The T. R. Connection

The men and I got to Mr. Roosevelt’s camp about ten a.m. the next

day. He saw us riding in and  waved his hat.

    “There is still no sign of Tanya,” he called dejectedly. “I searched all along the north side of the butte this morning.” He looked bad with a stubble of beard on his gaunt and care worn face.

    We all dismounted. The boss had coffee in a tin on the fire. Although it was in the high nineties again, we all took a swig of the java. We munched some beef-jerky and

topped it off with drinks of water.

    “Here is the plan, men,” Mr. Roosevelt commenced. “We will fan out

and circle the butte heading south, then west, then north. If anyone spots anything, fire off three shots.”

    I rode Big Enough south for over an hour. Sentinel Butte is huge,

and the highest butte in the Bad-lands.  It can be seen for many miles rising out of the landscape. A sentinel is someone who stands watch. I knew the tall butte was watching my approach. If only Tanya would see me and call out. It was going on forty-eight hours since she had ridden off from the chateau.

    I rode over a small rise in the land and came upon a deep narrow

gully. I reined up Big Enough “Whoa, boy. It is a bit wide to jump here,” I said and spurred Big Enough on a course parallel to the gully. I rode uphill toward the butte knowing that the gully would be narrower closer to the butte. I went about a quarter of a mile when I came upon a sight that froze me momentarily to my saddle. There lay Nordica in the shallow gully. The horse was dead, its belly distended with gas. The beautiful blonde horse’s body was wedged into the gully tightly and Tanya lay face down, with her left foot pinned beneath the horse. I leaped out of the saddle, fired off three shots, and ran to Tanya’s body. I pressed my fingers into her neck and felt no pulse. I called her and patted her slack face. My worst fears were confirmed; she was dead. “Tanya, come back to me!” I sobbed. Mr. Roosevelt came riding up at full speed and made a running dismount. “How is she, Will? How is she?” 

“Gone,” I sobbed.

    He knelt and touched her white face and neck. “Oh, dear God,” he

cried. “What kind of curse do I put on the women in my life!” I touched his shoulder and stood beside him as he sobbed. In a minute or two, he rose wiped his glasses dry and said, “I’m sorry, Will. But we must pull together. We must get her out of here.”

    “Look,” I said. “She tried to dig herself free with this flint

stone, but Nordica’s body just kept settling on her boot. 

“She can’t have been dead very long,” Mr. Roosevelt said mournfully. “There is no sign of rigor mortis.” 

I tugged on her arms but didn’t budge her. “The boot heel seems to be wedged solidly into the rock ledge. See if you can find a tree branch to work as a lever, sir.”

    As the boss scurried in full chaps toward a scrub oak, I looked at Tanya’s hands. The nails were broken and the fingers were raw. She had made a valiant effort to dig

free. I reached over to retrieve her piece of flint. As I did so, I saw an inscription in the hard soil: “HI VAL—HI T.R. LOVE YA.” My eyes filled with tears again. Mr. Roosevelt came back with a sturdy branch. “You might like to see this, sir,” I said and pointed to the inscription. He read it, gasped audibly, and then with super-human strength he jammed the branch under Nordica and heaved down on the branch, levering it on the hard edge of the gully bank.

    “Pull, Will, Pull!” he wheezed through his teeth. I pulled and

Tanya’s foot was free. She had been riding Western style and was wearing riding pants. I picked her body up and held it cradled in my arms. I walked over to Big Enough and laid her over his back, face down behind my saddle. Mr. Roosevelt panting and sweating profusely, rested after his great exertion.

    “Let’s ride back to your camp,” I said as I mounted and tied a couple of the saddle strings around Tanya’s body.