The Beasts Of Stoneclad Mountain

by Gerry Griffiths

  Sure, Landon had involved him their business, but he had never made James, the youngest, do anything illegal other than mind the fields. And for him to have his life cut short for no other reason than to be watching over a bunch of stupid pot plants; it was enough to drive Landon insane with rage.

  “I swear, when I find whoever did this, I’m going to…” but then he turned away, so that his other brothers wouldn’t see his face, his pain, the tears.

  “What do we do?” Mason asked.

  “We should give our brother a grand send off,” Jacob replied.

  “And bury him,” Landon said.

  “Up here?” Mason asked.

  “Where else? It’s not like we can bring him down and have a proper funeral.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “You know, there should be a couple jars of hooch in the cave,” Jacob said. “I doubt if James touched it.”

  “Go get it,” Landon told Jacob.

  The twin entered the cave, and after a short search, came back holding two glass jars filled with a clear liquid. He handed one jar to his oldest brother. Landon unscrewed the cap and took a deep swig of moonshine. His eyes glazed over as the 200-proof alcohol jolted his system. “That’s mighty fine,” he gasped.

  They drank and passed the glass jars around. It didn’t take long before the three of them were slurring and having trouble staying on their feet.

  Landon finally sat down in James’ lawn chair.

  Mason slipped inside the cave and came back out dragging two other folded lawn chairs. He handed one to Jacob. They set them up and sat down, almost splitting out the seats and collapsing the chairs with their great weight.

  “You two ever wonder about our old man?” Landon asked.

  “I know he was a no-count drunk that liked to beat on us,” Mason said, taking a swig of high-octane whiskey and passing it on.

  “I remember the time he whaled on James,” Jacob said.

  “You do?”

  “Sure do, Landon. I thought he was going to kill James. That is, until you stepped in.”

  “I think we had all had enough by then.”

  “Shame it didn’t end long before that, then I wouldn’t be wearing this patch,” Mason said.

  “Sorry that I didn’t step in sooner,” Landon apologized.

  “That’s all right. At least you did.”

  “So what did you say to him, that night you interfered?” Jacob asked.

  “Well, once I hit the old man across the face with my fist, I told him he should never raise a hand to us. When he gave me guff, I said that he had to sleep sometime. Told him how handy I was with an ax.”

  “And that’s the night he ran off,” Mason said.

  “That was the night. After that, I swore no one was going to intimidate the Payne brothers ever again. No one!”

  “You know what? I’m feeling a little…” Jacob was saying when his chair suddenly buckled, and the big man went sprawling on the ground.

  Landon started laughing, then Mason busted up, and finally Jacob joined in. Their revelry only lasted for a moment and then the somber reality of why they had gotten drunk in the first place set in and they were quiet.

  A few minutes later, Jacob was passed out on the ground, and Mason had stumbled into the cave to lie down on the inflatable mattress.

  Landon sat in the lawn chair, staring at the million-dollar pot field, wondering if it was all really worth it.

  ***

  It was early afternoon when Landon decided it was time to wake up the twins. He gave Jacob a swift kick in the boot, jarring the man awake.

  “What?”

  “Get up,” Landon said sternly. “We’ve got a full day ahead of us, what’s left of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before we go looking for the yokels that killed James, we need to do a quick harvest and bundle up the crop. That way, after we’ve gone over to the other side of the mountain and paid them a friendly visit, everything will be waiting when we come back this way.”

  “You mean now?” Jacob said, sitting up and holding his head like it was about to come off.

  “You want to start picking or dig James’ grave?”

  “I’ll pick.”

  “Good. Wake up Mason and tell him to bring two shovels.”

  Jacob got to his feet and shuffled into the cave. “Mason! Wake your ass up!”

  Landon took off his coat and laid it across the back of the lawn chair. He rolled up his sleeves.

  Mason came out of the cave, carrying two shovels by their handles and dragging the blades in the dirt. “We really doing this now?”

  “I want to be done by sundown. That way, we rest up tonight, and in the morning, we’ll hunt them down.” Besides the tools, there was also a burlap bag socked away in the back of the cave in a crevasse. Inside were two Marlin lever-action carbines with scopes, half a dozen high-caliber handguns, and a few boxes of ammunition.

  Landon took one of the shovels from Mason. He looked down at the footprints cutting across the field toward the edge of the forest. “Try and not to mess up those tracks.”

  “So where we digging?” Mason asked.

  “See that oak over there?” Landon said, and pointed to a large tree with dense branches that were providing an abundance of shade.

  “I think James would like that spot,” Mason said.

  “Well, like or not, that’s where we’re going to put him.”

  They went over to the base of the oak tree and started digging.

  All the while, Jacob was out in the field, stripping off buds and dropping them in a picking sack draped in front of his waist. The sack was full so he trudged over to the cave where he had laid out a drop cloth. He bent forward and unsnapped the clip on the lower portion of the sack. The bottom opened up and the buds spilled out. He tucked the bottom of the sack up and connected the clip, and went back out into the field to harvest some more buds.

  Once the hole was deep enough, Landon and Mason walked over to the cave, wrapped their dead brother up in the tarpaulin, and carried his body over to the freshly dug grave. Landon and Mason grabbed an end and lowered their family member into his place of interment.

  “Should we say some words?” Mason asked.

  “Let’s cover him up first,” Landon said. He pulled his shovel out of the mound of dirt and scooped a blade full of soil and tossed in down onto the canvas shroud.

  They were halfway done filling the hole when Jacob shouted from the field, “Landon, you better get over and see this!”

  “Can’t it wait, we’re almost done!” Landon yelled back.

  “No, you got to see this!”

  “Damn,” Landon said, and threw down his shovel.

  “Should I keep working?” Mason asked.

  “No, take a break. Let’s go see what’s so important.”

  Landon and Mason traipsed through the field in the direction of Jacob who was standing in a row, looking down at something on the ground.

  “What do you think it is?” Jacob asked, pointing at the dead animal curled up on the ground. The body was covered with gray fur, and the head was tucked into its chest in a fetal position.

  “Bear cub?” Landon said.

  “I’ve never seen a gray bear before,” Mason said, bending down with his hands on his knees to get a closer look.

  “That looks like blood,” Jacob said, indicating the dried crimson on the animal’s side.

  “You think James shot it?” Mason asked.

  “Be my guess,” Landon said.

  “Think maybe James killed the baby and the mother killed him?”

  “That’s a possibility. Roll it over so we can get a good look at it,” Landon said.

  Jacob hooked the top of his boot under the animal, lifted it up, and rolled it over onto its back.

  “Holy shit, will you look at that,” Mason said.

  “That’s certainly no bear cub,” Jacob said.

  Landon went down on one knee for a clos
er examination. The head was mostly covered with gray fur except for the face, which had brown, leathery skin. The lifeless eyes were still open, revealing glazed chocolate-colored pupils. Instead of the snout of a bear, the nose was flat with large nostrils. There was blood on the thick lips where it had bitten itself in a throe of pain.

  The hands were furry, the palms the same brown, leathery color as the face. It had four fingers and an opposing thumb.

  He looked at a foot, and saw that it had a rubbery, brown sole and five toes.

  The creature seemed pitiful, lying in the dirt. It looked like a filthy, smirched-faced human infant dressed in a furry costume.

  “This here’s a baby bigfoot.”

  19

  Clay and Mia had been so exhausted from the previous day’s hike that Ethan had decided to let them sleep an hour after sunrise. Ethan started a fire and put on a pot of coffee. He rummaged through the bag that contained their short supply of provisions and divvied up three equal portions of biscuits and some pemmican strips.

  After the couple finally woke and went off to a secluded spot to do their morning constitution, Ethan had their meager breakfast waiting for them. He gave Blu his own biscuit and some water.

  They delved into the biscuits, and chewed on the jerky, washing the dry cakes down with steaming hot coffee.

  Feeling somewhat rejuvenated, they packed up their gear and continued up the mountain. As Ethan had never been up this high, he had no idea what the elevation was, but if he had to guess, he would say they were somewhere around three thousand feet, maybe higher, as there was a fair amount of dead wood and pine litter as well as ericaceous shrubs with red berries and flowers under the pinewood canopy of trees.

  The slope wasn’t as extreme as it had been yesterday, and though it was still a steady climb, the trek seemed less grueling.

  They had been hiking for the best part of two hours when Blu suddenly bolted ahead.

  Ethan picked up the pace and hurried after Blu. Clay and Mia stepped it up and followed close behind. They could hear Blu running about in the bushes, barking excitedly every so often.

  “What do you have, boy?” Ethan called out.

  “Do you see him?” Clay asked, looking in the undergrowth.

  “He’s over there!” Mia said.

  They hurried over to where Blu was standing. His head was down and he was sniffing Casey’s red nightcap lying amongst the pine needles.

  “Oh my God!” Mia shouted excitedly. She rushed over and picked up her son’s cloth hat. She pressed it up to her nose and then pulled it away. “I thought it might still smell like him but it stinks.” Even though the head warmer reeked, Mia still clutched it to her bosom.

  “What do you think, Uncle Ethan?” Clay asked. “Think they could be close by?”

  “I don’t know. If they were, Blu wouldn’t be acting so calm. No, I’m afraid they’re long gone.”

  “But you can’t be sure, right?” Mia spun around, looking in all directions. “I mean, if his hat is lying right here, then…” she glanced over and spotted what looked like a path covered with fallen pine needles. “There! I bet they went that way!” Still clutching Casey’s nightcap, Mia darted for the trail.

  “Mia, stop!” Ethan yelled after her.

  Mia hadn’t run more than a few steps when suddenly the ground under her erupted in a loud snap causing her to scream and fall flat on her face. “Oh God,” she cried.

  Ethan and Clay came running over.

  “Don’t move. Keep your foot still,” Ethan told Mia.

  “What is it?” she grimaced.

  “You’ve stepped in a steel trap. You’re lucky it wasn’t for big game, or it would have taken off your foot,” Ethan said.

  “It damn well feels like it,” Mia snapped back, sitting up with her leg bent but not moving her foot stuck in the powerful trap. The metal teeth had chomped into her leather boot.

  “Hold still.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Clay, hold her leg still while I pry the jaws apart,” Ethan instructed his nephew.

  “Don’t worry, Mia. We’ll get this off,” Clay said and placed one hand on Mia’s calf and the other on her knee.

  Ethan gripped both sides of the metal jaws and began to pull them slowly apart.

  “Get ready to raise her foot out when I say,” Ethan told Clay. He widened the jaws some more then yelled, “Now!”

  Clay pulled Mia’s boot up clearing the bridge just as the jaws snapped back together.

  “Oh, thank God,” Mia said with relief even though by the look on her face she was still in a great deal of pain.

  “Let’s look at it,” Clay said. He undid the knot on her bootlaces and carefully slid her foot out of the boot. Her sock was soaked with blood.

  “Get her sock off. We’re going to have to wrap it up,” Ethan said.

  Clay grabbed the top of the sock and gingerly pulled it down Mia’s ankle and then off her foot. There were four evenly spaced puncture marks around the flesh just above her anklebone.

  Ethan found the old shirt Mia had used when Blu had cut himself up in the briar and tore the garment into strips. He wrapped the first sheet around to staunch the bleeding then added another strip as a compress.

  Clay went into Mia’s backpack and took out a fresh pair of socks. He slowly slipped on one sock, then the other sock over that to give her some cushion for when she would have to try and walk on her injured foot.

  “You’re lucky it didn’t hit the bone,” Ethan said.

  “Lucky or not, it still hurts like hell,” Mia replied. She looked down at Casey’s nightcap, still clutched in her hand, and began to sob. “Now, look what I’ve done. How are we going to catch up to them now?”

  “Maybe you can walk on it,” Clay said. He held onto Mia’s arm and pulled her up on one foot. “Give it a try.”

  But as soon as Mia put weight on her injured foot, she immediately cried out in pain.

  Clay looked over at his uncle, who was sniffing at the air as he looked up into the trees. “What is it, Uncle Ethan?”

  “I smell wood smoke,” Ethan said.

  20

  The small, rustic cabin looked as though it had sprouted out of the ground as a sapling and over a century’s time had transformed into a shabby dwelling. The sagging roof was covered with a thick layer of brown pine needles, rotted pinecones, and dried tree limbs dangling from the eaves, a tinderbox begging to catch fire by the billowing smoke rising out of the stone chimney.

  The log structure was covered with green moss and different shades of lichen.

  A yellowish-tinted window looked like it was made of amber or some kind of resin and not glass. There was no overhang or front porch, just dirt and weeds.

  The oak front door appeared solid with additional boards nailed on as a further fortification against interlopers.

  Ethan stood twenty feet away from the cabin and cradled his rifle over the crook of his left arm. Blu sat by his feet and leaned against Ethan’s leg as they both stared up at the tendrils of smoke drifting up through the overhanging branches of the tall trees.

  “What do you think, Uncle Ethan?” Clay asked coming alongside, one arm around Mia’s lower back as he helped her to hobble into the small clearing.

  “Not sure. There’s a good chance there’s someone inside, but there’s no way of knowing if they’ll be receptive to visitors.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Clay said.

  “I know, son. Just don’t want to invite trouble.”

  “It won’t hurt to ask? We need to get Mia off her feet.”

  “All right, then. I’ll go ahead, you and Mia wait here. Take Blu’s leash and keep him with you. I don’t want him to start barking when I get to the door and whoever’s inside decides to shoot.”

  Ethan handed Clay the end of the leash. Mia hopped over to a stump a few feet away and sat down.

  “What should we do if they start shooting?” Clay asked.

  “Duc
k out of sight.”

  “But what if you’re in trouble?”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Ethan raised his rifle off the crook of his arm and held the front stock, his other hand gripping the rear stock, a forefinger inside the trigger guard.

  He ambled up to the cabin and stopped when he was right up to the door.

  “Hello in there,” he called out instead of knocking on the door with his fist, which if he were inside, he knew would have sounded more like a threat than a greeting.

  No one answered.

  “We have an injured woman with us. She stepped in a trap. We could use your help.” Ethan heard a sound inside the cabin, like the legs of a chair being dragged across the floor.

  “Door’s open,” a voice said firmly.

  Ethan didn’t know if it was a genuine invite or if he was being set up to walk into an ambuscade. Either way, he wouldn’t know until he opened the door. He reached down and lifted the latch and slowly pushed the door inward.

  The interior was gloomy as the fire in the hearth was only smoldering, puffing gray smoke up into the chimney. Ethan strained his eyes to get a layout of the shadowy interior and looked down at the planked flooring.

  Three steps in, was an animal hide rug.

  Ethan could hear someone wheezing, sitting back in the darkness.

  “We mean you no trouble,” Ethan said, hoping to reach some neutral ground. He knew he was a perfect target, standing in the open doorway with the sun at his back.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ethan. I’m here with my nephew. It’s his wife that is hurt.”

  “You said she trod in a trap.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Damn.”

  Ethan took a step forward.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” the voice said.

  “Will you help us?”

  “Well, I guess I have to. That was one of my traps.”

  Ethan lowered his rifle and went to take another step.

  “You better stop right there. You see that bear rug in front of you?”

  Ethan looked down again at the floor. “Yes.”

  “Lift up the head, real slow.”

  Ethan leaned over and grabbed the head part and lifted it slowly off the floor.