'The son-of-a-bitch had put up a ten-foot buffalo fence and electrified it. I made the mistake of touching the fence and it just about cooked my ass off. I crawled around it for a day and couldn't find a way in.'
Stewie spat angrily. 'Here is a guy who gives hundreds of thousands of dollars to groups like One Globe so we can fight the bastards who are ruining the earth, but he buys a huge old ranch in the mountains and puts up an electrified buffalo fence to keep everyone out.'
'Isn't that his right?' Joe asked.
'It's his right, but there's nothing right about it,' Stewie argued angrily 'It's so fucking elitist and hypocritical. Think about it: He builds a castle where a little ranch house once was, he closes roads
that had been open to the local public for years, he puts up 'No Trespassing' signs, he builds a helipad, and he shuts the world out. Tell me how this guy is any better than an oil company that moves into an area and sinks wells? Or a lumber company that comes in and cuts the trees? And he's one of us!'
'That is something I've always wondered about,' Joe said.
'I can see why' Stewie agreed. 'Some of our own behave worse than the ranchers they bought out and, in many cases, the companies who lease and exploit the land. They fight development because they've already got theirs. This kind of selfishness destroys the credibility of the movement.'
JOE REALIZED HE was now operating under the assumption that Charlie Tibbs was no longer following them. Joe no longer cared about the sloppiness of the trail they cut, and no longer felt it was necessary to do anything other than head straight south. He couldn't envision Tibbs attempting to cross the canyon the way they had. Leaving his horse and the bulk of his equipment would lessen Tibbs's advantage, and it was inconceivable that he would expose himself against the canyon walls the way Joe, Stewie, and Britney had done.
This assumption caused a lessening of immediate pressure, and Joe realized how hungry he was. His last meal had been breakfast on Saturday It was now-what day was it? Monday morning.
Joe wondered if it had been possible that one of his shots had actually hit Tibbs. He doubted it. At the range he was firing, the slugs would not have traveled in a true arc. They would have fluttered and tumbled end-over- end. But if Tibbs had been hit, Joe thought, the damage would have been devastating. Tumbling .357 Magnum slugs would make a big hole.
No, Joe decided, Tibbs wouldn't attempt to follow them. He would have turned back. On horseback, it was possible that Tibbs could make it back to his truck before Joe and Stewie hiked down the mountain. Racing around the mountain range to meet Joe and Stewie would be difficult, given the time, but possible. Considering what they'd already seen of Charlie Tibbs--his ruthlessness, his tracking abilities--Joe opted to push through the night.
JOE, TELL ME ABOUT MARY BETH. Stewie said after nearly an hour of silence. 'Is she still a babe?'
Joe stopped, and Stewie nearly walked into him.
'I thought we agreed that Marybeth was not a topic of discussion,' Joe stated.
'We did, but I was just thinking about how it was that you came to the cabin in the first place,' Stewie said in a reasonable tone.
'Think all you want,' Joe said, turning to walk again. 'Just try to resist the urge to let everything you think about come out of your mouth.'
A long roll of thunder rattled across the sky
'Yup,' Joe said, after a long pause. 'She's still a babe.'
***
THE RAIN STOPPED and the sky opened up to reveal brilliant swirls of stars that lit the ground and gave shape to the dripping trees and brush. The fluttering sound of wings shedding rain in the shadows ahead signaled to Joe that they had come upon a flock of spruce grouse. The birds were nested in for the night, perched on low branches and downed logs, backlit in romantic blue by the stars and moon.
Spruce grouse were not intelligent birds--they were known as 'fool hens' by local hunters. Joe and Stewie exchanged glances and came to an immediate understanding: Get those birds!
Picking up a stout branch, Joe bounded into the flock and stepped into his swing like a hitter pulling a fastball, lopping the head off a grouse perched on a log. He stepped back and swung again, connecting with another grouse as it started to rise. Stewie killed one with a well thrown stone. The rest of the flock, finally realizing the threat, rose clumsily through the trees. The three downed birds flopped and danced in the dark grass.
They found dry pinecones under brush to use for kindling, and started a fire with a plastic butane lighter Stewie had found in his trouser pocket. As the fire grew, they added short lengths of wood. Stewie built the fire up while Joe cleaned and skinned the birds. Their flesh was warm to the touch and their blood smelled musky.
Roasting the grouse on green sapling sticks, Joe found himself trembling. He could not remember ever being as hungry as he was now The hardest part was waiting for the grouse to be cooked through.
'Are they done yet?' Stewie asked repeatedly 'Jesus, that smells good.'
Eventually Joe pricked one of the grouse breasts with his knife and the juice ran clear. It dripped into the fire and there was a sizzling flare-up.
'Okay' Joe said, his mouth watering so badly that he had trouble speaking. He lifted the stick to Stewie, who hungrily grabbed the first bird.
The grouse breasts were tender white meat and they tasted faintly of pine nuts. Joe ate one grouse with his hands and split the remaining down the middle, giving half to Stewie. In the firelight, Joe could see Stewie's lips, fingers, and chin shine with grease. Joe sat back and finished off a drumstick.
'This,' Stewie declared loudly each word rising in volume, 'is the best fucking meal I've ever had!'
Joe Pickett and Stewie Woods sat across from each other on the damp earth, the fire between them, and grinned goofily at each other like schoolboys who had just pulled off the greatest practical joke in the history of fifth grade.
