Something Wilder

With the rest of the camp still asleep, Lily stepped out of her tent in time to catch the first spark of light in the sky. She loved the location of the tour’s base camp. At the edge of Horseshoe Canyon, it was remote enough to feel like wilderness but still close enough to town in case a guest sensed the true isolation they’d be facing and got cold feet. Not to mention, it was beautiful. City folks seemed to always expect the desert to be burnt and barren, but here it was as alive as any garden. There were pictographs on rock walls and clusters of cottonwoods that grew with their feet in the fitful stream in the sandy canyon bottom. Lichens clung to sandstone in clumps of bright red and orange, yellow and green. Cacti clawed their way through crusty soil; wildflowers erupted, and grasses swallowed trails, reclaiming. The sharp brine of juniper filled the air.

The morning was cool and damp from a rare streak of spring rain during the night. It was a welcome break from the heat of the last few days, but rain could be worrisome out here. High-walled canyons sent water rushing off and down, so it wasn’t the storm above that was necessarily dangerous, it was the rain miles away falling on higher ground. Lily taught people to listen for the obvious signs of floods, and to watch for the smaller ones, too: currents suddenly full of sticks and twigs, previously crystal-clear rivers turning muddy. Last night’s rain didn’t amount to much, but any rainfall meant mud and a doused fire. No fires meant no food, and any guide would agree that guests would write off a sore ass and a stiff bed, but they wouldn’t overlook an empty belly. At the dude ranch, Lily’s dad used to say, “You gotta keep ’em tired and full.” It had been true there and was even truer out here.

She stoked the fire back to life, watching the coals flicker and glow before finally catching. When the smoke spiraled overhead, Lily set the water to boil and got the coffee ready to brew.

The horses were fed and inspected, their hooves cleaned. Lily owned eight in all, each with their own quirks and temperament—which made it easy to assign them to riders of any skill level—and each one far more pampered than Lily herself.

Bonnie, her ten-year-old bay mare, was in a feisty mood, tolerating the comb through her tail but pawing the ground impatiently, ready to get started. It was rough country, but these horses were conditioned to riding it, preferring the slower pace and varied terrain—and extra treats—that came with a day on the trail over a quiet day in pasture back at Lily’s cabin. Some outfits used four-wheel-drives and ATVs to travel the Outlaw Trail where it was passable, but most of the maps Duke Wilder drew could be followed only on foot or on horseback. “If it was good enough for the outlaws,” he used to say, “it’s good enough for me.”

Lily’s father had been obsessed with these canyons and spent years chasing the same myths and legends she now exploited to take groups on guided tours and fake treasure hunts. Unlike Duke, however, the wannabe weekend warriors who hired Lily went home at the end of the ride, back to jobs and family and reality. Duke might have physically walked through the door at the end of a dig, but he was never really with his family, always dreaming about finding long-buried treasures while the rest of his life—his wife, his health, and his family’s ranch—eventually fell away.

Footsteps crunched through the brush, and Bonnie whinnied softly at Nicole’s approach. “Is Bossy Bonnie ready to go?” she cooed, stroking the mare’s soft nose.

“Someone knows she gets a peppermint at the end of the day.”

Nicole had come to Utah from Montana, in search of a job and a life away from a mean family and a meaner boyfriend. Lily met her while bartending at Archie’s; Nicole was hired into the tiny kitchen to clean dishes and prep greasy bar food. She’d been sleeping in her truck at the time, and Lily dragged her home, gave her a place to stay. They were both broke and totally alone, and they quickly bonded in a way only two women can when they’ve had enough of their lives being turned upside down by the impulses and bad decisions of men.

When Archie suggested Lily as a guide for a crew scouting film sites in Moab, there was no one else she trusted to come along but Nicole. That first trip led to another, and when someone asked about the history and myths around the area, about Butch Cassidy and his gang using these trails to run from the law and hide their loot, and whether it might still be out there, it was like Duke’s ghost coming back to haunt her. Lily had immediately thought of his goddamn tally journal—filled with random notes and riddles and stories and maps. It was one of the few things of his with any value whatsoever, and she decided, hell, something good should come of growing up in the shadow of the Duke Wilder. Who knew so many people wanted to play cowboy?