Where We Used to Roam by Jenn Bishop (best novels to read in english .TXT) 📗

I remember what I read. Human contact can make buffalo moms reject their babies. I can’t touch it. Can’t get too close. I don’t want to ruin its chance of getting accepted back into the herd.

I circle around, maintaining a safe distance while trying to see if it’s hurt. The buffalo is holding its back leg kind of funny, but I can’t tell if that’s just how it’s standing or if it’s injured.

“Are you hurt?”

The buffalo cocks its head to the side. I’ve almost finished circling when it takes a step forward and I see his you know. Okay, he’s definitely a boy.

A small boy. Seventy or eighty pounds? Maybe a little more? I don’t know how buffalo carry their weight, but he’s smaller than me, that much I can tell for sure. His fur looks soft. I can see how the wrong person might try to pet him, treat him like some kind of oversized stuffed animal.

“Hey,” I say, still keeping a safe distance. I don’t think he’s going to charge me, especially if it turns out he’s injured.

His big brown eyes look almost sad as he stares back at me. Can a buffalo feel sadness?

“Did you get separated from your mom and dad?”

No answer, of course.

“My mom and dad are far away, but yours are close by, I bet. I’ll help you find them.” How, Emma?

His nostrils flare as he takes in a breath, but his tail still hangs limp. He’s not afraid of me.

Behind me, the inn’s lobby is all lit up. I could go inside and have that guy at the front desk call the rangers. But what if the buffalo leaves in the meantime? What if this little guy’s really lost and he wanders off? What if he wanders into a geyser?

I pull out my phone, thankful for the internet even if it is just LTE, and search for the number for the front desk. Will anyone even answer the phone in the middle of the night?

“Old Faithful Inn—”

“Hello?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry—I’m staying at the inn. I’m outside in the parking lot and there’s a baby buffalo. I think he’s hurt. Can you radio one of the rangers? I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“You say you’re right outside?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me put you on hold.”

“He’s going to help,” I tell the buffalo. “I think. Well, I hope.”

The automatic door slides open and the man from the front desk walks toward me. “Let’s see what’s up with this dude.” He approaches the buffalo.

“Don’t get too close,” I warn him. “I think he might be hurt. And he’s separated from his parents.”

“Happens every now and then,” he says, “especially in the more populated areas of the park. Let me radio the ranger station and see if they can send someone over.” He removes the walkie-talkie from his hip, speaks some code into it, and waits for a response. “Pretty late to be outside.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re not… going anywhere?” He gestures to my backpack.

“You mean, like, running away?” I laugh. “No. All I’ve got in here is my sketchbook.”

“So you’re an artist, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say.

Static and then another voice blares from the walkie-talkie. He gives her our location. “Look, I’ve got to head back inside to cover the desk. You never know when someone in Singapore might want to make a reservation. A ranger should be over shortly.” He reattaches his walkie-talkie. “You should probably be heading back to your room, given the hour and all. Wouldn’t want your folks to think you’d gone missing.”

I pat my pocket. “I have my phone. Plus, they’re asleep. Can I just stay with him till the ranger gets here?”

He hesitates. “Well, I guess…”

“I’ll let you know when I go back upstairs. So you’ll know I didn’t get kidnapped or gored to death.” I smile.

“Deal.” He offers up a fist bump, and we crash knuckles. He walks back over to the inn, and then it’s just me and the buffalo again.

He lifts up his nose a bit. Is he signaling something? I whip around fast, afraid his thousand-pound mom or dad might be behind me, lurking in the dark. But there’s nothing there. Just a vast emptiness that goes on forever.

“Sorry,” I say, my heartbeat slowing back down. “I’m not afraid of you. Promise.”

We stand there in silence, each eyeing the other for several minutes until a ranger truck pulls in. A woman—her name tag says SUSAN—steps out.

“That was quick,” I say.

“I was in the neighborhood. Now, let’s take a look at this fella.” She crouches down to examine the buffalo’s back leg. “Poor kid got hit by something.”

“A car?” A lump swells in my throat.

“Oh, he’ll be all right. Not to worry. I’ll radio one of our vets.” As she pulls out her walkie-talkie, I lock eyes with the buffalo once more. Our time together is almost over.

Susan clips the walkie-talkie back to her waist. “You did the right thing, letting us know. Had this family last week, they treated the animals like they were the family dog. This fella might be small, but he’s far from domesticated.”

“They’re beautiful,” I say.

“They are something else, aren’t they?”

“You have the best job. Living out here, seeing buffalo every day like this.”

“Eh, you obviously haven’t been here through the winter.”

“True.” But I’ve seen postcards of herds roaming across the snow-covered plains, geysers spraying into the harsh, cold air. It must be even more beautiful then, if a little lonely.

“Think we’ll be forever making amends after what we did to them. Buffalo used to roam these plains by the million. How times have changed. Well, I’ve got things covered from here. Appreciate your help—sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Emma. Emma O’Malley.”

She reaches out a hand. Her grip is firm, the skin tough and leathery. “Nice to meet you, Emma O’Malley. Sue Clarendon.”

“He’ll be okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Sue says. “He’s a resilient one. I can see it in his eyes. Can’t you?”

“Yeah,” I reply. I wish I could take his picture, to remember him—remember this moment—forever. But it’s too dark,