Chapter Twenty Five

 

When Zekiel's convulsive fit finally subsided, he leaned back in his chair, shook his head, and refused to answer any more questions. Amber poured him another glass of whiskey and held it to his lips, letting him sip a few drops of the strong liquid. When his rapid heart rate abated, he put his hand over his eyes and moaned. Amber helped him to the old army cot in the rear of the shack. Minutes later, he was patting the head of his worried hound, preventing it from licking his hand draped lifelessly over the edge of the cot.

“I'm all right,” he said.

“You sure?”

“Just bring me the rest of that whiskey.”

Amber let him rest against her shoulder as he lapped Jack Daniel’s with a thirsty pink tongue. He finally said, “Can't tell you no more. These old bones are just about shot.”

We left Zekiel resting comfortably on the front porch in his rocking chair. “Now what?” I said as Amber negotiated the steep incline back to the highway.

“Drive into Dill City and get the Jeep fixed.”

“And then?”

“Talk to Sheriff Bonner again. Maybe he can get us a look at BST's map.”

The day was still bright and sunny but dark clouds had begun rimming the horizon to the north. Distant thunder echoed against valley walls as we headed south toward Dill City. We easily found Jake's Body Shop. After a short conversation with tobacco-chewing Jake, we left the Jeep in his charge and hiked down Main Street to the Sheriff's office.

Bonner was leaning back in his chair, his big head resting in interlaced fingers and his feet sprawled across the top of his desk. One soiled white sock glinted through a gaping hole in the sole of his worn trooper boot. Unlike before, he smiled when we entered the office. He even got up from his desk and poured us each a cup of coffee.

“Thought you might drop by,” he said. “Jake just called. Said he can fix the steering problem but can't get on the fender till next week.”

“That's half our problem,” I said. We asked him about the map.

“Think you can get us a look at it?” Amber asked.

“Why hell no,” he said. “You two are about as popular over at BST as a lap dog with bad breath.”

“Is there anything we can do short of breaking and entering like Bill did?” I said.

“Wouldn't advise you doing that,” Bonner said. “But I got an alternative for you.”

We followed Sheriff Bonner down a hallway to a locked door. Humidity had flaked its green paint off the wall and stale musty air greeted us when he unlocked it with a jingle of many keys. A single bare bulb, too small to light the room, cast gloomy shadows on rows of steel-gray file cabinets. Amber glanced at me with bated anticipation as we watched him begin to open and shut various filing cabinets, searching for something.

“Got my own map in here somewhere. Never know when you're going to have to apprehend a felon up in the hills.”

He finally located a full-sized black and white copy of a topographic map and unrolled it in front of us. Hand-labeled marks overlay the map with BST's logging roads. Somewhere on it was the location of the trail leading into the Big Valley. Sheriff Bonner rolled up the map, turned off the light and lumbered back down the hall to his office. He poured himself another cup of coffee and spread the map on his desk.

“Could be anywhere on here,” he finally said, scratching his chin. “I'll make you a copy and you can look for yourself.”

“We really appreciate it, Sheriff Bonner,” Amber said.

Bonner wheeled around and wagged his crooked index finger at her. “Don't you be telling anybody where you got this, you hear? Especially at BST. I got enough trouble in this county without losing my number one campaign contributor.”

“Your secret's safe with us,” I said, watching the big slump-shouldered man work on the copier.

“You folks get in trouble up there on the mountain, you get me a message, but I'm telling you now there ain't no quick way I can bail you out. Thirty miles as the crow flies takes hours up those logging roads.”

“What you need is a chopper,” I said.

“We're civilized around here, son. Blake Tedford up the highway has a half dozen or so. Uses them to dust crops. But the trees are so thick up there they ain't no place to land.”

“In Vietnam they hovered over the trees and let the soldiers rappel down ropes.”

Sheriff Bonner rubbed his big belly and said, “How'd they know where to go in?”

“Flares and smoke grenades.”

Bonner snapped his fingers as if he had an idea and went to a large metal locker against the wall. It had three padlocks on it. When he finally got it open, I saw why. It contained an arsenal of shotguns, rifles, pistols, and automatic weapons. After fishing around in a box on the floor a minute, he found what he was looking for. He winked as he handed me two army issue smoke grenades and a flare pistol.

“How about an Uzi or an automatic rifle?” he said, holding up a weapon for my inspection.

“Thanks, Sheriff, but not for me. Amber has her weapon and hopefully we won't need it.”

“Don't say I didn't offer,” he said. “You get in trouble, try to get a message to the hill folk. When you hear the helicopter, send up a flare, and set off one of these babies.”

We thanked him again, left his office, and made our way back down Main Street. Jake had already replaced the Jeep's broken tie rod and apologized for his inability to repair the fender quite so fast. Amber assured him that he had taken care of our most pressing problems. Following a late lunch at Vera's, we started back to Turkey Gap. We met the yellow school bus at the entrance to the campgrounds and gave Mary Ann a ride from the road. On the way to the tent, we showed her the map.

“Can I look?” she asked.

Still holding the map, she jumped from the back of the Jeep, not waiting for Amber to park. After spreading the map on the table, she waited for us to join her. Because of the Valley's immense size the topo's scale was small and four-digit numbers, added with a black marker, labeled BST's logging roads. Something else was on the map—exact locations of Federal land marked for clear-cutting and each location bore the initials of G. Gray Townsend. Immediately, I began to regret my promise to Sheriff Bonner.

Suppressing the notion of returning to Dill City, I continued instead to study the map. After ten futile minutes, I still had no inkling of how Bill had gained access to the Valley.

Mary Ann said, “Can I go into the Valley with you?”

“Not a good idea,” Amber said. “It might be dangerous.”

“I'm not afraid.”

“You're not afraid of anything,” I said. “But I doubt your grandfather would let you go even if we said yes.”

Mary Ann grimaced as she started up the hill to her house, stopping after ten feet. “Grandpa wants you to eat supper with us tonight. I'm cooking beans and cornbread.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Amber said. “What time?”

“Grandpa likes to eat early. Soaked the beans last night and they've been cooking all day. Cornbread'll be ready in about an hour.”

We watched her stroll away, up the hill. “That gives me time to jog a few miles before I shower,” Amber said. “Want to come along?”

“If I ran a few miles before showering, we'd be late for dinner. Think I'll stay here and study the map some more.”

“Suit yourself.”

Amber disappeared into the tent, returning shortly in a fresh jogging outfit. With a backhanded wave she streaked away through the trees. I watched her tanned, well-shaped legs until she was out of sight before returning my attention to the map. When I looked up from the map again, Amber tapped my shoulder, startling me.

“Still sitting here?”

“My eyes are popping out of my head. For the life of me, I can't find the trail into the Valley.”

“We'll find it later. Now we better hurry or we'll miss the beans and cornbread.”

She tossed me a towel and I followed her to the wash-house, the elusive trail still very much on my mind. That evening we feasted on stewed pinto beans, hot-buttered cornbread, fresh okra, and corn on the cob. Later we sat on the rickety front porch watching the stars as we listened to the hypnotic swing chains and a night bird in a distant tree. John Stewart rocked intently as I told him about our meeting with Zekiel and his description of the trail into the Valley.

“Johnson’s up on the mountain have some mules,” he said.

“Would they rent them to us?” Amber asked.

“Nope. They'd lend them to you if I asked them to. They're cousins of mine.”

Amber patted the top of my hand and I realized how tightly I was gripping the arm of my rocking chair. Relaxing, I said, “Can you give them a call?”

“No phone up there. If you want, I'll run up with you tomorrow.”

Mary Ann interrupted and said, “Grandpa, I'd like to go down in the Valley with Tom and Amber.”

“No you're not,” Stewart said. “You can't miss school.”

“You're being unfair, Grandpa,” Mary Ann said, slapping the screen door with the back of her hand.

“Life isn't always fair, little girl. Now you go on in and do your homework.”

Ignoring her grandfather, Mary Ann knelt in front of Amber's rocker and clutched her hand. “Please let me go into the Valley with you,” she said, her voice and eyes pleading.

“Even if we knew how to find the trail, we wouldn't be ready before tomorrow. Will you let Mary Ann miss two days of school, Mr. Stewart? We'll be back by Sunday night at the latest.”

“Well . . .”

“Please, Grandpa,” Mary Ann said, turning her attention to John Stewart.

“Your grandfather is right,” I said. “The Valley may be dangerous.”

“All the more reason I should go along. The only person that knows more about the hills than Grandpa is me. Besides, I'm the only one that knows where the trail is.”

Mary Ann's unexpected pronouncement caused us all to shut up and take notice. “How do you know that?” I said.

“Take me with you and I'll tell you.”

“I can't do that without your grandfather's permission. I'm not even sure it's a wise idea.”

“We'll take good care of her, Mr. Stewart” Amber said, ignoring my concern. “I'm a law officer. If it weren't for Mary Ann, we wouldn't even know about the valley.”

“You really know where the trail is or are you just kidding with us?” John Stewart asked.

“Will you let me go?”

Stewart drew a deep breath and his dark eyes twinkled in the moonlight when he blinked. “All right,” he said following a thoughtful pause. “When I go in I'll write your teacher an excuse. I will give it to him tomorrow for you. You might even learn something.”

“Oh, thank you, Grandpa,” Mary Ann said, hugging his scrawny old neck. Looking at me she said, “Go get the map and Bill's notes and I'll show you where the trail is.”

Ten minutes later we were back inside the frame house, looking at the old map spread on the living room table. Mary Ann cleared her throat and began reading from the loose notes.

“The Big Valley is vast, much larger than I suspected. The trail begins near the top of the mountain, just south of the BM triangle. Even though I knew exactly where to look it took me two hours to find it. Trees are thick and huge, and undergrowth all but gone.”

“It's here,” she said, placing her index finger on a spot on the map. “Near the top of the mountain, south of the little triangle that pinpoints the government benchmark. Bill's BM triangle is the government benchmark.”

“Of course,” I said. “I should have known Bill would let us know where it was.”

“What's a benchmark?” Amber asked.

“A permanent marker set in concrete by the government geological survey. Surveyors use them as reference points. I should have realized when I read it.”

Just below the triangle, a dashed line pointed down into the Valley. Besides having fading with time, and the propensities of Sheriff Bonner's copier, it extended for no more than half an inch. Now a mile wide grin engulfed Mary Ann's face, her arms folded smugly.

I told you that you'd never have found it without me.”