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The rest of our work on the golf course passed without - well, nearly without incident. Hayate did try once more to harass us, but Craig sent him packing with a quick wave of his phone, reminding him of the "evidence" that he had saved. In fact, he made himself scarce in general after that. It made me wish that I had gotten the clever fox in my life much, much sooner. He might have made high school more bearable, as I was usually too angry to think up clever ways to defeat Hayate's pranks, taunting, and general asshattery.

Once the contract was up, we were on to the end of the summer. With Craig's help, I had made a connection with all of my clients and narrowed the list down to a few special ones who would contract me outside the golf course schedule, and a few special, one-time jobs that I would deal with in my free time. I was never against extra cash, and since I worked outside and did work that I enjoyed, I really didn't feel that I would be "missing out" on my summer by working longer hours sometimes. Nezumi-sama looked over my proposal and approved my plans, even proposing occasional extra time off to work on special client projects, and he also offered to make the golf course equipment available for some of my projects, after hours, when they weren't in use on the course.

All that left was to pack up the Jimmy, and head to Zion, which is exactly what we did.

Craig had never been to Zion, except our brief visit on the way back from ID-ing the Danes, so Stu graciously surrendered "shotgun" to him, allowing my foxy boyfriend the best view as we entered the park. It was a clear, cloudless day, like all summer days in southern Utah, and the buttes and mesas were really in full glory. Stu and I took turns pointing out various features and telling stories that we had gathered over the years of different places. I took my time driving in, as always, and we frequently stopped for fresh pictures. Perhaps the highlight of the drive was when a pair of bald eagles were dancing in the thermals over the Twin Brothers Mountain. No one else on the road seemed to even notice until we had stopped and were pointing and taking pictures. Within moments, though, the pull-out and both sides of the road were clogged with amateur cameramen. We didn't mind, especially since the eagles were up in the air, and the tourists couldn't really block the way, but soon we had tired of the crowd and it was time to move on.

In a short time, we had passed the Zion Lodge, which weeded out most of the tourists as we continued up the canyon towards the Mountain of Mystery. It was mid-afternoon by time we reached the parking at the Temple of Sinawava, and the late August heat had chased most of the tourists out. I checked in at the ranger station to assure that my special overnight parking permit was still in order, then we began the hike up the Riverside Walk toward our destination. The heat and climb were hard on Craig, mostly but not completely healed from his injuries, and we took our time. Making sure no one was nearby when we turned off the path at Orderville Canyon, Stu and I began to teach Craig how to walk through desert lands without destroying the local flora, some of which took centuries to grow, and also to avoid stepping on any cacti or unsuspecting but sharp fauna that might be hiding from the day's heat under a scrub or in the shade of a rock. Our lessons proved adequate as we made our way up the gulch and into the hanging valley of the Mountain of Mystery, where our unique permit said we could camp.

"How, exactly, did you get this kind of permit?" Craig still didn't believe that we could access what was essentially back country in a national park. The few he had ever visited were the sort where straying from the trail was strictly forbidden to protect the environment from tourist damage, such as in Yosemite Valley, or to protect the visitors from boiling to death, like in Yellowstone.

"One of the leaders of our scout troop is a lead ranger," I explained as I set up our tent. "Stu's eagle project was here in the park - you'll see the work tomorrow on our day hikes. But Mr. Hayson was so impressed with Stu's strict conservation protection policies while the troop was working on the project, that he told him he could get a special back country permit each year for our adventures."

"And Toby was in charge of enforcing my protection plan while everyone worked, so Mr. Hayson issues him one, to," added Stu.

"Do I need one, then? Should I have worked on your project?" Craig looked a little nervous.

"Naw," I teased. "The permits allow for one visitor and one spouse. Foxes look feminine enough, so if we get questioned, I'll just tell them you're my wife."

"Oh, is that how it works, eh?" Craig pounced on me as I was tapping the last stake into the sub-strata of the valley floor. I landed on my back with an "oof," and the fox lay on top of me. "I'm your little wifey, eh?"

Stu erupted in laughter that echoed off the valley walls.

"Yep. Rescued by me, of course. I had to bring you home with me to protect you from the big, mean doggies."

"Why, you sexist jerk! I oughta..." Craig finished his exclamation by playfully clamping his jaws on my neck. At this point, we decayed into wrestling for a few minutes, before Stu interrupted as we had rolled into the side of the tent..

"Ok, you two, break it up. I'm not going to re-set or repair the tent when you wrestle right through it." He pulled us apart as we were both, and soon all three of us, laughing like crazy.

"Alright, enough. I surrender," I panted, pulling the cooking gear from my pack. "Let's get dinner going, enjoy the sunset, and get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be very full of hiking."

"Good plan. But if you're cooking, that makes you the little wife," Craig shot. Stu laughed loud enough that neither of them heard my sharp reply, but I didn't repeat it since I was hungry enough that cooking took priority, anyway.

* * *

The golden sunrise in the morning was every bit as spectacular as the crimson sunset of our first night in Zion. Craig and I had actually slept, as we were both quite tired, but we were half out of our sleeping bags and curled up in each other's arms all night. We crawled out from the tent to watch the sunrise in silence as Stu heated water for hot drinks and oatmeal, the only appropriate, zero-impact, breakfast after a cold desert night. As Stu put away the cook gear and hung it in a tree, Craig and I sat arm-in-arm on the edge of the cliff, alternating between kissing and staring at the golden regoliths opposite our still-shaded hanging valley.

"Well, then. What shall we do, first? Stu asked."

I looked at Craig. "We usually pick a peak to climb in the morning, while it's a little cooler. Then we troll around the deep canyons in the afternoon, so we can hide from the sun and heat."

"Sounds pretty reasonable," Craig assented.

"In that case," I turned back to Stu, "Let's go up Wynopits. We haven't been up there in a while."

"Sure thing, It's got a great view."

We found our way and climbed the mountain by about ten, and were treated to another great view of the eagles, which had moved north to search for more wild prey.

"Too bad," I mused.

"What," asked Stu and Craig in unison.

"Oh, I was just thinking, wouldn't it be funny if Slick were in Zion this week, and those eagles were big enough to eat him?"

"Ha!" laughed Craig.

Stu pondered. "Nah. He'd probably give them food poisoning."

"Oooh, good point," I grinned. "Can't have that."

As the heat rose, we ate our lunches early then meandered back down the mountain, finding refuge in a deep cleft below the summit, and then perusing Imlay Canyon on our way back downstream. Stu was kind enough to take a few different portraits of Craig and I, and we did our best to behave for his sake, though there were several surreptitious kisses that he pretended not to notice, and plenty of butt patting and waist hugs.

* * *

In the evening, Stu proposed that we go back down to the ranger station at the Lodge for a special program that was being shown this year. We all agreed and, deciding to eat at the lodge, were soon driving back down to the tourism center. I stepped through the door of the ampitheater hall and froze. Right in front of me stood none other than Hayate Nezumi. There was no time to back out - we locked on each other instantly. His father was nowhere to be seen. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in," said Hayate, laughing at his own joke as Craig and Stu bumped into me from behind. "I knew I'd find you sooner or later."

"Well, yeah, since you were clearly looking to ruin our plans," I growled under my breath. My tail lashed against the legs of my companions, and both of them emitted low growls, too. But what he said next made my blood run cold.

"Well, I wasn't sure I would find you. There was an abandoned camp site in a hanging valley on the Mountain of Mystery, and it did reek of you, but it looks like no one's been there for a long time, so I came back down here and reported it to the rangers."

"What did you do, Slick?" Stu demanded. "How did you even find it?"

"Oh, so that was yours, then? And all that equipment looked so wrecked, I figured it must be empty. Oh, that's too bad. I'm sure the rangers will have cleaned it up by now. Too bad!"

I couldn't control myself. Years of frustration and anger boiled up in me, and slipping between the grasping hands of my two friends, who tried too late to stop me, I took one step forward and with a loud roar, swung an upper-cut into Hayate's chin. It connected perfectly and sent him reeling back, falling and hitting his head on the steps of the stage behind him, knocking him out.

"Crap, man!" Craig said, knowing just how bad this could get.

"He deserved it," Stu defended. "Justifiable. Slicky was taunting him. But let's go, before a ranger comes--"

"Stu? Craig? What's going on. I heard a roar." Cringing, I turned around to look at the curious face of Mister Hayson. Of course, the ranger program would be his venture. "Is that Slick?" He hurried past us to check on the mouse, who had begun to stir and groan.

"He... Toby... attacked." Muttered the dazed mouse.

"Provoked him one too many times, didn't you, Hayate?" Mister Hayson didn't like him, either, and he knew his M.O. Reluctantly helping him to his feet, he had him up as Hiroshi-sama entered the room.

"What happen?" Demanded Mister Nezumi.

"Your son has been earning this for a long time, Mister Nezumi," explained the ranger. "I wasn't here for it, so I can't be sure. But I'm guessing that Hayate said one thing too many, and finally got what he deserves." Craig and Stu were nodding rapidly. I just glared at my enemy, my fists still clenched..

"My son? What you mean?" demanded the aged mouse. His corporate partners were behind him now, looking as confused as he was.

"Mister Nezumi, your son has tormented Toby for years. If he chucked him today, it's because he earned it. I didn't even have to be here to know, once I saw who was in here, almost exactly what happened."

Craig spoke up. "He's claimed to have wrecked our campsite, and was mocking Toby."

Stu joined in, "And has been threatening all summer to come up here and ruin our plans, too." Neither one wanted to mention the golf course, knowing that we would loose our ace in the hole for keeping our own secrets.

"Son!" Hiroshi scowled. Hayate cowered. "You dishonor me." Now, the other two mice were scowling, too. "Aporrogize to Toby-san. Now."

Hayate protested. "Me, apologize? He's the one who hit m--"

"No! You would dishonor me more? Aporrogize!"

Hayate staggered up to me and began to mutter a "sorry."

"Not good enough. Do it right. Full aporrogy," his father demanded.

"What?" snorted Hayate. His father answered in Japanese, jabbing his finger at the floor. His companions nodded as well.

I flushed red in embarrassment as Hayate, slowly, reluctantly, dropped to his knees, pressed his palms to the floor, then tapped his head to the floor as well. He did this three times, backing up a step each time, and saying how sorry he was. Lost for a response, I looked to my friends, then to Nezumi-sama. He made a small gesture that I should bow, so I did, stiffly. "Thank you, Hayate. I accept your apology." I looked at Nezumi-sama again, who nodded approval. Then he and his friends also bowed low to me, muttering their own apologies in Japanese.

"Toby-san. You are honorable tiger. We very sorry for this incident. Please, I hope you still work for me next summer. And my son will make up for whatever he must to you."

I don't remember what I said at that point, muttering something about that not being needed, just as long as I didn't have to work alongside Hayate. Then I excused myself and rushed from the room. Craig and Stu, along with Mister Hayson, found me a few minutes later, in the farthest possible restroom, splashing water on my face.

"Well, son. I can't say I approve of your methods, but I don't blame you. I've actually been waiting for ol' Slick to get to you mad enough for a long time," began Mister Hayson. "Hiroshi said there won't be any charges pressed, and I'm not going to raise any, either. However, it probably would be best if you didn't stay for the program, tonight."

"Besides," agreed Stu, "We need to get back to camp while it's still light, to see what damage he's done up there."

"What?" Mister Hayson blinked.

Craig answered. "That rat said that he'd found our campsite, and that it 'looked abandoned,' since the equipment was all in such bad shape. Most of it was brand new, which means he probably trashed most of it."

The ranger shook his head, "No good vermin." I just nodded. I was still too mad to reply. "Well, boys, go get your stuff cleaned up. Are you on the Mountain of Mystery? Well, take a radio, and if you need anything to finish your trip, call in and we'll set you up."

Stu thanked Mister Hayson, and we staggered out. I handed over my keys, and Craig drove back to our parking spot. The sun had set and the stars were out by time we had climbed the mountain. Indeed, Hayate had slashed the tent, but all he had done with most of the rest of the equipment was to throw it around. We were able to reassemble most everything, and pulled out the spare hammocks for sleeping in. Stu radioed back to the ranger station that we would be OK for the night, though we would probably check out and head home in the morning, since much of our food store had been opened, or turned over and spoilt, in the fray, and was now inedible. He turned down an offer for replacement food, teasing the ranger on the other end that government food just didn't compare to what we had packed. We all knew he meant that we could get meals at the lodge, but that would mean risking seeing the Nezumis again, and none of us wanted to see Slick, just now.