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It was a dark and stormy night, and Walt Longmire knew from reading the classics that dark and stormy nights rarely ended well. The wind fell fiercely down the mountainside, blowing loose snow across his field of vision and stinging his face where his skin was exposed. When lives were at stake, however, Walt wasn’t one to complain, and there was a little boy lost in the wilderness that night who needed help.
The call had come in not more than an hour ago, but at this time of year the daylight would wane fast, and with this weather there was little chance a trained adult could survive the night outside, much less a six-year-old. He’d been with his family. They had been driving and gone off the road during a squall. The parents weren’t badly injured, but the boy and his dog disappeared before the first responders got there.
“Green hat, blue jacket,” his mother told Walt at the scene as she was being fastened to a stretcher. “His name is Jason. His dog might still be with him.” She held out her hand, and the sheriff took it and gave it a gentle squeeze before paramedics lifted her into the ambulance and shut the doors.
Henry Standing-Bear was there, and he put a hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. “We will find him.”
Vic Moretti, the undersheriff of Absaroka County, was at her vehicle, talking to Ruby over the transponder. She’d gotten there first, and obtained a thorough description from the father before Walt had even got there. “Six years old, about four feet four inches tall,” she said. “Fifty pounds, wearing a bright blue jacket. Autistic, nonverbal. Might not respond to searchers...” Dog was at her feet, pawing anxiously at the icy ground, waiting for an order to follow.
“We’ll split up,” the sheriff said. “He can’t have gone far, but we don’t know which direction. The snow is falling too fast to follow tracks.”
“Do not worry,” said the Bear. “It will be difficult, but we will find him.”
Walt considered his options for a moment. Henry was an expert tracker, and he’d know best how to find the kid and keep himself safe at the same time. Vic, though a fine officer, was less experienced in this terrain. “I need you to go to go with Vic,” Walt said to the Bear. He adjusted his clothes, zipping his jacket as far up as it could go. “I’ll take Dog with me.”
***
Their day had started in the kitchen at Walt’s cabin. It was hard to believe it had only been a few short hours ago when the two of them and Vic sized up the amount of work they intended to get done that weekend. It was about time, according to Henry, that Walt had a more functional cooking area, and he’d recruited the Absaroka County undersheriff in his plan.
It was Dog who alerted Walt to her presence on his porch, wagging his tail and barking with excitement.
“What do you know about home building and repair?” Walt had asked her when she appeared on his porch, the only finished part of his home, wearing dungarees and an old pair of work boots.
“I have an uncle who does this kinda stuff,” she told him. Walt had met Vic’s uncle on his last trip to Philadelphia, and he wondered if the rotund restaurateur was the man she referred to, or if Vic came up with an uncle every time she needed to learn a new skill.
Henry had already started working on replacing the faucet lines so they could install a new countertop and, more importantly, a brand new copper sink. It sat, still boxed, in the corner of the kitchen, waiting for its time to shine. Henry had picked it out himself, telling Walt it was in keeping with the rustic style of his home-in-progress.
“Rustic style?” Walt had asked. “I wasn’t aware I had any style at all.”
“You will,” the Bear replied, “when I am finished.”
“What can I do?” Vic asked Henry, completely ignoring any directions from Walt. It was clear to her who was really in charge of this project.
“If we are to install the sink by the end of the day, we should make sure we have all the necessary supplies,” the Bear said.
“I got caulk already,” Walt offered. “I bought it a few months ago when I thought I would get this done… a few months ago.”
“Then let’s see it,” said Vic.
Walt excused himself to go find the bag from the hardware store. He had purchased it months ago with good intentions, but as with all his home projects lately it had fallen by the wayside. He’d started building this home with his wife, Martha, just a few scant years before she died, and with her gone he couldn’t quite work up the motivation to finish. But with people in the house, it seemed possible. With these people in the house especially. And with Dog, who’d made himself comfortable on his couch while everyone else had work to do.
He found the bag and turned around to see that his undersheriff had followed him out of the kitchen. He handed her the bag, feeling sheepish. She had never been to his house before, and he felt embarrassed about the state of things. There was no bathroom door, for example, and the sheetrock walls were bare, without so much as a mud coat to hide the seams. Having Henry over was something different; Walt was used to Henry’s light derision, his teasing. They’d known each other for so long that Walt had nothing to hide. He had nothing to hide from Vic, either, but he was self-conscious. With her attitude and rough language, it was hard to tell sometimes if she was serious or joking. She took the bag from Walt and opened it, glancing inside before rolling her eyes. When she lifted her head again she sighed. “White caulk, Walt?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“This caulk,” Vic said. “It’s white.”
“So?” Walt asked, not understanding the problem.
Vic took the handles of the bag in one hand so she could place the other on her hip. “I don’t think you’re gonna like it, is all,” she told him.
“They told me down at the hardware store that that’s their best-selling caulk.”
“Just because something is popular doesn’t mean it’s what you need,” Vic said. “Seems like you didn’t run this by Henry before purchasing it.”
“Henry,” Walt called to the man beneath the sink. “What do you think about white caulk?”
There was a clanking of tools and a brief grunt, as though Henry had dropped the wrench from distraction. “If it is good caulk,” he called back, “then it does not matter the color.”
“I have some good caulk right here,” Walt said, “but Vic’s giving me a hard time about it.”
“It isn’t going to go with the sink,” Vic said in her defense.
“I did not realize it was for the sink,” the Bear replied. He had gotten up and followed them into the room. His shirt was buttoned only halfway up his chest, and was wet through from working on the faucet lines. Through the fabric his physique was clearly visible: solid and muscular, in better shape now than he’d been either in high school or in Vietnam. Walt didn’t understand how it was possible to look so good for so long. “Then Vic is right. That white caulk is not what you need.”
“What am I supposed to use?” Walt asked.
Henry lifted an eyebrow. “Silicon,” he said. “Silicon is what you need for a copper sink.”
Before they could continue, Vic’s cell phone rang. Vic answered without even checking her caller ID. A moment later she handed the phone to Walt. “It’s Ruby,” she said. “She needs to talk to you.”
Dog rose to his feet. Even he knew he’d have something more important to do that day.
***
The wind tried its damndest to knock the sheriff’s hat loose from his head, but perhaps a combination of nervous sweat and helmet-hair kept it firmly in place. Still, it whistled in Walt’s ears, its decibels reaching deafening levels as the sheriff stumbled into a clearing. Dog had gotten ahead, and turned to the man and barked impatiently. Walt regained his footing and looked upwards; it was hard to make out, but an amorphous shape darkened a small portion of the sky above. A bird of some sort. Please don’t be an owl, Walt thought desperately. The bird flew directly to a copse of trees ahead, searching for shelter amidst their branches.
Another bark rang out, taking both Walt and Dog by surprise. An eager golden retriever wearing a blue service vest ran out from under a copse of trees at their approach. Dog ran ahead again. The two canines met briefly in the middle of the clearing, communicating in a way the sheriff didn’t understand, but it appeared telepathic. There were no raised hackles or cautious sniffs. The matter was urgent. They disappeared back into the woods, the boy’s dog leading the way, and the sheriff struggled to follow, hoping the boy would be okay.
In just twenty minutes the snow had fallen another two or three inches, or so it seemed to Walt as he dragged his legs through the snow. Beneath the trees the wind lessened, and the snow caught up in drifts against the trunks of the tall firs.
Dog barked as Walt came closer. The golden retriever whined and curled up next to a small human figure. Green hat, blue jacket. In the branches above, a crow settled into some semblance of comfort. Thank God it hadn’t been an owl.
“Jason,” said the sheriff. The boy looked up at him. The golden retriever leaned over and licked the boy’s face. His cheeks were red and puffy - from cold or from crying or from both. But even in the dimness of twilight Walt could tell that the boy’s ears were going white, one of the first signs of frostbite. “Jason, I’m Sheriff Longmire, and I’m gonna get you back to your parents.”
Walt reached for the walkie-talkie that he’d clipped to his belt. “Come in,” he said into the device. “Found the boy. Get back to the road soon as you can. It’s getting dark.”
“Walt,” Vic’s voice came through the handheld, crackly but clear. “Is the boy all right?”
“He will be, soon as we can get him to Doc Bloomfield,” the sheriff responded. “You still with the Bear?”
The two canines began to bark again, and two figures appeared in the dim light beneath the trees. Of course the Bear could find a boy in a blizzard. He was, after all, the best tracker in the state of Wyoming.
“It looks like luck brought you here before us,” the Bear said.
Walt looked up to the crow in the tree above, and then down to the dogs at his side. Perhaps more than a little luck was involved - he’d had guidance. “Not a moment too soon,” Walt said. “Jason, time to go.” The boy said nothing as Walt stooped over and scooped him up in his arms.
At the edge of the woods the group had to decide which way to go. “There’s no way of knowing which way I came,” the sheriff said, scanning the ground. His footprints had already been filled in by the swiftly-falling snow. “Can you lead the way, Henry?”
“I most certainly can,” the Bear replied. “But keep a tight hold on the boy.”
“We nearly broke our necks falling into a ravine,” Vic explained. “It’s a crazy fucking nightmare.” Walt looked sternly at her, nodding at the child bundled up in his arms. “Sorry, “ she said. “A crazy fucking… ordeal.”
Two Absaroka County law enforcement officials and two canine companions followed the Bear across the barren clearing and into another section of woods where the terrain quickly climbed upwards. The wind whipped the travelers, stinging their eyes with snow and biting at any skin left bare. The boy shivered and burrowed his face into Walt’s coat; Dog and the golden retriever darted around his feet, wagging their tails with encouragement.
It was nearly completely dark by the time they reached the ravine. A small stream cut across the bottom of it, and it looked like a steep climb into and back out of it. They would have to be careful. There was no way they could tell whether the water was fluid or frozen, but each option was equally dangerous.
“Jesus Christ,” Vic said, and they all staggered down the steep sides, clutching each other and the snow behind them for balance. The dogs, unable to hold onto anything, slipped down the snowy side faster, and suddenly there was a heartbreaking noise, a crack and a crash, and a pained yelp.
Dog was solemn and silent at the edge of the stream, and the golden retriever whined a short distance away. He’d stepped onto a too-thin portion of ice, and his leg broke right through. Now, cold and afraid, he was unable to move without either injuring himself further, or breaking the ice and falling through completely.
Now the boy, Jason, sprang into action. Despite Walt’s strong grip, he was taken by surprise by a strong, swift kick in the gut, and Jason twisted in Walt’s arms and punched and bit and kicked until Walt, shocked, finally let go. The Bear leaned forward and snatched the child before he got too close to his dog, putting himself in danger. Jason wailed and screamed and tried to bite the hand that held him back, but the Bear held strong.
“Jason!” Walt said, trying to calm the child down, failing. “Jason, it’s gonna be okay.”
Vic ran her hands up and down her arms, trying to warm herself. “He’s not gonna stop unless he gets his dog, and there’s no way anyone’s gonna be able to carry him up over the other side unless he chills out.” She shivered. “Bad choice of words.”
Walt looked first at Jason’s eyes, watery with tears, and then back to the dog stuck in the ice. “Then we get the dog,” said Walt, and without any further hesitation he stepped onto the ice, heading towards the trapped retriever.
“Walt, no!” the Bear and Vic said simultaneously, but there would be no stopping the sheriff now. He hated to see anyone in danger, animal or human. And if that dog would have given his life to keep his boy safe, following Jason all this way to try to keep him safe and warm, then dammit Walt was gonna save that dog.
He moved slowly, knowing that speed and carelessness were his enemies. He moved across on all fours, practically crawling, trying to expand his center of gravity and distribute his weight evenly across the treacherous surface. He reached out an arm and got a firm grip on the dog’s vest. Slowly, so slowly, he pulled the dog towards him. Fortunately the golden retriever stayed calm, waiting until he was completely free and clear from the water to struggle to his feet and limp towards the rest of the group. Henry finally let go of the boy when his dog made it safely across the ice. Jason bent over and wordlessly hugged his dog, running his fingers through clumps of soggy fur.
“Walt, it’s clear now, come back,” Vic called out. “It’s narrower upstream. We should be able to cross no problem.”
“Just give me a sec,” Walt called back, turning around as carefully as he could.
But it didn’t matter. The ice didn’t hold, and Walt cried out as it collapsed beneath him.
In an instant both Henry and Vic leapt forward. The ice crunched beneath them as they grabbed Walt. Vic was soaked from the knees down, and Henry up to his elbows, but Walt was safely out of the water.
Almost safely. A large chunk of ice lacerated his thigh, and he was soaked through all over. There was no way Walt could climb out of the ravine on his own, and they still had Jason to worry about.
“Take the boy,” Henry said to Vic. “I will take care of Walt.”
She didn’t argue for even a second, but she met both of their eyes and whispered words of warning. “If either one of you dies,” she said. “I’ll kill you both.”
It was a touching goodbye from Vic Moretti, who then grabbed the boy and called to the dogs to follow her to safety.
***
Walt was no stranger to frostbite and hypothermia. As the sheriff of Absaroka County, he’d encountered dozens of cases before. Most of them did not end well. One of the first and worst symptoms: confusion. And if he wasn’t experiencing some of that right now…
He could feel his breathing growing labored and weak. His fingers were numb, his toes were numb, his ears were numb. He closed his eyes but strangely did not lose his sight.
It was like he could see himself from outside of his body for a moment. He was looking down at himself and the Bear from quite a distance, it seemed. He felt like he was airborne and being buffeted by the strong mountain winds. It was a vision, he realized. This sort of thing happened to him from time to time.
Please don’t let me be an owl, he thought.
Walt was pulled back into the real world by a really bad wedgie as Henry Standing-Bear hoisted him up the side of the ravine by the back of his pants.
“Shelter,” was all the Indian said as he pushed and pulled the sheriff up the steep and slippery slope. Even so, Henry made that effort look effortless - he didn’t even break a sweat when they reached the top. At the base of a tall conifer Henry pulled Walt out of the driving wind and snow and set him, sitting up, against its trunk.
Walt’s thigh throbbed now where the shattered ice had sliced through his skin. Blood had stained the denim around the wound, and now the blood was growing cold and freezing to the flesh beneath.
“This must come off, Walt,” Henry said, tugging at the fabric sticking to his thigh.
“Whatever you say, Kemosabe,” Walt replied, grunting.
“No, Walt,” the Bear said, gently correcting his friend as he began cutting through Walt’s jeans with a pocket knife. “If I am Tonto, then I should call you Kemosabe.”
“I’m Tonto,” Walt said, beginning to slur his words - another bad sign. “You’re the Lone Ranger.”
“If you say so.” With some tugging Henry had the stained and freezing fabric free and clear of Walt’s wound. Now he could see what needed to be done. He removed his jacket, and then the shirt underneath. With one quick motion he tore one of the sleeves right off and fashioned a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. Then, once satisfied, he tore the other sleeve off as well, and then tore it in half. One half he used to clear out the debris - dirt and pine needles - that had accumulated on Walt’s leg in the short journey from the creek to the tree. Then Henry took Walt’s hand. “This will hurt,” he said. “Or, rather, it should hurt. If it does not hurt, then our straits are more dire than first I thought.”
“Sure thing,” Walt said dreamily, but an instant later he screamed, his pitch reaching an upper register so high that Dog, back at the road by now, could probably hear it. He gripped Henry’s hand so tightly it turned the Indian’s knuckles white. With his other hand, Henry had taken the clean portion of his sleeve and packed it down into the gash, to keep the flesh from coming together. It was deep enough that, if left unattended, it would be prone to infection unless encouraged to heal from the inside out.
“That should help,” Henry said.
“I’ll be right as rain now,” Walt said wearily. Then he lifted his head again, suddenly remembering where they were. “You should go,” he said to Henry. “You should go.”
Henry shook his head. “I cannot leave you.”
“If we both freeze to death, what good does that do?” Walt asked.
Henry smiled. “If I go back without you, your deputy will kill me anyway.”
“Fair enough,” Walt said, shivering.
“Besides,” Henry added, “I do not intend to let either of us freeze to death.” Without saying another word, he reached over Walt’s shoulders and slid his jacket off. With quick and careful precision, he had the sheriff’s wet shirt unbuttoned and set aside. The Bear then repositioned Walt and slid behind him. Now Walt was leaning up against his friend, his back to Henry’s chest, and for the first time since they’d left his home earlier that night, Walt felt warm. Even if it was only going to last a few minutes more, at least he could go secure in the knowledge that he was supported by his best friend.
***
It was almost over, Walt knew. He couldn’t feel his extremities anymore. Freezing to death isn’t so bad, he thought. Not when you’ve got a Bear with you. He turned his face into Henry’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and sighed.
And then Henry shouted, snapping Walt out of his hopeless resignation in an instant.
The wind had picked up again, and Walt could not say for sure he heard Henry clearly. Except the sound that had drowned out Henry’s words wasn’t the wind - it was the sound of a helicopter descending towards the mountainside. It hovered several yards from the ground, as it was not level enough to land. A ladder dropped, and from that ladder descended undersheriff Vic Moretti. “Let’s go, lovebirds,” she said, spotting the two of them underneath the tree and shouting over the din of the helicopter blades. “Cavalry’s here.”
Henry solemnly rose to his feet, gathering his and Walt’s clothes in a bundle to preserve his modesty.
“Did I say lovebirds?” Vic said, coming closer to help. “I meant jaybirds.”
“Walt is hypothermic,” said the Bear, by way of explanation.
“Hey, what Walt does on his own time is his business, not mine,” Vic replied. She knelt beside her boss and looped one arm beneath his own. “Can you walk, Walt?”
“I can try,” Walt replied. Vic helped him to his feet while Henry put his pants on.
“Come on, let’s get him to safety.”
Together Vic and the Bear helped Walt to the helicopter, which had since landed, and within minutes they were up in the air and headed to safety.
***
Even as the helicopter pitched and dipped in the high winds as it came down the side of the mountain, Walt began feeling a lot better. Henry still had his arms wrapped around him protectively, helping Walt remain steady during an unsteady flight. “Awful nice of you to help me out again, Omar.”
“Aw hell, Walt, I’m not that selfless,” said pilot through his headset. “Only reason I’m here is because your deputy agreed to go to dinner with me after this is done.”
Walt looked over at his undersheriff, who rolled her eyes. “I’d rather not have the department run by a popsicle, is all,” she said.
“You should at least let the man get to second base,” Walt told his undersheriff, fighting frostbite to smile.
“Fuck that,” she replied. “As if he could even hit the ball. And if he calls me 'Vicky' even once, I think that's grounds for murder.” She turned back to face him and Henry and became serious for a moment. “Thanks for not dying, by the way,” she said to Walt. “And thanks to you for not letting him die,” she said to Henry.
Henry nodded and hugged Walt a little tighter.
***
The hospital wasn’t the most comfortable place to spend the night, but to Walt it may as well have been the Ritz. Warm bed, hot food, and better yet, a case solved. A thank you note from Jason’s parents had appeared at his bedside table at some point during the night while he’d been sleeping. He’d gotten back to them safely, and that was all that really mattered to Walt.
Well… almost. When he turned his head to the window, he saw the Bear sitting in one of those uncomfortable vinyl chairs, arms crossed and head tilted, sleeping. Somehow he had managed to avoid frostbite or any other injury entirely, but he chose to stay to make sure Walt was all right. Dog lay beneath the chair, head cradled in his paws as he slept.
The Bear must have sensed that Walt was awake. He stirred in his seat for a moment and opened his eyes. “Good morning,” he said.
“Same to you,” Walt replied. “Don’t you have better things to do than sit around and watch an old man sleep?”
“Do you mean things like installing the new sink in your kitchen?” Henry said. “No. Do not think that you are getting out of all the hard work simply because you saved the day once again.” The Bear leaned over in his seat and set his hand on Walt's, squeezing reassuringly.
Walt smiled and relaxed again. He’d read enough of the classics to know how rare a happily ever after truly was, but this ending was certainly happy enough for him.