even comfortable, but Kodak mentioned wanting a big luxurious queen-sized bed. The money he made from the pictures Nature magazine agreed to buy from his time on the island would pay the bills and pay for the bed.

Taz was immediately talking about where Kodak wanted the addition. As they chatted, Jeremy rode up with rabbit and fresh eggs.

“Wondered what time you fellows got up,” he said. “Hunted with father this morning. Grabbed a dozen eggs out of the hen house. I had a hankering for a cup of that coffee you make from those beans each morning. Indian coffee… sucks.”

“You clean the rabbit, I’ll pour the coffee,” Kodak said.

“I can do that. I couldn’t a few months ago. Surprising what you pick up living out on the plains.”

“How’s your father?” Taz asked.

“Medicine Band? He’s quiet as ever. Deadly shot. He shot the rabbits. He said I should bring them to you.”

“He’s not quiet enough for me,” Taz said.

“You still holding a grudge against my father?”

“I don’t guess I am, but I have a hard enough time figuring out my life. I don’t need him roaming around in my head.”

“According to what you’ve said, he told you true?” Jeremy said.

“His message wasn’t the problem. The delivery system was.”

“I can do eggs. You got to do the rabbit. I’ll fry it to death,” Kodak said.

“Fear not, noble image catcher. I’m a gourmet chef when I’m not shrinking heads,” Jeremy bragged happily.

While Taz and Kodak liked their privacy, Jeremy was easy to be around.

Tazerski watched the goings on from his bunk for a long time, waiting for Kodak and Taz to leave him again; but they showed no signs they’d leave, so he got down for his morning banana on his way to check on the horses.

“I didn’t see you,” Taz said, after a long silence.

“I’m right here, my brother. You had your eyes checked lately?”

“All those Indians that helped round up the rustlers. I never saw you.”

“I’m a shrink and I’m a pretty good cook, but I’m not a wild Indian. It was promoted as an activity for excellent horsemen, who look good carrying an AK-47. Two areas in which I fall woefully short.”

“You’re dressed Indian today,” Kodak observed.

“Sally Two Shirts made sure I was suitably dressed before my hunting trip with Medicine Band. She was away attending to her mother for the past week. I resorted to the cowboy look.”

“The poor man’s shrink, Medicine Band,” Taz said. “You do follow in your father’s footsteps.”

“Don’t underestimate my father, Taz. Just because you don’t believe in him doesn’t mean he isn’t a powerful man.”

“I didn’t say I doubted his ability. I said I didn’t like it.”

“Oh, you’re changing your mind?”

“I’m not fond of having my brain picked over. What are you doing here?”

“Just helping my neighbors. It’s the Indian way.”

“I’m as much of a cowboy as you are an Indian. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. It seems obvious. Follow your nose and there you are,” Taz said.

“So much more to the human psyche than your nose, Taz,” Jeremy said. “Knowing what you want to do doesn’t make it easy. Not in my case anyway.”

“He just insulted me, didn’t he?” Taz asked Kodak.

“You’ll have to ask him. I’m just sitting here digesting. I leave the heavy lifting to you two.”

“You are an enigma. What you can do, I, a trained psychiatrist, don’t know can be done. You defy the typical behavior patterns that define a man’s character. You are heroic, anti-social, and at peace within yourself. That combination shouldn’t exist in one man.”

“You’re insulting me again. I’m not anti-social; I’m not anti-social, am I Kodak?”

“No, I find you wonderfully sociable. Tazerski likes you.”

“There you have it. If the monkey likes you, you can’t be all bad. I heard about what you did in town. I read about your exploits in Time, and I still don’t know what to make of you, when I sit here speaking with an ordinary looking man.”

“So you say. I got Kodak. He makes it all happen,” Taz said. “Like the ventriloquist and the dummy. I won’t tell you which I am. You’re the shrink. You figure it out.”

“He was doing what he did in Vietnam long before I got there,” Kodak said. “All I did was take pictures.”

“Yeah, but there were no pictures before. Until there were pictures there was no Taz; no Taz, no hero. You made me who I am, my love. I was just a slug with a big gun until you came along.”

“The randomness of the universe, or do you believe it to be predestination?” Jeremy calculated. “The end result is precisely the same in either case.”

“I got no destination beyond a ranch in Montana,” Taz explained.

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Kodak agreed.

*****

It was two weeks before an invitation came to celebrate the round up of the rustlers and the general’s recovery. The White Brotherhood had been removed as a source of irritation. The cattle were safe, the fences repaired, and the town was back in the right hands. Repairs covered the worst of the damage done during the shootout, and the gunfight was now part of local lore.

When vacationers asked, “Is this where it happened?” the story was told anew.

When Taz & Kodak arrived, there were cowboys, Indians, Indians dressed liked cowboys, cowboys half dressed like soldiers, sheriff’s deputies dressed like cowboys, and all there in honor of the restored order.

Tables outside stretched the length of the back porch and were covered in food and the food never stopped flowing. Mostly men stood with plates in hand, laughing and joking happily. Much of the discussion was about the day they took the county back from the WB.

“How you doing, General? You look stout today,” Taz said, shaking the general’s hand.

“Fine and dandy. They patched up the hole and pumped in a couple of pints of blood and I was good to go. I laid up there for a week to make Kathleen happy. I was ready to ride herd a few hours after you boys left.”

“Yes, I’m sure you were,” Taz said, not believing a word of it.

“He’s sore and he’s got to go back tomorrow. They don’t trust him not to ruin all the work they did on him,” Kathleen said. “Men!”

Taz and Kodak laughed about the two different versions of the same story. Kathleen put down golden ears of corn already swimming in butter. Mouths were watering and the corn was gone before Taz could grab an inviting ear. The cooks couldn’t keep up with the hungry wranglers.

“Hello, Medicine Band. You are well, I trust?” Taz asked.

Medicine Band sat cross legged in the chair next to the general. At first he seemed not to be able to hear Taz. His expression never changed. In fact it never changed as far as Taz was concerned.

As Taz turned away from his attempt to communicate with the Shaman, he spoke.

“Fine,” Medicine Band finally said, after a long contemplation. “I have a touch of rheumatism.”

“Sit down at the table with us. Both of you,” the general ordered, interrupting the conversation. “We’ve got burgers, franks, smokes, ham, beans, slaw, salad fixin’s, potato salad. There was corn here a minute ago. Kathleen, someone ate the corn,” he yelled, as if it was a news flash.

The general had good color and he was always in charge.

“Coolers are full of beer and sodas. Help yourself,” the general said.

Kodak took a plate and loaded it up, delivering it back to Taz. He took another plate for himself. More corn appeared, and everyone within reach reached for an ear.

“Hamburgers aren’t done. Ground Sirloin,” the general said with pride.

“I’ll go over to get you one in a couple of minutes, Chief,” the general told Medicine Band. “I might need my .45 to get two away from those cowboys.”

Medicine Band leaned toward the general to whisper in his ear. Taz tried to hear. He was sure the old geezer was up to no good.

When the general got up later, he headed for the open grill. It was surrounded by the thick smell of cooking beef. Taz lost interest in all things eatable when Kodak brought him a burger. It looked like a pound before the bun and all the fixings were installed. Taz wasn’t intimidated and went about devouring the burger as Medicine Band stared at him in a familiar way.

A few minutes later, while Taz wondered if he could get another burger down, the general returned with two burgers. One was a patty with a thick slice of Bermuda onion on it. The other was piled high with trimmings. Taz kept an eye on both of them.

“Here you go, Chief. Two slices of cheese, extra onion, dill pickles, and jalapeño. I get your order right?”

The chief nodded, taking the sandwich in both hands, ignoring the plate he didn’t need. He looked directly at Taz, winked, and dug in. Taz started to laugh and Kodak was too busy eating to watch the drama taking place at the table.

As they sat, ate, laughed, and enjoyed the companionship and the food, another member of the team that took down the White Brotherhood appeared.

“Sheriff Ward, glad you could make it. Grab yourself a plate. Hamburgers melt in your mouth and the corn is tender as can be, if you can catch up with an ear,” the general bragged.

“I’m not here to eat, General. You aren’t going to like what I’ve got to say, but there’s no easy way to say it.”

“Don’t tell me they escaped?” Gen. Walker said without any humor in the comment.

“Worse, to me. Remember what I told you about the judges in the south of the state?”

“Yeah, right wing nut jobs. Birchers, I think you said,” Gen. Walker had no joy in his characterization.

“Million dollar bond on Sam Jones and his kid. They’re loose. I don’t think they’re in Montana. They may be out of the States by now.”

“Damn it! What good does it do bringing the peace to this place? What are you doing about it?” Gen. Walker demanded with his voice.

“Federal problem now, General. They got bail from the federal judge in the southern district. They aren’t scheduled to appear again for another month. They’ll be long gone by then. I didn’t know they had a bail hearing. I trusted those state boys.”

“They’ll never show up for court. At the least Jones is an accessory to murder. His son might skate with the rustling and assault charges, but not Jones. He orchestrated a conspiracy.”

“Money trumps the law, General. You got enough money, the law don’t apply to you.”

“Our country is being bought out from under us. It’s not what I spent 30 years fighting for, Sheriff Ward. I want those men in jail. Have I got to go fetch them?”

“They could have skipped out of the country by now,” the sheriff said.

“No, those birds will be in the States. They’ll tie into some militia group where they can hang out and stay out of sight.”

“Maybe,” the sheriff said.

*****

Later that day as the food was being put away and the people were returning to their own lives, Jeremy made his way to Taz, who was saddling Cyclone and Milkweed for the ride home.

“I’ve got a message for you,” Jeremy said.

“A message? What kind of message?” Taz asked suspiciously.

“Medicine Band told me I should give it to you.”

“No, you don’t. You keep the message. I don’t need it, don’t want it, can’t afford no message from him. He’s not playing around inside my head anymore.”

“He told me to tell you, ‘The metal peace does not rest.’”

“What? You’re playing with me? He didn’t say that.”

“The metal peace does not rest. That’s the message. I’d take it seriously. He doesn’t waste time with trivia.”

“Are you kidding me? Where is he?” Taz asked, unnerved by him doing this at the end of the day. “I want to hear it from him.”

“He left a few minutes ago. He said I should tell you those words. He knows we’re friends.”

“The metal piece does not rest,” Taz said. “It’s nonsense.”

“That’s it,” Jeremy said, not catching the subtle difference in Taz’s version.

“He some kind of joker?”

“My father is many things, a joker he is not. A message like this is sacred to him and not of his design. That message is of importance to you.”

“Yeah, right. I sat at a table with him for hours. Why didn’t he tell me then?”

“Not the right place or time? He knows how you feel. He didn’t think you’d listen to him, but if I tell you, you know I’m serious.”

“I don’t get it,” Taz said, angry and wanting to get out of there. “Kodak, come on. Let’s get home. I’m tired. Thanks, Jeremy.”

“You’re welcome,” Jeremy said.

“You didn’t do me any favors. That old man is determined to drive me nuts. He knows I don’t like it, so he sends you to do his dirty work. You tell him not to take no more messages for me, okay?”

“It’s important Taz. Don’t dismiss it. You’ll figure out what it means, when it’s time. Then you’ll know how to handle it.”

“I already know how to handle it. Bye Jeremy,” Taz said, riding over to open the gate, waiting for Kodak to follow him before he closed it, slipping the rope back in place to secure it.

“What’s that all about?” Kodak asked, sensing Taz’s anger.

“Nothing. That old bird is playing with me again.”

“Medicine Band? He doesn’t seem the playful type. He’s the one that knew about me? The spirits told him?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s crazy stuff. I don’t like it.”

They returned home and settled back into the cabin. Taz looked at the kitchen to see what he needed to build before he built the bedroom.

They sat up that night until long after dark, the open door to the stove attracting their eyes as they made small talk while holding hands, always most comfortable at home, alone, together.

*****

Post Script

Long after they’d gone to bed, the fire burned down to cool the cabin for easy sleeping. The trouble with sleeping easy and sleeping deep came when Taz awakened, sitting straight up in bed.

“The peace metal. The peace symbol,” he said, figuring out the riddle Medicine Band sent him.

“What?” Kodak said, alarmed by the sudden awakening. “Go back to sleep. You’re dreaming.”

“The message from Medicine Band, ‘The metal peace does not rest.’ He meant the peace symbol I gave to that kid in the hospital right before he died. I told him I’d go to see his friend. The guy he thought he was talking to when he was talking to me. I forgot to ask where he was from. I need to go to see his friend. I promised him.”

“How could that old man know that?” Kodak asked.

“How indeed? How did he know you were safe on an island halfway around the world? He’s a Shaman. He walks with the spirits.”

The End