Coyote Wind by Peter Bowen Read Free Book Online Page A

Pré, “but I like it pretty good.”
    “That plane went down in … 1959?” Bart asked.
    “Fifty-seven,” said Du Pré. Bart was close. These Fascellis, they came in ’62. Did he come up here in ’62, young then, on fire for the mountains? Find the wreck, keep it close against his need?
    Long damn time for all these questions to wait.
    Du Pré wondered why something kept nibbling out on the edge of his mind, telling him he didn’t really want to know about this one. But he had to know now, even if he didn’t want to.
    Bart swung back up, headed up the trail. At the gate in the high fence he got down, opened the lock, swung the green pipe gate back to let Du Pré through. Gabriel reached for the other horse’s reins and tugged the horse along. Bart locked up, swung up, they went on.
    He was in good shape, for sure. Bad drunks now, their muscles melt away and they shake, too weak to do anything close to this.
    They rode up into timber. A grouse banged off beneath Bart’s horse. The animal skittered a little, Bart calmed him, another grouse boomed away from a bush. But the horse was used to them now, didn’t even snort.
    “You lead,” said Bart, moving off the trial. “Where is it anyway?”
    “Three miles, maybe four,” said Du Pré.
    “You think Bodie is stupid?” said Bart.
    “Very,” said Du Pré. “He’s a bad hand with stock. You should fire him. He hurts them.”
    “Consider it done,” said Bart.
    “Booger Tom work for you all these years, eh?”
    Bart nodded. “He’s a nice old man, allowing for cowboy quirks. I like him, he hates us, how could he not? Rich, drunken assholes is what we are.”
    Du Pré looked away. What about this?
    “Runs in the family,” said Bart. “We aren’t smart enough to be artists. We could get away with a lot more if we were.”
    Du Pré laughed. He was beginning to like this Bart. The other Bart was a bastard and he hadn’t met the rest.
    Du Pré flicked his eyes left, right, up, looking for sign, the leaf without the raindrops on it, the shadow in the grass where feet had pressed it down, the branch swaying wrong, where the eagle had lifted off, great wings beating.
    They came to the little meadow at the foot of the draw. Du Pré saw a pile of duffel, a big tent all up and taut.
    The place where the helicopter had landed.
    “I’m staying up here a few days, maybe,” said Bart. “Had this stuff flown on up. You do what you want, but I need to stay.”
    Du Pré looked at him.
    “Why you need me to bring you up here for, you knew where it was already?” I got work to do, this ain’t it, for sure.
    “I didn’t really,” said Bart. “The flying service just landed these things for me where they came before. I need you to show me where the wreck was, of course.”
    “OK,” said Du Pré. Must be nice, call a helicopter to do the heavy work, say send me the bill.
    They grained the horses, hobbled them, turned them loose.
    Du Pré led Bart up the draw.
    The trail was slick and wet, their boots were not much good for hiking, high heels, slick soles.
    They sweated inside their slickers. When they opened them to cool down, their shirts steamed.

CHAPTER 15
    D U P RÉ STOOD BY the hole in the ground where the little engine had been. The earth had been turned and raked, looking for bits and pieces. They had waved metal detectors, sifted, a lot of hours.
    “The plane hit up there,” said Du Pré, pointing. The yellow scar on the gray rock was barely visible through the light rain.
    “Quick, anyway,” said Bart. He walked round, hands in his pockets. The little watercourse was chuckling with runoff. Stunted chokecherry bushes lined the sides of the stream. The place where Du Pré had found the skull was a foot under water.
    “It’ll snow tonight,” said Du Pré. The air smelled of it, and snow was falling hard up higher.
    “Tore it up, didn’t they?” said Bart. The FAA people had been very thorough. Du Pré could see where someone had even rappelled