Winslow- The Lost Hunters

by David Francis Curran

  Hanassey had not been to his home the night before. Bedder was already out looking for him, and Goldstone wanted me out there, too.

  “Does Billy have a vehicle?” I asked.

  “Just a second,” Goldstone said, then a moment later, read from his computer screen, “1999 green Ford Explorer, license number…”

  When I hung up, Rylee was petting the rather large cat which had a very loud purr. As I turned back to her, the cat growled.

  “He's very possessive,” Rylee said.

  I just smiled. “I have to go.”

  "Thank you for staying," Rylee said.

  "You may not have told me about the bad guys seeing you. But you did take Yash's keys. They brought what happened on themselves."

  A sad looked crossed her face. I noticed she had a light smattering of freckles around her nose. Lomahongva had freckles around hers.

  Rylee nodded.

  Tenderness

  October 28: 10:03 a.m.

  Billy Wesley woke to someone wiping his face with a wet cloth. Before he was completely awake, before he opened his eyes, he imagined it to be his mother who died when he was five. He could taste vomit in his mouth. Tiny pieces hung behind his teeth. He opened his eyes, and the girl stopped wiping.

  "How do you feel now?" she asked.

  Billy thought for a second. "A little better, but not too great."

  The small fire flickered beside them.

  "Do you have any idea what you were poisoned with, or who poisoned you?"

  What surprised Billy was that she really seemed to care. When he first saw her, saw how pretty she was, he thought she'd be stuck up. But here she was being nice. And she had actually cleaned him up. She wasn't at all what he'd imagined.

  He had anticipated this question.

  "It had to be this hunter I ran into. I was hunting by myself, and this guy with a long fuzzy dark beard appeared ahead of me on the trail carrying a case of water. He was a big guy, over six feet tall and heavy but more muscular than fat." Billy figured he might as well use Nate, who was probably more likely than anyone he knew to kidnap someone. "I asked if he'd seen anything, and he said he got a deer and was looking for help to haul it to his truck. I was a little surprised because I've hauled deer for a few miles by myself, and this guy looked a lot stronger than me. I asked him where he was taking the water. He put the water down and said 'Look' and pointed behind me. I turned, and something hit me. I woke up lying on my back. He was looking down at me.

  "He pulled out this canteen. 'You fainted,' he said. Then goes, "Drink!' He tossed some pills into my mouth and started pouring water in. I had to swallow or choke. I looked around; we were on this snowy path. I'm a mail carrier. I'm no weakling, but I had to wonder if I ran, could I get away from him, and if he'd try to shoot me? I was just about ready to start running when I began feeling dizzy. I woke up here."

  The girl just looked at him for a moment then nodded. “So he tricked you." She looked at his eyes for a moment. "I hope whatever he gave you doesn't do any permanent damage."

  Billy studied her face carefully, looking for any sign she was putting him on and that she did not believe him. But he saw no sign of it.

  “Do you remember much about the accident you mentioned?”

  “No. I was hunting with my Dad. We were on the way home, and a truck came barreling toward us. It was going to hit us, and my dad swerved. I think the truck did hit us, but we were already going off the road, and we crashed. I woke up here.”

  “Did you get a good look at the truck or the driver?”

  Cassie shook her head. “It happened so fast that I didn’t see much of anything.” She didn’t want to cry but couldn’t help herself. “I don’t know what happened to my Dad.”

  “I’m sorry,” Billy said.

  They were both silent for a time. Finally, Cassie turned toward Billy after pulling herself together. "I have no idea how long we're going to be here. Do you have anything useful in your pockets?"

  Billy put his hand in his front right pocket, fished around for a second, then pulled out a penlight. “You mean like this?” he asked.

  “That’s good to have, but I meant something to help us escape!"

  "But we couldn't budge the grate?”

  "Think about it. Why would this guy, and I'm assuming it’s a guy now because of what you said, take our boots and shoes unless he didn't want us to be able to hike out if we got out of this mine?"

  She was smart as well as pretty and nice. If he had to kill her, he'd have to hit her from behind when she wasn't expecting it. The terrible things he'd imagined doing, he knew he couldn't do now. For now, he had to pretend he really was a prisoner, too, and act like it.

  "Maybe the grate is just frozen in place," he said. "Maybe if we built a fire in the entrance we could melt any ice and lift the grate?"

  Her face seemed to light up. She thought a moment and then said, "Let's try it." She was up and gathering sticks before he could even get up.

  More snow had accumulated on the grate. The holes Cassie had widened were still there but had partly closed in. She grabbed the stick she had used before and began clearing snow from the lower side of the grate. Billy, seeing what she was doing, took out his penlight and went back into the mine. Minutes later he emerged with a stick of his own. He came back and began poking the grate on the higher side.

  "Just do this side," Cassie said. “The fire should take care of that side for us. The melting snow should run down the slope away from the fire.”

  Billy joined her at the low end of the grate.

  When they had cleared almost all the snow from the lower half of the grate she stopped. "Let's get more firewood," Cassie said, gesturing to the small pile she had already brought in. "We are going to need more than that."

  About ten minutes later they had a pile of sticks a foot high and two feet wide at the point closest to the wall under the lower end of the grate. As Cassie lit the pile with a burning twig from the fire in the chamber, he thought of them escaping together. His Explorer was parked far enough away that there was no reason for her to be suspicious if they found their way to it together. What would happen after that he didn't want to think about now.

  The flames were licking the bottom of the grate now. Melting snow from the high side of the grate dripped onto the floor, but as the floor sloped down toward the tunnel entrance the water ran away from the fire. Suddenly with a hissing sound, a block of snow slid downward from the back of the grate to the front. As it hit the hot iron at the front globs of slush fell through the grate and onto the fire. Steam mixed with smoke rose as they watched their fire get smothered.

  Billy looked to Cassie to see how she'd react. She stood with a shocked look upon her face.

  "To build a fire," she said.

  "What?" Billy asked.

  "The Jack London story. Guy keeps trying to build a fire to stay alive in the Yukon during the gold rush. He finally gets one going with like his last match. But he built it under a tree limb covered with snow. The snow melts enough to fall off the branches and puts the fire out."

  "What happened to him?" Billy asked.

  "He dies. The thing is I read that story and told myself that would never happen to me."

  "I remember now. We read it in sophomore English. Didn't he shoot a moose and get inside it somehow?"

  "We don't have a moose. But we have more wood and more fire."

  Later, after they'd brought all the wet burnt pieces of wood back into the chamber to dry off, they ate jerky together by the fire.

  Billy wanted to know more about her. "What school do you go to?" he asked.

  She just looked at him a moment then said, "Can we do this some other time?"

  At first, he thought it was him, but then she said, "I really thought that would work."

  And he realized she was just upset that the plan had failed.

  "We should do an inventory of the things you have with you," she said. "You started to look, but didn't finish."


  He nodded. He took out his penlight and a mesh game bag from his front pockets and placed them between him and the fire. In an inside pocket, he found a penknife and a small metal film can that contained strike anywhere matches. In another similar can, he found fish hooks and a small needle with a similarly small spool of thread. Further searching produced two small candles.

  Cassie was watching as he finished pulling the empty pocket linings of his jacket out to make sure they were completely empty.

  "The candles could come in handy," she said. “Do you have extra batteries for the penlight?”

  Billy felt his pant pockets and then shook his head, “No.” He picked up one of the candles. "Do you want one of them?" He asked, offering it with his left hand.

  As she took the candle from his hand, she caught a glint of light from his wrist. ”You have a watch!" she cried. His arm had extended out of the coat sleeve revealing the watch.

  He looked at her.

  “You can use it as a light if you need to,” she said. She lifted her watch and pressed the illumination button. The watch lit up the space between them for a second, and she turned it off.

  Billy nodded. “Good to know,” he said.

  "Here," she said. Taking the single sleeping bag and opening it, she rose and came toward him. "It isn't big enough for both of us, but if we sit close, it can cover us both."

  “Why don’t you take these?” Billy asked, offering the film tin of strike anywhere matches. “It will be easier than using your fire starter.”

  She took the film tin from his outstretched hand. There was an implication there that she was in charge of the fire. And as far as he was concerned, that was fine with him.

  Later he awoke from a dream in which he and the girl were running across open snow. They were not barefoot, but they were trying to get away from something or someone. He remembered looking at her, and she smiled back at him.

  When he woke, it was dark. Just embers glowed in the fire. He could hear her snoring next to him. He was tempted to put his arm around her. Instead, he turned and faced the other way.

  Two Guns

  Halloween: 10:18 a.m.

  As I drove up to the complex of assorted old trailers, one old school bus, a few very aged sheds, an outhouse and the one log cabin that had been built in the 1800’s, I kept my eyes on the chimneys. Smoke curled from a one-time bread truck parked across the road from the log cabin. That indicated that Denny was staying in the truck he’d converted to a trailer. Inside, I knew, a skinny wood stove fed from the top sat by the door and could be seen through the large glass panel in the door. Firewood was always piled against the wall separating the front from the cargo area where Denny had set up a cot.

  Of late this converted bread truck had been Denny’s favorite abode. He could even drive it to Missoula if he wanted, though it did not do that well in snow. If he went to town by other means, you could usually see through the front window a rabbit-eared shotgun wired to the steering wheel pointing at the glass part of the door. The first time I’d seen it, I’d been reaching to open that door. I don’t know if it was actually set up to fire, but I would not want to find out.

  Denny’s hearing was poor, and he probably didn’t have his hearing aid in, as he didn’t hear me drive up. I hammered the door with my fist a few times then waited and listened. I heard movement in the back of the van, and pretty soon he appeared. As he is in his eighties, he’s somewhat stooped over and wears a brace on his right knee over blue bib overalls. As always he was wearing an old green shirt and a Confederate army style hat that was almost charcoal in color. Around his waist, his thick black belt, holding a few tools and two black pistols, one on either side, was already on. He had to have been wearing it because he couldn’t have put it on that fast. A curl of tobacco smoke rose from an old black pipe clamped between his teeth.

  Denny saw it was me through the glass of the door and smiled. With shaded glasses on, his heart-shaped pale face, now in old age, resembled something in the weasel family. I’d seen photos of him when he was younger, and he had been quite handsome.

  He opened the door, put his pipe down on the truck’s dashboard, and stepped out saying, “Haven’t seen you around.”

  I smiled. I lifted my deputy’s badge and showed it to him. He looked up at me puzzled.

  “I’m looking for that missing girl. Did you hear about her?”

  Denny nodded. “Heard it on the radio. Can’t trust people these days.” Someone else would ask why I was talking to them, but not Denny. He knew I knew him well enough not to suspect him. He just waited for me to speak.

  “I found something that made me think the girl might be in a mine somewhere around here.”

  Denny nodded his understanding.

  “Do you know of a mine in this area that someone would need a winch to get into? To lower themselves in or to lift something out of the way?”

  Denny considered this for only a moment. “The Cat-trap Mine,” he said. “Young fellow came here ten years ago from the university. He wanted to study an old mine and do a paper on it. I helped him."

  “When his paper was done, a lot of people went looking for that mine. One fella fell down a winze and almost died. So they put a big grate on top of the portal.”

  I knew a bit of mining terminology. When miners dug a level tunnel in following ore, the closed end tunnel was called a drift. It became a tunnel only if there was an opening at the other end into something else. A winze is a shaft dug somewhere inside a drift to access ore or another drift below. The portal was the entryway.

  “You could lift the grate with a heavy winch?” I asked.

  Denny nodded. "I used to use an old car jack."

  I realized then that Denny was looking at me funny. I guessed he was debating whether to say something. If he had one rule, it was to not butt into other folk’s business. He prided himself on not being a gossip.

  “There's a young girl’s life at stake here. If you know something, please tell me?”

  Denny was a confirmed misogynist. Even though there was a rumor that he shot a guy in the foot with his shotgun who was bothering a woman under his protection, he didn't much like the fair sex. But I was hoping that because it was a teenage girl missing and not a woman, it would appeal to his compassionate side if he had one.

  Denny looked me right in the eye and asked, “Sheriff’s business?”

  I didn't know if confirming this was sheriff’s business would help or hurt, but one thing Denny couldn’t tolerate was a liar.

  “Yes,” I said as I nodded in agreement.

  He hesitated just a moment longer. “Gnat Hanassey was here yesterday asking the same thing,” he said.

  Denny wasn't senile. He hadn't gotten the name wrong. I believed for some reason he was labeling Nate a pest, “Nathanial Hanassey?” I asked just to be clear.

  Denny nodded. “No good the whole family. I caught that Gnat here one day when he was around twelve trying to steal gold I washed. I chased him off. Told him never to come back.”

  “He is my number one suspect,” I said.

  Denny looked over toward his cabin. “He came by yesterday knocking on the cabin door. There was a fellow in his truck with him who didn’t get out of the truck. I saw that fella sucking on a bottle like he couldn’t get enough. Gnat asked if I knew of a mine that had a big grate on the portal.”

  “I told him the only one I knew of was the Cat-trap. And he says ‘tell me how to get there.’” Denny had imitated Hanassey’s tone when he said the words and made it clear Hanassey had been demanding, not asking.

  “And you told him?” I asked.

  “I made like this,” Denny said and pulled the short-nosed black pistol from his right side. He drew his gun so quickly, I barely registered what he was doing until he held it up to point at an imaginary Nate. “I told him to get going, and, if he came back, he’d better bring help.” He smiled as he said it and I had to smile thinking of the look that must have crossed Nate’s face.


  “Then he told me he thought his little brother might be up there lost. And asked could I please help him.”

  “So you did?” I asked.

  Denny shook his head. “No, I didn’t believe him. Called him a liar to his face and he drove off.”

  “Which way?” I asked.

  Denny nodded in the direction that led to the highway and Missoula.

  “But I think he drove by this morning. I was in the outhouse, and somebody drove by fast. Didn’t get to see him. Sounded like the Gnat’s truck. He had a bad muffler when he came yesterday.”

  “How long ago?” I asked.

  “Maybe an hour,” Denny said.

  I took out my iPhone to call Goldstone to let him know I’d be headed to the Cat-trap mine. But Denny lived in a valley between high peaks. There was no signal.

  I considered asking Denny to come with me. But bringing civilians, especially after what happened to the two graduate students, was something Goldstone would never approve. “Can you draw me a map?”

  Denny smiled. “I have the paper the fellow from the university wrote. He gave me a copy.” He started toward the log cabin.

  “Does it have a map?” I asked, wondering if Denny understood what I needed.

  “A good map to both the outside and inside,” Denny said.

  The outside of Denny's cabin was covered with old traps and dried out beaver tails. It was dark inside. The dark smoke-stained logs forming the inner walls held traps and more animal tails. The air smelled of wood smoke, animal musk, and tobacco. Gun parts littered workbenches covered in old newspapers. He began digging in a rusty gray cabinet. I watched him move stacks of old National Geographics to uncover a pile of papers that gave off a musty smell when moved. He put the papers on a clear spot on what I knew was his breakfast nook. He pushed away an empty coffee cup and a plate with a film of congealing egg-yolk and began sorting. After a few minutes, he handed me a stack of bound paper about thirty sheets thick.