Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Carrigan smiled a smile almost as wide as a wolf’s mouth, tongue lolling out of habit. You don’t have to like me, Paul.I am the leader. You just have to submit to my commands.
He punched him on the shoulder. “Get up. It’s a long way back to my car.”
Paul winced at the hard hit, then sighed and stood with reluctance. Putting his hands on his hips, he arched his back and rolled his head from right side to left and back again, working out the kinks there and in his neck. He hurried to catch up with Carrigan, who was already many long strides ahead of him. 2
Blaze Canis, shotgun unloaded and broken over his right arm, walked with the relaxed ease of someone used to a hunter’s stealth and patience. He was early for his job at Markell’s Shooting Range. It was located in West Yellowstone, not far from Montana’s west entrance to the popular national park. Many washings had faded his Wranglers, and his black Roper boots had lost their shine. He wore his blue denim shirt tucked in with the sleeves rolled to mid forearm. The bandanna tied around his neck was black. His shirt was snug over biceps, shoulders, and forearms.
Montana had few gun restrictions, but you did need a permit to carry them concealed on your person. In Yellowstone National Park, you needed a permit to carry them open or hidden. Blaze’s handguns were prominently displayed, holstered from his belt in back and on one hip.
“‘Mornin’, Blaze.” Tony Smith, the range’s owner, greeted him. “Helluva gorgeous day, isn’t it? You have ten signed up for your class. More’n we’ve had in an age. Word gets around that you’re good, you know.”
His thoughts on his class, Blaze nodded to acknowledge the welcome and the compliment, but out of habit didn’t stop to chat. If you had secrets to keep—and he had many—it was best if people didn’t know too much about you or get too close.
Pleasure threaded through him as he anticipated teaching others about something he loved. When he entered the range complex’s classroom, he opened the windows as wide as they would go and spread out a large plastic bag on a table in front of the class, covering it with several sheets of newspaper. It was his exhibit table. He laid down the shotgun, the semiautomatic pistol from his hip holster, and the revolver from his back belt there before fanning out the contents of a gun cleaning kit. To these he added safety glasses, brass cleaning brushes, and a pair of blue nitrile gloves to protect his skin from the cleaning solvent. Blaze completed his preparation by stacking boxes of new kits next to them.
Next, he put plastic bags on the tables for the class members and covered them with pages of newspapers. He was ready when the first student walked through the door.
As the students entered, he greeted each one at the door and ticked his name off a list. The nine men and a teen of eighteen chose seats behind the long tables and placed their guns and the other items they’d been instructed to bring on top of the layers of newspaper. Blaze closed the door and easily slid his right hip onto a stool behind the exhibit table, placing that foot on one of the rungs and the left foot on the floor. He leaned in a bit toward his students.
“My name is Blaze Canis. I was born in the Lamar Valley and have hunted in Yellowstone since I was eight. That’s when my dad first taught me how to handle a gun and hit targets. Since then, I’ve been shooting both professionally and for sport.”
The new-adult teen looked bored, and Blaze wondered why he’d come. At least he’d brought a revolver. He hoped the kid would become engaged in what he had to offer, because it was time he learned how to use and care for his weapon. It was obvious the older men were eager to learn about their firearms.
Blaze had them introduce themselves by first names before he continued. The eighteen-year-old was Skeeter.
The first topic was a discussion of different types of handguns. Each person told what kind he had and why he’d selected it, then Blaze took over from there.
“Before we begin, let me point out that the bison in the park are not buffalo. The only buffalo in the world are the water buffalo in Asia and the African, or Cape, buffalo. So why do Americans, including Native Americans, refer to them as buffalo? Early Europeans valued our bison hides, and we think the common usage of the wrong term dates back to the times when “buffe” or “buffle” referred to any animal that provided a good hide for buff leather. Today it’s defined as meaning buffalo.”
He pointed to a large, framed lithograph hanging on the wall behind him. It depicted men charging on horseback as they fired into a herd of bison. It was titled The Slaughter.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone