No Trespassing, the sign said in huge black letters. A branch scratched the side of my truck as I dodged a boulder in the road. I wouldn’t actually have called it a road. More like an ATV track through deep forest. It seemed to go on forever. Farther up, another handmade sign. Keep Out!
I hoped the Russian didn’t have a gun.
I’d left my farm bright and early in the morning, but the drive up to Ossington County had taken nearly two hours. The last nine miles had been nothing but mud and potholes, and now this overgrown track. Soon I came to a six-foot steel gate, chained shut with a heavy padlock. But the lock hung open, so I got out to unwind the chain and push back the gate. A gleam of metal poking through the dry leaves caught my eye. I leaned over for a closer look. It was a bear trap, jaws open, waiting for an intruder. There was nothing humane about that trap. Its huge teeth were razor sharp. I froze in place. Peered around. More traps were buried in the road around the gate. I inched around them and watched every step as I tugged open the gate.
Finally, I drove through, expecting gunfire or attack dogs. Nothing but silent trees. Up ahead the forest opened into a wide clearing. On one side, two goats watched me curiously from a field of dried-out hay. Across the road was a vegetable garden, protected by strips of cloth that flapped in the wind. Pumpkins lay rotting on the ground, and dead tomato plants clung to the stakes.
The place made mine look like paradise. A jumble of buildings had been hammered together from refuse. Barn, chicken coop, a couple of sheds and an outhouse. Cats and chickens roamed in the dirt, and a skinny cow stared at me through sickly eyes.
At the back of the clearing stood a small log cabin with a rocking chair on its porch. The house Robin had drawn in the notebook. I was at the right place! I stopped the truck and climbed out, keeping my head down. Expecting bullets. The stink hit me right away. Rotting manure, unwashed barns, neglected animals. And something else.
As I looked closer, a chill ran down my spine. I had stopped only six inches from sharp spikes sticking out of the road. Ready to shred my tires. All the buildings, including the outhouse, had huge padlocks or chains on them. Who did this guy think would steal from him? And what?
The goats trotted over to me right away, and even the cats rubbed my legs. A water pump sat in the middle of the yard, but there was no water in the trough and no feed in the yard. No sign that anyone was taking care of the place.
I pumped some water into the trough. The animals crowded around and drank like they hadn’t had water in days. I crossed the yard to the small barn, afraid of what I’d find. Animals dead or starving in their stalls? A thin wire had been strung across the doorway. I jerked back just before I strangled myself. What was it for? I wondered. To sound an alarm? Or, worse, to trigger a gun?
I ducked under it and went inside. The barn looked empty. I checked each stall. To my relief, they were all empty and neatly swept. Except the last one, where I found a bowl, cup, spoon and small bedroll tucked in the corner.
Just the way Robin kept his bed at my place.
I retraced my steps, ducked under the wire and headed to the main house. The windows were barred, the curtains drawn. I could see no signs of movement. Even so, I approached cautiously. Watched where I put my feet. Paused at each creak as I climbed the steps. There was another trip wire over the front door. Another heavy padlock. But this padlock was smashed, and the door was wide open. Beyond it, the curtained room was dark. I called out. No answer. I knocked. Still nothing.
I put my hand on the door and gave a gentle shove. Jumped back in case a shotgun was rigged to it. Nothing. Finally, I screwed up my courage and stepped inside.