"Serena" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rash Ron)

Six

BY LATE SUNDAY MORNING THE SNOW HAD stopped, and Buchanan and the Pembertons decided to go hunting a mile southwest of camp, a five-acre meadow Galloway had baited for a month. Wilkie, whose sporting life consisted of nothing more than an occasional poker game, stayed in Waynesville. Young Vaughn packed the Studebaker farm wagon with provisions, the gray wool golf cap pulled down over his red hair. Galloway had procured a farmer's pack of Plotts and Redbones considered the finest in the county. Galloway sat on the wagon's springboard seat with Vaughn, between them Shakes, the farmer's prize Plott hound, the rest of the dogs piled in back with the provisions. The Pembertons and Buchanan followed on horseback, crossing Balsam Mountain before veering east to enter a V-shaped gorge the mountaineers called a shut-in.

" Galloway 's baited the meadow with corn and apples," Pemberton said. "That'll bring deer, maybe a bear."

"Perhaps even your panther," Serena said, "following the deer."

"The deer carcass the men found on Noland last week," Buchanan asked Galloway. "How did you know a mountain lion didn't kill it?"

Galloway turned, his left eye narrowing. His lips veered rightward, as though trying to slide the smile off his face.

"Because its chest wasn't tore open. There's cats will eat the tongue and ears before anything else, but not a panther. It eats the heart first."

They followed the wagon as it swayed and bumped into the gorge, rock cliffs pressing closer on both sides as they descended. They went single file now, the horses' pastern joints deftly negotiating the narrowing slantland. Halfway down, Galloway stopped the wagon and examined an oak tree whose lower branches were broken off.

"At least one bear in this shut-in," Galloway said, "and goodly-sized to skin up a tree like this one done."

They soon passed directly under a cliff, spears of ice hanging from the rocks. At the tightest point, Vaughn and Galloway stopped and lifted the iron-rimmed left wheels one at a time over a rock jut, in the process spilling out three hounds and a larder filled with sandwiches. Pemberton paused to tighten his saddle's girth. After he finished, he looked up the trail and saw Serena thirty yards ahead, the Arabian blending so well with the snow that for a moment she appeared to ride the air itself. Pemberton smiled and wished a crew of loggers could have seen the illusion. Since her initial triumph over Bilded, the men ascribed all sorts of powers to Serena, some bordering on the otherworldly.

Finally the shut-in widened again, and they came to a bald where the trail ended. Galloway jumped into the back of the wagon and leashed the dogs.

"The brindled ones," Serena said. "What breed are they?"

"They're called Plotts, a local variety," Pemberton explained. "They're bred specifically for boar and bear."

"The broad chest is impressive. Is their courage?"

"Equally impressive," Pemberton said.

They took what was needed from the wagon and moved into the thickening woods, Galloway and Vaughn and the dogs well behind. The Pembertons and Buchanan progressed on foot now, the horses' reins in one hand, rifles in the other.

"Quite a few poplars and oaks," Serena noted, nodding at the surrounding trees.

"Some of our best acreage," Pemberton said. " Campbell 's found a stand of tulip poplars where the smallest is eighty feet high."

Buchanan walked beside Pemberton now.

"This stock market collapse, Pemberton. I wonder about its long-term effects for us."

"We'll be better off than most businesses," Pemberton replied. "The worst for us is less building being done."

"Perhaps the need for coffins will offset that," Serena said. "There's evidently quite a demand for them on Wall Street."

Buchanan paused, grasped Pemberton's coat by the elbow and leaned closer. Pemberton smelled Bay Rum aftershave and Woodbury hair tonic, which bespoke coifed hair and smooth cheeks as part of Buchanan's hunt preparation.

"So the Secretary of the Interior's interest in this land. You still say we shouldn't consider it?"

Serena was a few steps farther ahead and turned to speak, but Buchanan raised his palm.

"I'm asking your husband's opinion, Mrs. Pemberton, not yours."

Serena stared at Buchanan a few moments. The gold flecks in her irises seemed to absorb more light even as the pupils receded into some deeper part of her. Then she turned and walked on.

"My opinion is the same as my wife's," Pemberton said. "We don't sell unless we make a good profit."

They walked another furlong before the land briefly rose, then began falling at a sharper grade. Soon the meadow's white leveling emerged through the trees. Galloway had brought a tote sack of corn the previous day, and a dozen deer placidly ate the last of it. Fresh snow muffled the hunters' footsteps, and no deer raised its head as the Pembertons and Buchanan tethered their horses, walked on through the remaining woods and took positions at the meadow's edge.

They each picked out a deer and raised their rifles. Pemberton said now and they fired. Two deer fell to the ground and did not move, but Buchanan's ran crashing into the brush and trees on the other side. It fell, got up, then disappeared into the deeper woods.

Galloway soon joined the Pembertons and Buchanan, the Plotts and Redbones gusting Galloway in different directions as if the leashes were attached to low-flying kites. Once in the meadow, Galloway freed the strike dog and then the others. The hounds ran in a yelping rush toward the far woods where the wounded deer had gone. Galloway listened to the pack for a few moments before turning to Buchanan and the Pembertons.

"This shut-in ain't got but one way out. If you flank this meadow and put one of you in the center, there ain't nothing on four legs getting by."

Galloway crouched on one knee and listened, his left hand touching the snow as if he might feel the vibration of the dogs running in the woods below. The hounds' cries grew dim, then began steadily rising.

"You best get them fancy guns of yours ready," Galloway said. "They're coming this way."

BY late afternoon the Pembertons and Buchanan had killed a dozen deer. Galloway made a mound of the carcasses in the meadow's center, and blood streaked the snow red. Buchanan had wearied of the shooting after his third deer and sat down with his rifle propped against a tree, content to let the Pembertons make the last kills. Midday there had been the sound of ice unshackling from limbs, the woods popping and crackling as if arthritic, but now the temperature had dropped, the woods silent but for the clamor of the hounds.

What sun the day's gray sky had allowed was settling atop Balsam Mountain when the hollow cries of the Plotts and Redbones quickened into rapid barks. Galloway and Vaughn stood at the woods' edge, not far from where Pemberton waited, rifle in hand. The barks grew more resonant, urgent, almost a sobbing.

"Struck them a bear, a damn big one from the fuss they're allowing it," Galloway said, his breath whitened by the cold. "Mama told me we'd have some good hunting today."

As the hounds' barks lengthened and deepened into bays, Pemberton thought of Galloway 's mother, how her eyes were the color of pockets of morning fog the workers called bluejon, like mist filling two inward-probing cavities. Pemberton remembered how those eyes had turned in his direction and lingered. A way to stupefy the credulous, he knew, but done damn well.

"You best be ready, for that bear's coming and once he hits this meadow he won't be dawdling," Galloway said, and turned to Serena and winked. "He won't care if you're man nor woman neither."

Buchanan picked up his rifle and positioned himself on the clearing's left, Serena in the center, Pemberton on the right. Galloway moved behind Serena, his eyes closed as he listened. The hounds were frantically baying now, yelping as well when the bear turned and swatted at its pursuers. Then Pemberton heard the bear itself, crashing through the woods with the torrent of dogs in pursuit.

It came into the meadow between Serena and Pemberton. The bear paused a moment and swatted the largest Plott off its hind leg, the bear's claws raking the dog's flank. The big Plott lay on the snow a moment before rising and attacking again. The bear's paw caught the dog on the same flank, only lower this time, the Plott sent tumbling into the air. It landed yards away, the hide on the dog's right side shred thin as shoestrings.

The bear rushed onward, straight towards Pemberton, only twenty yards away when it saw the man and swerved left just as Pemberton pulled the trigger. The bullet hit between shoulder and chest, enough to make the animal fall sideways as its left front leg buckled. The hounds leaped upon the bear, draping the creature's midquarters. The bear rose onto its back legs, and the dogs rose with it like pelts hung around the bear's belly.

The animal fell forward, steadied itself for a moment before charging toward Pemberton, whose second shot clipped a Plott's ear before entering the bear's stomach. There was no time for a third shot. The bear rose and pressed its bulk against Pemberton, and he felt himself swallowed within a vast weighted shadow. His rifle slipped from his hand as the bear clutched him. Instinct pushed Pemberton deeper into the bear's grasp, so close the creature's claws could do no more than rake the back of his duckcloth hunting jacket. The dogs leaped upon them, lunging and snapping at Pemberton as if believing him now part of the bear. Pemberton's head pressed deep against the bear's chest. Pemberton felt the creature's fur and flesh and the breastbone beneath and the quickened beat of the heart and the heat stoked by that heart. He smelled the bear, the musk of its fur, its spilling blood, smelled the forest itself in the earthy linger of acorn each time the bear exhaled. Everything, even the cries of the dogs, became slower, more distinct and heightened. He felt the whole of the bear's bulk as it teetered slightly, regained balance, felt also the bear's front right limb batting his shoulder as it slashed at the hounds. The bear growled and Pemberton heard the sound gather deep in the bear's chest before rumbling upward into the throat and out the mouth.

The Plotts circled and leaped, holding onto the bear with teeth and claw a few moments before falling away only to circle and leap again, the Redbones yelping and darting in to snap at the legs. Then Pemberton felt the barrel of a rifle against his side, felt its reverberation as the weapon fired. The bear staggered two steps backward. As Pemberton fell, he turned and saw Serena place a second shot just above the bear's eyes. The creature wavered a moment, then toppled to the ground and disappeared under a moiling quilt of dogs.

Pemberton lay on the ground as well, unsure if he'd been shoved by the bear or simply fallen. He didn't move until the side of his face pressed into the snow began to numb. With the help of his forearm, Pemberton raised his head. For a few moments, he watched Galloway as the highlander stood amid the squabbling pack, leashing the hounds so Vaughn could drag them off the bear one at a time. Footsteps crunched toward Pemberton, then stopped. Serena kneeled beside him, her face keen as she brushed snow off his face and shoulders. After the sheer physicality of the bear's embrace, he felt a kind of lightness, as if his body had been set gently upon the calmest water.

Serena helped him to a sitting position, and Pemberton's head swirled for a few moments, left a residue of grogginess. Blood covered the snow, and Pemberton wondered if any of it was his. Serena pulled off his hunting jacket and lifted the wool shirt and flannel undershirt. She ran her hand across his back and stomach before pulling the clothing back down.

"I was sure it had gutted you," Serena said as she helped him put his jacket back on.

Pemberton watched tears well up in Serena's eyes. She turned and wiped her coat sleeve across her face. Seconds passed before she turned back to him. When she did, her eyes were dry, and Pemberton wondered if his muddledness had caused him to imagine the tears.

Buchanan was also beside them now. He lifted Pemberton's rifle out of the snow but seemed unsure what to do with it.

"You need me to help you get him standing?" Buchanan asked.

"No," Serena replied.

"What about his gun?"

Serena nodded to where her rifle leaned against a redbud sapling.

"Put it over there beside mine."

In a few minutes Galloway had tied the last hound to a tree. Vaughn kneeled beside the injured dog, one hand stroking the Plott's head while the other probed the wounds. Galloway walked over to the bear, kicked its massive haunches with his boot toe to verify the creature was indeed dead.

"This is a quality black bear," he said. "I'd bet him to go five hundred."

Galloway turned his gaze from the bear to Serena, letting his eyes slowly lift to take in Serena's boots and breeches and hunting jacket, finally her face, even then appearing to look not only at Serena but beyond her into the woods.

"I've never seen a woman shoot a bear before," he said, "and I've known but a couple of men with the sand to have gone right at him the way you done."

"Pemberton would have done the same for me," Serena said.

"You sure of that, are you?" Galloway said, a grin slicing his face as he watched Serena help Pemberton to his feet. "A bear's more to handle than a drunk like Harmon."

Vaughn held the injured Plott in his arms. The youth stepped closer to the bear, showing the dog the bear was dead.

"I know a feller up on Colt Ridge who could mount that bear's head for you, Mrs. Pemberton," Vaughn said, "or tan the hide if you notioned that."

"No, leave it with the deer," Serena said, and turned to Galloway. "Carcasses are used out west to draw mountain lions. I assume it would work here as well."

"Maybe," Galloway said, looking at Pemberton though he spoke to Serena. "Like I told your Mister when he first come to these mountains, if there's one still around it's big and smart. It could end up tracking him. Let it get close as that bear did, and he'll get more than a hug."

"If you find that mountain lion and get me one shot at it I'll give you a twenty-dollar gold piece," Pemberton said, glaring at Galloway before turning to Vaughn. "Or anyone else who can lead me to it."

They reloaded the farm wagon and started toward camp. Galloway drove while Vaughn cradled the injured dog in his arms. The rusty springs beneath the buckboard squeaked rhythmically as they rose and fell, and the swaying motion made it appear Vaughn was rocking the hound to sleep. In the wagon bed, the other dogs huddled against the cold. The land slanted upward, and thick trunks of oaks and poplars quickly filled in the white expanse behind them.

Once they got to the ridge crest, Pemberton and Serena let the others ride on ahead. Pemberton's pulse still beat quick, and he knew Serena's did as well. The trail soon became only a space between trees in the day's last light. Cold seeped in through sleeves and collars. They rode close together, and Serena reached out and clasped Pemberton's hand with hers. He felt the coldness of it.

"You should have worn gloves," he said.

"I like to feel the cold," Serena said. "I always have, even as a child. My father used to walk me through the camp on days the loggers claimed it was too cold to work. I shamed them out of their shacks and into the woods."

"Too bad you didn't at least save a photograph of that," Pemberton said, recalling how he'd once asked about family photographs and Serena had answered that they'd burned with the house. "It might stop some of our workers griping about the weather."

They rode on, not speaking again until they crossed the last rise and descended onto the valley floor. Camp lights blazed in the distance. No tree unsmoothed the landscape, and the snow was tinged blue. Pemberton noted how the faint light gave the illusion they traversed a shallow sea.

"I liked the way we killed the bear together," Serena said.

"You had more to do with killing it than I did."

"No, it was gut shot. I merely finished it off."

A few flurries swirled around them, sifted from a sky the color of indigo. The only sound was the crunch of snow under the horses' hooves. In the quiet darkening Pemberton and Serena seemed to have entered a depthless space only they inhabited. Not so different from when they cleaved in the night, Pemberton realized.

"Too bad Harris couldn't come along today," Serena said.

"He assured me he'll come next time."

"Has he said anything about the Glencoe tract?"

"No, all he wants to talk about is this national park boondoggle and how we have to band together to keep it from happening."

"I assume that we also includes our partners."

"They have as much to lose as you and I do."

"They're timid men, especially Buchanan," Serena said. "Wilkie's just gotten old, but it's Buchanan's nature. The sooner you and I are shed of them the better."

"We'll still need partners though."

"Then men like Harris, and, as soon as we can, partnerships where we have a controlling interest," Serena said as they moved through the snow-capped stumps. "I'm going to hire a Pinkerton and find out what's really going on in Tennessee with this park. I'll have him check out Kephart as well. See if he's as stellar a citizen as John Muir."

The woods no longer sheltered them from the wind, and cold air worked its way through jacket tears the bear had made. Pemberton imagined Serena in her father's timber camp, rousing the workers on days colder than this one.

"What you told Galloway is the truth," Pemberton said as they entered the camp. "If the bear had attacked you instead of me, I would have done the same for you."

"I know," Serena said, clasping Pemberton's hand tighter. "I've known it since the night we met."