by J. Reichman
They staggered, regained their footing, and positioned Brett’s body on the sleeping bag. They zipped it closed.
“Now a rope,” Nick said. We’ll tie it to the horse’s girdle and wrap it around Brett.”
They secured the rope around Brett’s body first then positioned the horse and tied the rope to the horse’s girdle.
“You lead the horse,” Nick said. “Slowly.”
The packhorse stumbled up the steep incline, leaping with its back legs to propel itself forward. Halfway up, Nick fell and slid down in the mud bruising his hip on a rock. “Damn it.” He staggered to his feet and attacked the slope again. They finally reached the relative safety of the level trail.
“I’m over here.”
“Chuck.” Nick rubbed his bruised hip. “I forgot about him.”
“We need to get him and the horses over the mudslide,” Jeff said.
The slide had settled and spread on the trail making a gooey, rock-filled mess chest high at its peak over which Nick saw the two horses but not Chuck. He and Jeff tramped over the heap, the mud pulling at their boots. Chuck sat on the trail, his head in his hands.
"Chuck?" Nick squatted beside him. "You okay?"
Chuck looked up. "A couple more feet, it would've been me."
"What happened to you?"
"The horse reared. That's all I remember."
"Let me check you," Nick said. "Look at me. Okay. Now follow my finger with your eyes." Nick patted Chuck's shoulder. "You seem okay. Can you stand?"
Chuck held up a hand and Nick pulled him to his feet.
"I was here all by myself," Chuck said.
"Let's get these horses over." Jeff took Lightning Bug’s reins.
“Hold on now,” Chuck said. “Brett’s dead. Right?”
Jeff turned back to Chuck. “So?”
“We can’t go on,” Chuck said. “He’s the one who knew everything. Where to camp. Where to meet Wade. We’ve got to go back.”
“We can’t go back,” Nick said. “We’ve got to save Wade.”
“It’s impossible,” Chuck said.
“You want to go back?” Jeff said. “Then go on. It’ll be dark soon.”
“Let’s get these horses over the fall and find that camping site.” Nick checked Vanilla, patted the horse's cheek and pulled the reins over the horse's head. "Come on." The horse followed obediently.
Chuck slogged through the mud bringing up the rear and met them on the trail with one boot in his hand. "Mud sucked off my boot." He looked down at his muddy sock.
"Take your sock off," Jeff said. "You can go without it."
Chuck leaned against his horse, balanced on one foot, pulled off the sock and threw it to the side. He wiped his muddy hand on his jeans and stuck his bare foot into the boot.
“The three of us should be able to get Brett across Lightning Bug’s saddle,” Jeff said.
“Jeff and I’ll lift from this side,” Nick said. “Chuck, you pull from the other.”
The sleeping bag finally rested across the saddle. Walking slowly, Jeff led Lightning Bug carrying Brett's body. The two packhorses followed. Nick passed Chuck, who was still fumbling with his boot, and limped along with Vanilla behind. He looked back to see Chuck mount his horse. The sound of the horses' plodding steps, the murmur of the stream and the rustling aspens accompanied the solemn procession. Nick tried to get events straight in his head, but it was all a blur, a tangle.
Chuck’s right, Nick thought. We don’t know where to camp or where the ridge is. I can’t shoot worth a darn. Chuck can’t do it either. Jeff’s just a kid. We can’t ask him to shoot a man even if the man’s a killer. We need Brett. God! What a mess.
Within an hour, they reached a level area along the stream. Without a word, Jeff unpacked the horses. Nick took the saddle and bridle from Vanilla who walked to the stream to drink. The mud on the horse's legs floated away with the current. Nick, whose feet were already wet, waded into the water to clean his boots.
Chuck still sat on his horse. "We're camping here?"
“Looks like a good spot,” Jeff said.
Chuck slowly dismounted, retrieved his duffel, and pulled off his boots. He took the saddle and bridle from his patiently waiting horse. It trotted off to join its companions. Soon the tent was up.
Jeff tapped Nick's shoulder. "Brett. We'll put him in the tent."
Nick nodded. "I'll push him over the saddle to you."
Jeff pulled on Brett's hips while Nick shoved against the shoulders.
"Hold on. I'll be right there." Nick hurried to join Jeff on the other side of the horse and the two men lifted Brett down.
"What are you doing?" Chuck said.
Jeff nodded to Nick and they carried Brett’s body into the tent, gently positioning it near the center.
Chuck stood in the tent's opening. "We can't sleep with—"
Jeff stood. "This is Brett."
"But he's—"
“Just shut up.” Jeff brushed past Chuck. He stalked away, unsaddled Lightning Bug and turned the horse loose.
Nick limped off and joined Jeff who sorted through a duffel. "I’ll get firewood."
Jeff looked up. "Won't be much dry. Look for wood in the sun. I'm going fishing." He pulled a fly rod from the duffel and emptied it. "Here. Fill this."
Nick shouldered the duffel and hobbled through the aspens along the stream's bank, collecting what dry wood he found. He sat on a log alongside the bank for a long time until he realized his thoughts pushed him further into a black mood. He wished to talk to Lyn who always seemed to know what to say. He filled the duffel and returned to the camp where the fire pit was ready and three trout lay on the grass.
When the food was ready, the three men ate in silence while darkness fell. Nick and Jeff washed up and prepared the camp for the night. The fire burned low, casting shadows against the tent.
"Nick, you and I’ll leave before daybreak in the morning," Jeff said.
“Are you sure you can do this?” Nick said.
Jeff shrugged. “Looks like I have to. Brett’s rifle has a good scope.” He poked at the fire. “Never shot a man.”
“I think Brett planned to injure him. Disable him, you know.” Nick zipped up the equipment duffel. “That’s why he wanted me along.”
“We’d better get an early start,” Jeff said. “Don’t exactly know where we’re going.”
“Brett said Wade always gets an early start,” Nick said. “Ought to be in the valley between nine and ten.”
"I'll go with you," Chuck said.
"No." Jeff glared at Chuck. "Someone must stay here. I don't know what'll happen. I think Wade planned to give Brett a clear shot. I don't want any distractions." He stood. “We need to be fresh in the morning. I’m turning in. I suggest you do the same.”
Jeff and Nick bedded down on each side of Brett. Chuck squeezed in between Nick and the side of the tent. Nick found sleep elusive. Brett. Only days ago, we had coffee at Striker’s. Seems like last year. He and Wade planned to go hunting. Invited Jeff along. He’s been such a rock through all of this. Generous with his cabins. Rode out with Wade to find Andy. Went with me to check Brook’s house. Now he’s gone. Unbelievable. Shannon. My God! They were finally enjoying their relationship. She’ll be devastated. The whole town will be. How can we rescue Wade without Brett? Jeff’s just a kid. He’s a hunter though. A good shot. Will we find the right spot? I’d better get some sleep. Lyn. How I’d love to talk to her, hold her. Thinking of Lyn, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.
THIRTY
"Another uniform is asking for you," Herb told Lyn Wednesday morning.
Good, Lyn thought. Maybe this guy will go after the killer. "The sheriff?"
"No. This guy's different. Not local or state." Herb removed his cap. "Federal."
"Oh, my God." Lyn stared at him. "What now?" I’ve already told Snead everything I know.
"I told him I'd drop by the Lodge and tell you. He's waiting for you at the school." Herb fingered his cap.
"I'm off to feed the animals."
"But, Herb, I didn't hear a helicopter."
"This is a little one." Herb fidgeted as though anxious to be on his way. "Landed in back."
"Okay. I'll drive up."
Lyn hurried up the stairs at the Lodge to her room. With the retirees gone, those occupying Brett's cabins moved into more comfortable quarters and the Lodge was full again. Lyn grabbed her jacket and keys. That Snead. Interrogated me for hours. Made me repeat every minute detail until I got tired of it. I turned over my cell phone with its gruesome pictures and Nick's cell, showing the killer's return to spend the night. I can’t spend another day repeating how we found Brook's body.
Driving through a sunny morning from the Lodge to the school, Lyn absorbed the emptiness of North Fork Glen. Only the Lodge and the school showed signs of life. Houses sat empty and forlorn; an air of abandonment hung over what once was a bustling village. At the school, she parked near the curb. The parking lot sat empty awaiting the helicopter that would spirit away the school children. Cooper had collected clothing and bags for the kids to take with them. At breakfast, the children were wild with excitement, but the absence of so many residents left Lyn feeling hollow. She wished Nick home. As she entered, the school echoed with the sound of excited children's voices. Cooper waved to her and dashed down the hallway to meet her. Realizing she faced responsibilities, she cleared her mind.
"The kindergarten and first grade goes first with Cassie and Jenny," Cooper said. "I'm staying and so is Chrissy. We need some adults to go with the second and third grade."
"Let's see. How about Red and Cheyenne? They volunteered Saturday."
"I'll have Stella watch my class while I track them down."
"They’re at the Red Rooster. I'm supposed to meet a man here. Any idea where he is?"
"Oh, he's been entertaining the first graders. I'll get him."
A short, rotund man with a round face emerged a short time later, shook Cooper's hand and waved goodbye to the children. His upturned mouth gave him a cheerful, disarming appearance. The blue uniform, crisp and tailored, had no insignia, and he wore no sidearm.
"Lyn Woodburn?"
"Yes and you are?"
"Garrett Holmes, U. S. Marshal." He flipped open an identification.
"Has a federal crime been committed?"
"Let's not talk here." He took her elbow. "I understand the principal's office is open. I believe you know the way."
"So I'm being taken to the principal's office again."
Holmes chuckled as they walked down the hallway. "No, you're taking me there." He sighed. "I do love dealing with first graders. Got one myself. They are so open and curious."
Lyn opened the door. Holmes looked around and moved two chairs to face each other across a low table. "I asked Prissy to bring us some coffee when you got here. Hope that's okay."
"Better than okay."
"Oh, here's the lady now."
"Brought some cookies, too." Prissy sat a tray with two coffees and a plate of cookies onto the table.
"You’re a love." The marshal selected a cookie. "No wonder they have you in charge. You’re a mind reader."
Prissy blushed and tittered. "If you need anything else, let me know."
Holmes stood and escorted Prissy to the door. "You’re too kind. Thank you very much, dear." He shut the door.
Lyn laughed. "That was amazing. She bristles when I make a request."
The marshal sat and bit into a cookie. "I'm fairly good at reading people. You, for example, seem straight forward, honest and very observant. Logical, too. Taking pictures of the crime scene was very helpful."
"You've seen them?"
The marshal nodded. "You'll be glad to know the facial disfigurement was done post-mortem."
"Oh." Lyn placed her coffee cup onto the table. "They've already performed an autopsy?"
"No. It’s an observation the crime scene techs made."
"But why are you here? This isn't a federal matter."
"Brook Strong was one of ours."
"She worked for an insurance agent." Lyn looked at the marshal with dawning comprehension. "Oh, she was in witness protection."
"That's right." Holmes selected another cookie.
"She's lived here for a long time."
"We placed her almost seven years ago after she testified. We think we know who the killer is."
"Who?"
The marshal shook his head. "We operate on a limited need-to-know basis. You already know he's vicious and sadistic. He was released from prison a month ago. We need to catch him. That's why they sent me. I listened to your interview and know he's taken Mr. Murphy hostage. A group including your husband has gone after them. I need to know where they are."
"Nora. You need to talk to her. I'll drive you up."
The sun, rising in a clear sky that morning, promised another splendid day, a day for good hunting, though Wade wondered if a clear shot would be necessary. Carl mumbled about someone called Dee all through breakfast and hardly ate a bite. He never mentioned the gun and wandered around the campsite in a stupor, but by the time Wade broke camp and saddled the horses, Carl rallied.
"We get there today?" Carl mounted his horse.
Wade nodded.
"How long?" Carl rode beside Wade.
"We'll reach Rosburg Valley in a couple of hours. From there, maybe another three."
"Out of here!" Carl raised his arms in a cheer. He looked around at the mountains. "Long way from Cincinnati."
Wade didn't ask the question.
"Why do you live here?" Carl said.
"Love the mountains. The quiet."
"You don't talk much, do you?"
"Don't have much to say."
"You took my gun."
"Yes."
Carl pulled his horse next to Wade. "Why aren't you taking me back, then?"
"Too much trouble." Wade turned to look at him. "Two days tryin' to keep the drop on you. Easier to ride for five hours and git rid of you."
Carl grunted. "You thought I'd kill you."
"Crossed my mind. Can't now." Wade kicked his horse into a trot, leaving Carl behind. All I gotta do is meet Brett, Wade realized. Carl’s no problem. Get him back to the Glen. Turn him over to the law.
The terrain rolled under the horses' hooves. The foothills of Jones Peak, with their small aspen-fringed streams and pine-covered inclines, rose and fell gently. Wade rarely bothered to look over his shoulder at Carl, once missing the hoof beats of Carl's horse and discovering the horse had paused to eat grass. Carl seemed to be asleep in the saddle, the reins resting on Tipsy's neck. Wade whistled. Tipsy pricked up her ears and slowly walked to him. Wade took the reins and led the horse.
"Deserved," Carl mumbled.
Wade strained to hear what Carl said but caught only a word or two occasionally.
"Take him away . . . accident . . . damned whore . . . Papa."
As they topped a rise, a herd of grazing antelope scattered and Wade thought of the coming hunting season. Brett made a good hunting companion. They'd hunted together long enough to anticipate each other's moves. Brett's bank account was healthy enough to weather two or three bad years. If Shannon leaves, Brett might follow. I suspect the relationship’s strong enough to survive a separation but is it strong enough to pull Brett away? And that kid at Striker's, Jeff Hayes, said he'd go hunting with us. Nice kid. A bit girl crazy. Wade chuckled. Nothing wrong with that. Jeff will fly out with the rest of the village, get a job, find a wife, and never return to North Fork Glen. Maybe Nora will hunt with me this year as she used to but the horses require her daily attention.
From the tree line, the antelope watched the men and horses pass through the small meadow, cross a shallow stream and travel up another rise. Carl continued to mutter and sway in the saddle, his eyes open but unseeing. Warm on their backs, the sun threw their shadows before them and a slight breeze came from their left. Wade worked the horses down through a stand of pines, the ground carp
eted with needles silencing the sound of hoof beats. He paused at a stream running over rocks and let the horses drink.
Carl leaned left and slowly toppled to the ground, landing on his back with his left foot caught in the stirrup. Tipsy sidestepped into Roman, pulling Carl with her and trapping Wade's leg between the two horses. His first impulse, crossing the stream, might draw Tipsy with him dragging Carl through the water. Wade wiggled his leg loose, slid to the ground on the wrong side of Roman and waded through the stream in front of Tipsy. Carl's eyes were closed. Wade worked Carl's foot from the stirrup and moved Tipsy back. He felt the killer's forehead. The man burned with fever.
Wade guessed the killer weighed a good thirty pounds more than he did, and though he was strong for a thin man his age, he doubted he could lift Carl into the saddle. He had nothing to make a travois to pull behind a horse. He took the canteen from Tipsy's saddle and splashed Carl's face.
"Died on me," Carl mumbled.
Wade splashed him again.
Carl's eyes opened. "What?"
"You fell asleep," Wade said. "I think you don't feel well."
Carl shook his head as though to clear it. "Altitude."
"Let's get you back on your horse." Wade held out his hand.
Carl sat up, took hold of Wade's hand and pulled himself to his feet. He leaned heavily against Tipsy and tried to put his foot into the stirrup. Finally, Wade helped him and shoved against his rump to get him onto the horse. A sudden puff of wind hit them from the north. His bum knee predicted a change in the weather. He mounted Roman. Rosburg over the next rise.
THIRTY-ONE
Jeff lay on his stomach five feet to Nick’s left. He trained Brett’s rifle on the east edge of the meadow. “See anything?”
Nick lowered his binoculars. “You asked that two seconds ago.”
“I hope we’re in the right place.”
“This is the only ridge overlooking the valley.” Nick raised his binoculars again. “I’ll watch. You relax.”
Jeff turned over and gazed at the sky. Waiting was getting on his nerves. Wade expects Brett to be here. He’ll signal somehow. Brett never said how he’d do that. He’s got to give me a clear shot. Hurry up. I want this to be over. He closed his eyes. I’ve got to be steady. Like focusing on that big buck down there. A six-pointer. He’d make quite a trophy. Won’t be hunting this year, I guess.