Page 84 of His Tenth Dance

Tarr finally answered on the third ring. “Hey, Briar, did you get my message? I need?—”

“Tarr,” she said, cutting him off. “There are coyotes in the Goatel. I need help.”

Tarr said nothing. More animal sounds filled the sky—one horrible scream from a kid that could only mean it had been caught.

Briar didn’t dare look.

She yelled into the phone, “I’m in the enclosure, and there are coyotes here! Help me!”

Then she screamed too, unleashing all of her fear and panic into one horrible, primal sound—and then she ran at the wild canine only a few feet from her.

twenty-seven

“I’m going to get as close as I can,” Tuck said as they raced down the side of the barn, past where they would normally park to get to the goat enclosure. Tarr hadn’t bothered to buckle his seatbelt, and he already had both hands on the door handle as Tuck gained the corner of the barn.

“Let me out here,” he said, and he opened the door while Tuck was still moving. Tuck slammed on the brakes, and that sent Tarr catapulting out of the truck. A hard jolt moved through his ankle, but Tarr didn’t care. He kept running.

“Briar! Where you at?” he yelled as he fumbled with the latch on the front of the Goatel.

Behind him, he heard the slam of a door and the cock of a gun, but he barreled into the enclosure in a much more irrational way. Briar hadn’t said where she was, but a scream rent the air on the other side of the building.

“Briar!” he called, already running again.

So many things streamed through his mind. Snatches of movement. Sounds. But the moment he rounded the front corner of the building, he could see all the way to the back fence.

Briar was currently wrestling with a full-grown coyote. She kicked and scratched and screamed at it again.

Tarr’s heart fell right out of his chest. He was a country boy from the South, but he hadn’t had to deal with wild animals in a while.

“Hey! Hey!” he yelled, clapping as he ran forward.

The back gate stood open, and Tarr watched as another coyote—this one with a limp lamb in its jaws—ran out of the enclosure.

Briar gave the coyote one final kick. It yelped, fell back, and followed its companion.

Tarr skidded on his knees at her side, hands hovering above her, unsure of where to put them.

“Hey, hey, I’m here,” he said. “Briar, look at me. Look at me.”

She panted hard, tears streaming down her face. A smudge of blood marred her chin, but her eyes finally came to his.

“Hey, hey, you’re all right,” he said. “You’re all right.”

“It bit me.” She fell back limply to the ground. “Somewhere on my leg.” Her voice shook, and her eyes closed.

“No,” Tarr said. “Stay awake. Briar, look at me. Talk to me. Tell me all the things, sweetheart.” He spoke in a commanding voice, hoping to keep her awake and with him.

“The baby goats were crying,” she said, the words barely a whisper. “All the other goats were upset, so I came in here, and there was a coyote….”

His eyes scanned down over her chest and torso. She had one hand pressed to her left side, and Tarr carefully placed his fingers over hers.

“Does it hurt right here, sweetheart?”

“It bit me,” she said again, her chest and stomach rising and falling in rapid breaths.

“Tarr,” Tucker called. “The ambulance is four minutes out.”

“We’re back here.” Tarr didn’t dare look away from Briar. “There were two of them,” he said. “Did you see more?”

---