23

“When the spring quarter starts, I’m going back to school,” I told Charleston.

We were alone in the office. It was late afternoon, but the days had lengthened, and a long sunbeam shone through one window and found some dust particles. It was misleading, for a north wind was blowing outside.

“As long as I’m in office, you can always have a job here, now, later, whenever,” Charleston answered.

I mumbled my thanks. We both went silent, each with his own thoughts. Charleston fingered the tape I had brought in, fingered it idly, not looking at it. I knew its label.

Voices of the Wild

WOLVES

Omar Test had made his statement the day before. It jibed with what he had told me. A dismal business, listening to him again, but I had to be there to prompt him. Afterwards Tad Frazier had driven him back to the Dutton ranch, kindness of Charleston, who seemed to know I didn’t want to. The case against Mr. Dutton could wait.

Now I said, “I’m glad Doolittle decided to stay on.”

“I told him if he didn’t I’d charge him with obstructing justice. He knew I was joshing but still came around.”

I wanted to get away from myself, so I said, “Tim Reagan would make a good deputy.”

“Not so quick with the suggestions, Jase. Your mind is made up about school?”

It was. I thought of kind people trying to spare others—Ike Doolittle, trying to protect me and Anita; Omar Test doing his best to fence off Anita and Grandpa; Anita keeping mum for the sake of the old man. And here I had come in the name of the law and torn that shielding away. To what end? To expose a dotty old gaffer as harmless now as a cradled baby. I had acted as a good officer should, as the law expected. Damn the law, and yet, and yet.

“I’m stale on the job, Mr. Charleston. I need a change.”

“Stale, is it, Jase? After good work?”

It went against what I’d planned to say, but I said, “I feel kind of down, Mr. Charleston.”

“I know, Jase. I know, boy,” he said slowly, with so much compassion in his voice, so much sympathy, that I dared not look at his face.

He went on. “Choices, Jase. Choices. They come so damn hard, but a man has to make them, knowing or not knowing they’ll be trailed by regrets. I’m sorry, Jase. By God I’m sorry.”

I heard him straighten in his chair. His tone changed. “All right. Do what seems best. Quit when it’s convenient. But you’re not resigning. I’m giving you a leave of absence.”

I hardly had time to thank him before he was buzzed by the switchboard. The words came over. “A man to see you, Mr. Charleston.”

Charleston looked at me, and I nodded to indicate our conversation was done. “Send him in,” he said.

There entered one Kingston Tuttle, alias Henry David Thoreau. He was as thin as a string of jerky. His jacket hung loose. He had tucks in his pants. He advanced and stuck out his hand. “Remember me?” he asked in a voice rusty from disuse. “I’m the guy who shot himself in the foot and lied about it.”

Charleston said, “We remember. Turned over a new leaf, huh?”

“Leaves. Thoreau’s leaves. He wouldn’t have lied. I came to apologize and thank you for your help.”

“I will be damned!” Charleston said.

“I kept reading him and reading him and feeling guiltier with every word.”

“You stayed in your camp? How’d you make out?”

“Yeah, I stayed and made out pretty good. But Thoreau had an edge on me. There were fish in Walden Pond and he caught them and ate them. So, next time around, we’ll be even up.”

“Guess how, Jase,” Charleston said.

I didn’t feel like guessing.

“You tell me then, Tuttle.”

“I’ll fish in the summer and smoke what I catch.”

“You’ll actually try it again?”

“I will. A man deserves another chance. I’m just getting my second wind.”

“Good luck,” Charleston said and looked at his watch. “Past supper time. My wife’s gone to the big town to shop. How about a square meal on me?”

Tuttle burst out, “Oh, boy!”

“Jase?”

I knew Charleston aimed to divert me, but I begged off, saying my mother would have dinner ready.

I walked in the chill wind and entered the Bar Star. Besides Bob Studebaker behind the bar only one man was there. He was Tony Coletti. I bought him a drink and drank with him—too much. Studebaker went from behind the bar, peeked through a front window and announced it was snowing outside.