A Bull In The Woods

She knew the way and took her eyes off the road just long enough to spot her husband Farley looking absent and slumped in the passenger seat. Outside the windows, the forest passed by in a blur. It was late afternoon. The last few cars had left the park, along the now lonely highway. They reached the visitor center, tucked inside a clearing, and found the parking lot nearly empty. “Never seen it like this before,” she said, wondering.

“Maybe they closed early. But it’s not a holiday,” Farley said. “Guess we should’a gone to a movie, Melinda.”

“You’re always talking about getting the miles in,” she countered. “Gotta get your steps for the day. Tired of sitting around, saying the doctor doesn’t want you sedentary.”

“It’s true,” Farley said. “At least we’ll get good parking.”

They pulled into a stall near the entrance. It was a two story building with wooden siding and big windows to catch the evening sun. The roof was peat moss, and there were bird nests along the eaves and streaks of white droppings on the gutters. They got out and walked to the front doors. Farley held them open for his wife and she slowed so he could. The temperature had cooled now that the sun was low. A breeze followed them through the doors. There was a rock fountain first, and the gift shop was silent except for the babbling of the water. A row of track lights glowed above the information counter, and they tracked through shelves of guide books and maps, stuffed animals, rubix cubes and colorful rubber snakes.

“Hello,” the worker said from behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

“Just wondering if the park’s still open,” Melinda said. Farley had stopped short and was looking over a history book, flipping through the pages. He found a black and white photograph; two men standing near a saloon.

“Well the visitor center's still open obviously,” the woman said. “And there’d be more people here if it weren’t for the trail closures.” She was a short woman, heavy-set. She had short brown hair and wore a gray polo shirt with her name embroidered in green. The shirt had a patch on the shoulder depicting a miniature scene of the park.

“Are they doing maintenance today or something?” Melinda asked. “We didn’t want to go very far. Just down to the river.”

“The trails are all closed because of the bull.”

“The what?” Melinda said, raising her eyebrows and looking at Farley.

“The bull,” the woman said. “There’s a big bull loose from a nearby ranch. He’s been roaming the park for the last 24 hours. One of those Spanish fighting bulls, so he’s mean. He chased a hiker this morning so the rangers decided to shut it down until they could get enough people to round him up.”

“Where did they see him last?” Farley said. He put the book back on the shelf.

“Over by the amphitheater,” the woman said.

“You’d think they would’ve rounded him up by now,” Melinda said. “Plenty of cowboys around here. Where’s the owner anyway?”

“Well, that’s the rest of the story,” the woman continued. “The owner is in the woods right now, without a horse and without any helpers. Doing it on his own I guess. I saw him this morning. That’s his truck parked at the end of the lot. Weird guy. Dressed in leather pants, carrying a single rope. He didn’t say anything to me, just stared. My supervisor said his name is Carlos Monterrey. He owns most of the land along the eastern boundary. Honestly, he seemed like a very unpleasant person. He told the rangers his bull killed a man back in Spain and no one should go near it. His family was the only ones who could. We asked the county animal control guys about it, and they said he was probably right. They just laughed when we asked them to go after it.”

Melinda was looking out the window at the golden light on the tree trunks. It was hard to believe anything was different than any other night they had come to visit. They only lived 25 minutes away and even had an annual pass. Visiting the park was part of their regular routine, a commitment to health as they were growing older. “Did he tell you what his plan was then?” she asked.

“Apparently his sons were out of town so he was going to get the bull back through the fence by himself," the woman said. "But he’s been in there for ten hours now. The ranger said he spoke with him around 1:00 this afternoon and the bull was still loose. So they decided to shut down the trails until they could get some more professional help.”

The woman shrugged and rested her hands on the counter. “It’s been a rough day telling people it's the visitor center or nothing. Trinkets and books only take you so far.” Melinda sighed. She looked at Farley and his hands were on his hips. She knew from the look on his face that his legs were restless from sitting in the car. He needed to walk. And he had never been one to care about risk. How he had made it this far as such a profoundly careless person, she didn’t know. It was something she loved about him, but it had worried her nearly every day of their marriage.

“So it’s a hard and fast closure then,” she asked. “Or are people just not interested once they hear about the bull? I’m just curious.”

“Mostly people haven’t been interested,” the woman said. “But I’m sure the ranger wouldn’t be very happy if you tried to go on the trail. There’s laws about it too.”

“But the ranger’s not here anymore right?” Farley said after a moment. They both looked at him now.

“No, actually he’s gone for the day. Usually leaves at 4:00,” the woman said. “Look, you can do what you want, but I’m telling you it wouldn’t be a good idea to go into the woods right now or talk with that strange man for that matter. I have to leave here in about twenty minutes and lock up the building. But the main gate stays open all night. It’ll be dark in about an hour. You passed the campground on the way in. There’s only a couple reservations and they’ve all been told to stay in their sites. Whatever you do, you’re on your own.”

They were almost back to the car when Farley paused. He was looking at Melinda as she rifled through her purse. “Where are the keys?” she muttered and there were wrinkles on her forehead. “Do you have them?”

“No, I don’t. You had them in your purse,” Farley said. She continued for a moment, then stopped and looked back. A car had already emerged from behind the visitor center and had quickly driven away. There were only two cars now, the other being Monterrey's pickup.

“I can’t believe this,” Melinda said. “I must’ve left them on the counter. She was probably in the car that just left.”

“Of course,” Farley said. “Maybe there’s someone else we can call.”

“My phone is in the car,” Melinda said. “Right there on the clip.” The breeze came again, filtering through the pines. The sun was low now, only an orange diamond through the shadows. Farley leaned against the bumper, shook his head and looked out. “We could ask one of the campers for a phone,” he said. “But we could also go for a walk first. My legs are tight. The forest looks amazing right now. It’s the golden hour.”

“I can’t believe you,” Melinda said. “Didn’t you hear anything? You wanna mess with a bull and the weirdo in the dark?”

“You know this has been an issue between you and me for years,” Farley said. “You always assume that if something bad is gonna happen, it will happen to us, when it’s actually a matter of probability. It’s just math at the end of the day. The likelihood of encountering the bull or the guy who owns it is incredibly small. And, even if we did see either of them, the likelihood they would care is smaller still. Bulls don’t just run around looking for someone to kill. I’ve lived 68 years on this planet. The yahoos who get gored in San Fermin are the ones who taunt too much and get themselves trapped in narrow corners or alleys. At that point it becomes mathematical again, and probable.”

“We’re literally standing outside our car, with no way to get in, and you’re lecturing me about probability?” she said. “I’m just not sure it’s worth risking. What do we have to prove anyway? We drive a Subaru and we live in the suburbs. We only dip our toes in the wilderness long enough to take walks on the weekend.” She set her hat on the hood of the car. She shuffled in her running shoes and adjusted the waistline of her pants that had been twisted while she was searching the purse.

“I think we should go talk to the people in the campground,” Farley said. “But I want to walk for a few minutes down the trail first, just while there’s some light left,” Farley said. “You can wait here if you want. I won’t go far.” She knew he wouldn’t be swayed at this point. He was the kind of man who rarely changed his mind about anything, for which she had been mostly grateful. It comforted her whenever he set his mind to things, even when it seemed ill-advised. “I’ll come with you,” she insisted. “We have to stay together.”

They started down the trail. A grayish light hovered above the brushy limbs of the pines. The ground was soft, almost spongy, from the pine needles beneath their feet. They had gone about half a mile when they heard the chattering of a squirrel in a nearby tree. Then there was silence. They listened. They began walking again. Farley was ahead as the trail had narrowed and the brush had thickened. They stopped again. It was getting darker in the undergrowth.

Then came the rolling sound of the bull as it bellowed from the river bottom. The call echoed off a far side cliff and came back toward them, passing through their chests like x-rays, and making it hard to perceive proximity. “Ok, that’s it,” Melinda whispered. “Come on, let’s go.”

“That echo, though,” Farley whispered. “That sound.”

Then the bellowing came again.

It went longer this time, like a bovine sermon. The bull was telling the whole country there was nothing bigger and badder.

“Come on Farley,” she whispered fiercely. “We’re done. He’s obviously looking for a fight.” Farley smiled and put his hand on a nearby tree trunk. His mouth was open and he was looking far off.

“It’s the best feeling in the world–those hairs on the back of your neck standing,” Farley said. “Have to admit I’ve always been addicted.”

A few stars were beginning to sparkle through the blue light. They started back up the trail and had gone about two hundred yards when they heard footsteps coming at an angle toward them. They could see someone walking perpendicular to the trail, coming out of the scrub. It was a man dressed in leather, and they were already too close to avoid him.

“Evening,” Farley said, and the stranger stopped. They were about thirty feet apart, and they could just make out the man’s face in the light. Melinda moved behind Farley a little. She had her hand on the can of pepper spray in her purse.

“They closed this trail,” Monterrey finally said in a low voice. “Didn’t you hear that?”

“Yes, we did,” Farley said. “We hadn’t planned to go any farther than this. Do you work for the park?”

“No,” he said. “I’m looking for a murderer.” He looked away from them. “He belongs to me. He’s dressed in black and weighs 1,996 pounds. He wears two swords on his head and runs 20 miles per hour. Have you seen him?”

“No, but we just heard him,” Melinda said.

“You may hear him but you’ll never know exactly where he is,” Monterrey said. “It’s dark now, and I’ve been out here all day. I’m going back for now. If you choose to stay out here, you might cross paths with him. Cattle like the open ground at night, so he’s probably coming.”

“No, we’ll be right behind you,” Melinda said, looking at Farley insistently. “Do you happen to have a phone when we get to our car? We locked our keys inside and needed to call someone.”

“I have some tools,” Monterrey said.

They began to walk together toward the parking lot. They did not talk until they reached the cars. Monterrey went to his truck and retrieved a long wire and a plastic wedge. He made a gap in the car door with the wedge and put the wire down to pop the door handle without difficulty. Melinda got her phone and called her son in town.

“Thanks for the help and the warning too. Good luck finding your bull,” Farley said to Monterrey. “It sounds like a good thing the park decided to close.”

“They will do what they do, and I will do what I do, and the bull will do what he does,” Monterrey said. “But for sure these woods are wilder tonight because of it.”

“Yes,” Farley said, smiling and looking back to the trail. "They do seem wilder. Dangerous even. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything like it."