by Julie Weston
The path curled around and it wasn’t long before Nell decided they were moving in a large semi-circle, roughly back to a point not far from where they began, although she could see no road or auto in the distance. Trees and a long ridge cutting from high left to lower right cut off her view west, so she couldn’t find mountains as a beacon to where she might be. They entered a grove of widely spaced aspens intermingled with fir, and, rounding a bend, arrived abruptly at a large camp area, near the edge of which sat a huge metal pot with a coned top and a coil extending from it to another pot. An almost smokeless fire burned beneath the larger pot and the burnt sugar smell, now mixed with the odor of yeast and something else, permeated the air.
No one else was about, but someone must tend to that fire. Nell craned her head around to see, felt more shooting pains, and decided it was time to sit down and rest, whether Pearl liked it or not. A likely spot invited Nell: a bench built around the base of a large pine tree. She swung her pack carefully to the ground, laid her tripod on it, and lowered herself, not wanting to jar her head in any fashion. The canteen, which had been bumping on her side, furnished more of the cold water that tasted so good. A continuous, soft, rushing sound she identified as a creek running over rocks, probably falling water.
She didn’t need a guide to identify what was going on in this glade: moonshining. Nor was it a small operation, such as she’d heard about in the woods around Hailey and the draws north of Ketchum. Large crocks were lined up near the pots. Three tents, wide enough to hold several men who could stand upright, formed a quarter circle at the end opposite the pots—she assumed this was a still—and the falls. A big black pot hung over a fire pit in front of the tents, but no embers burned to cook whatever might be in there.
While Nellie caught her breath—the hike took more out of her than all her days with Alphonso—Pearl entered a smaller tent set off to one side and closest to the trees, brushing aside the flap as if it were home and without a backward glance at her captive. The grounds in front of the tents were filthy, littered with bottles, piles of wiring, metal pipes, dog excrement, empty tin cans with torn labels or shorn of identification and flashing silver in the sunlight. The smell from the still probably covered up worse ones around the camp. Whoever lived here and made the moonshine was messy and neglectful.
Time passed and the sun moved higher in the sky; no motion or sound came from the tent where Pearl had disappeared. As far as Nell could determine, no one watched her. Why not just walk away? She had rested and could hike to a promontory to find out where she was. Rather than head back along the path they had followed to get to the camp, Nell studied the area around it, found a well-used trail to the water, which she would need to replenish, and to one side a stock of goods in crates upended to serve as shelves. A knife would be useful, as would food. She crept from her perch and found a rusted paring knife, which she placed in her pack, along with two large pieces of jerky. It was dusty and held little appeal, but she knew it gave energy. The dogs in the sheep camp had virtually lived on it. She noticed a box of matches and grabbed a handful and stuck them in her pocket. She tried to think of anything else that would be useful if she could escape. The goods were too heavy.
The trail to the creek was short. Nell filled the canteen and slung it over her shoulder again, lifted her pack, and slipped her arms through the straps. The tripod she had already strapped to the pack. She was ready to explore and make her escape.
“Nell!” Pearl’s voice was low and urgent. “Where are you?”
Nellie hesitated. Would Pearl pay for losing her captive?
“Come back,” Pearl said, raising her voice only slightly. “If you can hear me, come back. They’ll send the dogs after you.”
Fear leaped in Nellie’s breast. She’d seen the dogs at Smiley Creek. Cowpie was one. There had been others. Then she remembered the dog with Wolfman Pitts. Was he part of the group that stayed in this camp? Judging by how he had looked then, she could imagine that he was one of the men who lived like animals in the mountains. Worse than animals. She wished Moonshine were with her, then decided it was better he was not. He could swim. He had to be alive! But those dogs could kill him, and no one would feel any compunction in such a death. Maybe they would feel as little about Nellie. Even as she wavered, a commotion made its way up the path—dogs barking, men talking, horse hooves striking on rocks. She had not acted soon enough.
“I’m here.” She walked back to the edge of the camp and Pearl, whose face no longer looked like a Greek goddess. It was cramped and taut, like an older woman’s whose nose and chin were gathering to meet each other. At Nell’s appearance, it settled back to its usual expression, boredom mixed with wariness, like a fox’s, ready to react if threatened. “I waited too long,” Nell said.
Pearl nodded. “Go in my tent. The dogs know they ain’t allowed in there, but there’s a box of cayenne pepper, if one forgets.”
Nell scrambled toward the flap and then turned back. “Find out why they want me. I’m no good to them for any reason I can think of, and the sheriff will be after me soon. That won’t be good for anyone here.” Then she ducked through the flap, relieved to be out of sight. There, neatness reigned. A sleeping bag was rolled into one corner, and several blankets were stacked in another. In a crate at one end, clothes were neatly folded. Two pairs of shoes were lined in a row along one side, both crusted with mud and both flimsy as dancing slippers. Nell slipped off her pack and placed it near the door, tripod facing the inner part of the tent space, so she could grab it and use it as a weapon, if necessary. The only reason anyone would want her would be for photos—either ones already taken or ones to be taken. A groan almost escaped her when she thought of all the exposed film in the lightproof box in her bag. Had they taken and destroyed those? Two weeks of solid, good work.
The commotion arrived outside the tent. One man yelled to the dogs to shut up. Another yelled to Pearl. “Where is she? You didn’t let her go, didja?” This voice Nell recognized as Dick Goodlight’s, Pearl’s supposed husband. Any hope she had of keeping Pearl on her side and helping her escape drained away.
“She’s in my tent. And she’s gonna stay there ’til you tell me what’s going on.”
Footsteps near the flap. Nellie scooted to the back of the tent, grabbing her tripod and the cayenne pepper box that she found near the front. If it worked on dogs, it might work on men.
“Get away from there, Dick.” Pearl’s voice was low. She must not have wanted the others to hear her. “I’m warnin’ you.”
“It’s my tent, too,” he snarled back at her.
“Not now, it ain’t. Not ’til you tell me what you think you’re doin’. Bringin’ that eastern sissy out here in the wilds. Are you crazy?” Her voice came closer and was somewhat more conciliatory. “That sheriff’ll be here anytime. Your friends there don’t exactly sneak up on a person. And you can smell this camp a mile away.”
“No one found it before now. It’s safe, unless that snoop took pictures when she was up here with the sheep.” His voice didn’t sound any closer.
The reference to the sheep elated Nellie. They must be up Fourth of July Creek! She knew either Gwynn or Charlie would think to come up this way, supposing that Nell might have gone back to the sheep camp, unless these kidnappers left her auto at the motor lodge. Then what would they think?
“That sheriff don’t want moonshiners,” Pearl said. “He sat right there in the saloon, big as you please, and didn’t disturb nobody. They was all drinkin’. He even drank some wine. He wants the man who killed that—the Basque fellow.” She stepped away from the front of the tent. Nellie could still hear her voice, but not her words.
“Bring her out!” A different man’s voice, and one that made her own hackles rise. The man at the summit, Wolfman Pitts.
Pearl leaned in, her eyes unreadable, but her face tight again. “Be careful,” she whispered. “Act dumb.”
Nell stood as upright as possible. She didn’t want to crawl on her kn
ees in front of anyone, and particularly that man. She clutched the cayenne box in one. It might be useful. With as much courage as she could muster, she stepped out in front of the tent. “What do you want with me?” she demanded, speaking as carefully and as firmly as she could, hoping no one would notice her fright. “Take me back to Stanley.”
Three men besides Goodlight and Pearl stood around, one tending the fire under the still. Three dogs had been tied to trees, including Cowpie and the wolf-dog. The latter strained at its rope and growled, teeth bared. Nell recognized Wolfman, who looked even filthier than he had at Galena Pass, but he didn’t seem to be drunk this time. His leer remained the same.
“Maybe you’ll sing a different tune this time, you bitch!” Wolfman reached out to grab Nell, but Pearl moved between them, seemingly unafraid of him.
“Don’t you touch her, you dumb—” She had gloves in her hand and swiped them at him. He stopped, his face turning a splotchy red. Nell feared for Pearl, but she stood her ground. “You want the whole two counties and all the feds in Idaho after you? Get what you want and let ’er go.”
Wolfman pushed Pearl away and leaned so close to Nellie’s face, she could see large pores on his nose and smell his breath—a combination of cigarettes and rotten teeth—but he didn’t touch her. Nellie couldn’t step back because the tent was in the way. “Gimme that pack with your picture-taker.”
“Why?” Her camera was Nellie’s most precious possession. She wanted to look at Pearl, but didn’t turn her head. “Act dumb” she’d warned.
Wolfman’s arm came up as if he were going to hit her. She tried not to flinch, to be as brave as the saloon girl.
“I want them pictures. I saw you settin’ up here and there and actin’ like you owned the land around. Gimme it, or I swear I’ll kick you to a pulp.” His voice was hoarse and low. His dog’s rumble matched it. “And Pearl, too. She’s gettin’ too big for her britches.”
She ventured a glance toward Pearl, who closed her eyes slowly and opened them again, a signal to do what he said. Everyone else in camp had crowded closer and watched and waited. Nell felt surrounded by the glittering eyes and dripping teeth of an animal pack. Knowing this man had watched her photograph raised gooseflesh along her arms and legs.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll get it.” Carefully, she eased backward into the tent, not losing sight of Wolfman or the other men, grabbed her pack and her tripod, and lifted the pack forward, letting the tripod lean against the canvas wall, just outside the flap, hoping it wouldn’t sag to the ground. She wanted it at hand. Then she placed the pack in front of her, at her feet. Wolfman didn’t take the bait of leaning down.
“Open it,” he ordered. “Gimme the box you was using.”
No no no no, Nellie repeated to herself. My camera. My precious camera. She squatted beside the pack, undid the top flap, and lifted out her Premo camera box, clutching it to her chest.
“That ain’t it!” Wolfman stomped his foot. “The thing you was usin’ had a bellows on it. I saw you, prancin’ around that fool sheepherder and followin’ them damn maggots.” He kicked at the pack, lifted the flap, and saw there was no other box in it. “If them dudes hadn’t come along, I’d ’a got you then.” His leer was back in place. Lechery looked less deadly.
“This does have a bellows. Here, let me show you.” She unlatched the box on the ground and pulled the bellows from one end. “See?” She pointed to the other end and said, “I look through here, place the film in here, and move the bellows back and forth to focus.” Maybe her explanation would forestall and calm Wolfman. “Would you like me to take a photograph of you? Maybe you have a family somewhere who would like to see your picture.”
Without warning, he kicked at the camera and it slewed away from Nellie and the tent. “Gimme the pictures,” he growled.
“They’re not in there,” she screamed at him and lunged at his leg to keep him from kicking it again. “Leave my camera alone!” As she tumbled forward, a small pop sounded in the man’s leg. Only she heard it because her ear was next to his knee.
Wolfman Pitts screamed and fell to the ground, tangled up with Nellie. His free leg swung against her shoulder and a sharp pain skittered down her arm. His dog lunged at his rope, barking and growling. The other men laughed and shouted to Wolfman. “She’s after you now, Pitts. Gotta watch them eastern ladies.”
Nellie rescued her camera and scrambled back to the tent, pushing her camera inside. “The pictures aren’t in the box. They’re on film.” Before Wolfman could recover himself and kick her because she knelt on the ground, she felt around in the pack for her film carrier. “They’re in here.” She held the small box firmly against herself and sank back on her heels. “Don’t open it, please. All my work for two weeks is in there.” She lowered her face, waiting for his leg to strike her. The dog no longer lunged, but barked furiously. Nothing happened, so she glanced sideways.
Slowly, Pitts pushed himself up, first to one knee and then to his feet. Lines etched his face, whether from anger or pain, she didn’t know. She must have hurt him. While her fear mounted, she glanced the other way. Pearl stood in front of Dick, both hovering nearby, neither of them laughing, but also making no move to protect Nell, or rather, Dick had Pearl’s upper arm in his grasp, as if he were holding her back. The laughter of the other two men eased off, and the one who tended the fire moved toward it. She heard the scrape of his boot across the dirt, the cry of a raven in one of the trees, the bounding of water on rock, and her own quick breathing. Even her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears.
Wolfman limped back to her. He held out his hand. “Gimme it. I won’t touch you, but my wolf-dog sure as hell will.” He pointed. “He ain’t eaten today. You’ll be dinner.”
Pearl’s eyes widened, and she took a step toward the side of the tent, shaking off Dick. Nell whimpered. “No. They’re my work.” But she unwrapped her arms and gathered herself up, unsteadily, and only a quick grasp at the tent kept her from falling back. “Please.”
Her enemy took several steps toward the dog. He would release it. Nellie saw it in his eyes. He might even prefer that she continue to defy him. How many times had he seen his dog attack a person, kill a person? If Domingo had not had a bullet hole in his head, Nellie would have been certain that Wolfman Pitts had killed him. She held out her hand with the film carrier in it. “If you open this, all the pictures will be ruined. I could take them to my darkroom and find the ones you think are dangerous to you. I’m sure none of them are. I was taking mountains, trees, sheep, Alphonso, and then the saloon. I never saw any of this.” She swept her arm around, the same one that held the carrier. “I swear it.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” His laugh was forced and guttural. He grabbed the carrier, flung it on the ground, stomped on it, but used his hurt leg. He screamed with pain. The film in the carrier flew in all directions, black pieces of celluloid, empty, Nell knew, of anything.
Then Wolfman Pitts took a knife from his belt, flipped it open, and limped back to his dog. With a stare fixed on Nellie, his arm dropped, the knife sliced through the rope, and his wolf-dog leapt forward. Its teeth ripped toward her face.
CHAPTER 9
In terror, Nellie searched for the cayenne pepper. It had spilled on the ground, a red splash where she had fallen with Pitts. Pearl screamed. Nellie dove sideways, trying to escape the dog and grab a handful of pepper. A gunshot boomed and, on her knees and covering her head to protect herself from the oncoming brute, Nellie heard the echo off the mountainside behind the camp. The part wolf, part dog slammed onto the dirt at Nellie’s side, a pile of filthy, matted fur. Blood, wet and scarlet, gushed from its head. From the corner of her eye, she saw Pearl reach for Dick and Dick push her away.
As if tied together, everyone stared at the animal and then their heads swung around to the source of the shot. A rifle rested carelessly in the crook of Dick Goodlight’s arm.
“You killed my dawg,” Wolfman Pitts cried. “You killed my dawg.” The pitch of
his voice rose with every word.
“ ’Bout time someone did,” Goodlight answered. He turned to Nellie. “Pick up your gear,” he said, gesturing with the rifle to the broken carrier and the scattered film, “and get back in the tent. Pearl, you see to her.”
Nellie trembled so hard, she had difficulty moving. With a quick glance at Pitts, who still stood stunned by the fact of his dead dog, she scrambled to pick up the carrier pieces and destroyed film. None of the film was of any use now, but she wanted to do what Goodlight told her to do. Behind her, he ordered the other men to take the dead dog and bury it far from camp. “Don’t want no coyotes pickin’ around here.” The two dogs still tethered to trees whined, the sound a welcome relief from the barking racket.
“C’mon, Wolfman. We got a delivery to make. Move.” Good-light pulled down on a lever, ejecting a shell, and pulled the lever back up. Even she could hear another shell fitting into the chamber. The rifle wasn’t pointed at anything, but the threat hung in the air. Pitts must have felt it, too. He kicked his dog, spit on the ground, and followed Goodlight out of camp. Nellie ducked into the tent with her belongings. She stuffed the camera back in the pack, grabbed the tripod from outside, and then collapsed against the rolled-up bag at the other end, wanting to remove herself as far away as possible from the cruelty of the men and the dogs, and hugged herself to stop shaking, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t cry out.
Silence descended on the camp, and the sun, a high golden glow through the canvas, warmed the air. Dust motes hung suspended in the heat. She heard a gunshot and then another and another. They didn’t move closer or farther away. Someone practicing? For the moment, she felt safe enough to rest and plan what to do. Goodlight’s brutal action had saved Nellie, she knew. What she didn’t know was why he did it. At the moment, it didn’t matter, but the reason might be important. Nell rolled out the bag and lay down on it, too tired to poke her head outside the tent to see where Pearl had gone or investigate the steady rhythm of gunfire.
