The Witchery Way

by Robert L. Ferrier

  She held his gaze. Darkness settled around them. The clouds to the east had turned from light gray to charcoal. Amy said, "There’s something I didn’t tell you earlier. Wasn’t time enough ‘til now."

  "What?"

  "I talked your dad into hiring me. Whatever happens, I’m going to be around." She reached back and squeezed his hand while he rubbed her back. "Somebody’s got to keep an eye on you.”

  * * *

  Josh felt alone with his thoughts during much of the trip in the pickup, bouncing along Highway 93. They would connect with Highway 3, then turn east and head through the hills toward Hickory Creek Park. When they crossed the tracks, near where he had run over Ish Maytubby’s body two days before, his father broke the silence. "You okay, Josh?"

  Josh swallowed. "I’m okay, Dad."

  “Sorry you came?"

  "No. I’m glad I came."

  "Why?”

  "Because I had to pass that spot sometime. The sooner I face that place, the sooner I can put it behind me."

  Ed Wade smiled, the first Josh had seen from him in a long time. When Josh’s mother had died, Ed had lost his zest for life. Josh had felt this happening to both of them. Ed had searched within himself for an anchor, a foundation. He said you fall until you hit bedrock. And it takes something bad to drop you that low. Then you pick yourself up and build from there. Their foundation had been intertwined, and now Sheriff Gottschalk and his son were trying to ruin it, Josh knew. If these disasters continued, his father would go under financially. And if he lost the Choctaw, he might lose his spirit and reason for living.

  Ed said, "I was proud of you, Josh. The way you handled yourself when Sheriff Gottschalk grilled you."

  "Thanks." Josh wanted to spill it all out. But to admit that he and Amy had sneaked into the funeral home and hidden in the coffins? To tell what they had heard? How would that sound? What would Ed think of him? The pressure built up inside him; he didn’t know what to do.

  Ed slowed as a white-tail deer dashed across the road and disappeared into the trees. Josh heard the sound of "Bob White" quail as they drove past the camp sites; recreational vehicles with families beside them, relaxing in fold-down chairs; kids playing with dogs; smoke curling up from campfires; and the smell of fried fish in the air. Out on Hickory Creek Lake to the east, he heard the buzz of boat motors as people headed back to the docks. There was a gravel parking area in front of a small beige-colored brick structure. A sign in front read: Hickory Creek Park Office Wake McKenna, Park Ranger. Ed parked the pickup, and they went inside. A tall, blonde man in a tan uniform smiled at Ed and stood up from behind a desk. He was in his fifties, with a round, ruddy face filled with freckles. He reached out and shook Ed’s hand.

  "Ed! Good to see you!" His voice was strong and positive. "And this must be Josh."

  Josh shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. McKenna."

  Wake McKenna looked at Josh in quick appraisal. "Looks like the Senoca Buffaloes are going to get a decent lineman. You’ve got a good handshake, too." He motioned toward chairs in front of the desk. Then he pulled up a wooden rocking chair and settled into it. Josh noticed he didn’t look stuffy and formal, or worse yet, sit on his desk and look down at them.

  "Now then," McKenna said, looking at Ed. "I want to say how sorry I was about that business with Ish. Know any more details?”

  Ed shook his head. "No. The Medical Examiner’s report indicated Maytubby was dead when...uh...when the train struck him. Evidently he passed out on the tracks. Ish had a history of alcoholism, as you may know."

  "Yes, I know about Ish. He was a good hunting and fishing guide. Too bad he couldn’t handle his whisky." He paused. "Still, it wasn’t like Ish to pass out right there ... " He shook his head. "Anyway, I’m sorry it happened on your tracks. You’ve had enough on your plate already. By the way, they ever get a line on who set that brush fire under the bridge at Wilburton?"

  "No, they didn’t."

  "Or who cocked that switch lever near Wright City?"

  Ed shook his head. "That either. Then we had that derailment Saturday north of Senoca. We may never know about that one, either. Still, it looks like somebody doesn’t like us, Wake."

  McKenna crossed his legs and rocked in the chair. "Well, let me reassure you about something, Ed."

  "What’s that?"

  "I still want you to run that excursion tour over here on the twelfth of next month. It’s the best idea anyone’s had for this park since I’ve been here. That tour worked in the old days, and the time is right for it to work again. There will be people coming down from Oklahoma City and Tulsa and up from Dallas—just to ride that old steam locomotive to this park."

  He turned to Josh. "Your dad tells me you and Joe Buck are getting her in shape."

  Josh nodded. “That’s right, sir."

  "How’s it coming?"

  Josh shifted in his chair. "Joe and I, we’ve got some work to do yet. But we’re going to make it." He knew that if they didn’t make it, that failure might finish his dad’s chances with the Choctaw. The vision of the sheriff’s white Stetson above him in the coffin crowded into his mind. God, he wanted to just yell it all out at them.

  McKenna’s eyes showed concern. "You look a little pale, Josh. I didn’t mean to sound like I was pressuring you about the repairs."

  Josh got control of himself. "It’s just...well it’s been kind of hard the past day or two, but I’m looking forward to making the run with Joe on the twelfth."

  McKenna smiled. "Good!" He turned to Ed. Then let’s go out and see what has to be done to get the track ready."

  Outside, across a flat, open expanse of land, the railroad track gleamed in the sun. Beside a hand-operated switch lever, the track divided into a long Y with a connecting curve at the top, enabling the train to loop around and head back west for the return journey. At the top of the Y, there was a small receiving terminal, with a water tower and coal bin. It had been used back in the fifties, when the tour was still running. The track needed work; as they walked along, Josh noticed some spikes were loose, and other places needed ballast.

  Wake McKenna said, "You can see it hasn’t been used for years.”

  Ed said, "All things considered, it could be worse."

  Josh looked past the open expanse into the tree-covered hills to the south. He got a strange feeling again—just like on Saturday and Sunday at the derailment site—that feeling of being watched. He began to feel the pressure building inside again, because he needed to be two places at once: Joe needed him back at the shop to work on No. 88, but this track needed work also. He looked up into the trees like they were a puzzle, and he felt the answer to the railroad’s problem was out there. Ed and Wake were talking.

  Josh interrupted them. "I need to stay here and work on this track."

  Ed looked at him. "What?"

  "I need to work here for a few days."

  "What about Joe? He needs you on No.88."

  Josh felt something happening inside him. Wake McKenna’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

  Ed looked concerned also. "Josh, are you okay? You look pale.”

  "The Sheriff is a killer!" Josh shouted at his dad, the words exploding from him. "I hid in a coffin in the funeral home and heard it all! He threatened Dr. Brewer into lying on the autopsy report! The Sheriff and Trace killed Ish and put his body on the track! His throat was cut and he’d been bitten by rattlers! They’re hiding something out there!" He swept his arm toward the trees. "And they don’t want us up here!”

  Ed and Wake stood there, jaws dropped, eyes wide. Ed said, "How can you say something like that? Do you have proof?"

  "Proof!" Josh squared up to him. "I just told you what happened. And you want proof!" He spun away and started running toward the trees; he felt drawn to them, and he ran hard, giving in to his feelings, knowing that he had to escape those disbelieving stares, that he had to face what was in these woods. Ignoring the shouts behind him, he passed the tree line and plunged deeper
into the undergrowth, tearing his skin. His lungs were heaving. He smelled the pines, the wild flowers, and smoke from the campfires. He had to get away! Facing those stares was worse than listening to Sheriff Gottschalk make his threats, or staring into the cold eyes of Trace; he had to penetrate this forest and discover its secret, even if it killed him.

  Higher and deeper he ran, his jeans torn. He staggered, fell, then got up to run again, clawing up and down draws, splashing though a creek. On a crest, he saw the lake, then he plunged down into a ravine and up the other side. He wanted to run forever, putting enough distance behind that he would never have to face that feeling of disbelief again. All the pressure inside him escaped with each stride. He pictured Amy’s face, remembered the shock when she had climbed out of the coffin, and he realized he could have gained credibility by bringing her into this; but then he cast the thought aside. He had put her in enough trouble already; this was his fight, not hers.

  He flushed a deer. Startled, Josh tripped over a rock, fell, and tumbled through the brush down into a shallow creek. The cold water shocked him, but he lay halfway in, gasping for breath, the blood from his cuts oozing into the water and drifting away. Trees shaded the area, casting it in an eerie half-light, dust motes floating in a shaft of sunlight.

  Then he felt that he was not alone.

  Slowly, he looked up. Standing a few feet away was a bare-chested Native American boy about his own age. He carried a lever-action rifle. His eyes showed curiosity, but his voice did not.

  "You scared away my game. Maybe I’ll shoot you instead."

  CHAPTER 6

  Josh pulled himself out of the water and flopped down on the bank. He was still gasping for breath, and his cuts hurt; so did his tongue where he had bitten it in the funeral home. He stared up at the Indian boy with the rifle and wondered what to do. The boy was trim and muscular with dark hair, shoulder-length. He wore jeans and a faded brown shirt open at the chest, revealing a necklace with a stone medallion. His lean face had good features—a strong chin and smooth skin—like Trace Gottschalk’s face, only without the mean spirit. The boy had not pointed the rifle at him.

  Yet.

  Josh had run out of adrenaline, and he knew it. "Just go ahead and shoot me. I can’t feel much worse."

  The boy watched him for a moment, then walked down to the bank and squatted with the rifle across his knees. He fingered the medallion, twisting it against the leather.

  "What made you do a crazy thing like that?"

  "Like what? Running through the woods and falling in the creek?"

  "Yes.”

  Josh pulled himself up and rested on his elbow. "I had some truth hurting inside. When I spilled it, I got a bad look from someone I love."

  "You went crazy?"

  "Yeah."

  The boy nodded. "I’ve done that. Only it’s better if you learn not to cut yourself."

  "Yeah." Josh looked around. "Sorry I flushed your deer. But it’s not deer season anyway."

  The boy pulled on the medallion, then ran his hand along the stock of his rifle, a Winchester .30-.30 in good condition. "It is for me."

  Josh felt a chill; here was a guy who marched to no drummer, he thought. "You must know these woods pretty well to take deer so close to the Park Ranger."

  The boy shrugged. "The Ranger doesn’t scare me. I can hide in the trees. I could walk up to you out here, and you wouldn’t hear me till I was on you."

  That sounded familiar, and Josh’s instincts alerted him again. "I wish I knew these woods like you do."

  "Why?”

  "Because these woods have secrets."

  The boy cocked his head. "Secrets?"

  "Yes.”

  "Secrets wear questions like clothes," the boy said. "You have to undress the secret. What is your question?”

  Josh rose to his knees. He faced a decision—to trust or not to trust—and there were risks either way. "My question is why someone in these woods doesn’t want my father’s railroad here?"

  The boy looked at him, twirling the medallion slowly in his fingers while the water gurgled in the creek. "Ah, the boy from the Choctaw."

  "That’s right. I’m Josh Wade. Who are you?"

  The boy stood up and leaped over the narrow creek. "My name is Tom Sixkiller." He held out his hand.

  Josh shook hands with him.

  Tom leaned on his rifle. "Why do you think someone doesn’t want your father’s railroad here?"

  "Because too many bad things keep happening—bridge fires, cocked switches, derailments—and then that business with Ish Maytubby." He did not mention Trace Gottschalk. Or Sheriff Gottschalk’s intimidation of Dr. Brewer at the funeral home. Tom nodded; he seemed to want to listen now. Josh said, "Someone’s going after the railroad. In your words, they have a secret. And I want to undress it."

  "Where are you going to start?"

  Josh hesitated. When would he get another chance like this? "I want to start with the family that owns the land outside the park, the Gottschalks. Especially Trace Gottschalk."

  Tom’s eyes narrowed, and his hawk-beak nose made him look like a predator. "Have you ever met Trace?"

  "Once."

  "Why do you want to know more about him?"

  "Because his father owns all that out there." He swept his arm from east to west. "Because he runs his father’s properties, and because he appeared out of these woods on Sunday at the derailment site. He moves like an animal, and he scares me."

  Tom’s face stayed passive. "Like me?"

  "Yes.”

  “Do I scare you?"

  Josh looked at him and thought about it. "No. You don’t scare me."

  "Why not?"

  "Because your eyes are not empty caves.”

  Tom smiled for the first time, revealing even white teeth that contrasted against his dark brown skin. "Josh Wade, you talk funny. You use funny words and you say them in a funny way. Like your tongue is sore."

  "Well, it is."

  Tom was quiet for a moment, as if he was considering something. Josh waited, listening to the creek. He watched the dust motes floating in the sunlight filtering through the trees and smelled the pines and smoke from the campsites. He wondered what his father and Wake McKenna were doing; they probably thought he was crazy too.

  Tom said, "Are you afraid of these woods at night?"

  Josh stared at him and thought about it. "I remember looking out into them...the other night from the cab of a diesel. What bothers me is, I felt watched." Josh stared into Tom’s eyes, trying to read him. "If I had a guide, I would go to hell and back out here to get some answers. Will you guide me?"

  Tom stared at him and twisted the medallion. "My great uncle and me...we work for Trace Gottschalk. At least I do. Isaac’s too old now, so Trace fired him."

  "Could I meet Isaac? Talk to him?"

  "I don’t know....”

  "I’ll do it your way. You call the shots."

  Tom paused and shifted his stance. "He will be out tomorrow night. With the others at the ceremony...." Suddenly he cocked his head and looked past Josh, watching and listening intently.

  "What others?" Josh saw Tom’s gaze, then turned to look behind him. He saw and heard nothing. Just to be sure, he kept on looking and listening for a moment more. Nothing.

  He turned back. "Tom, what’s...?" He stopped. He was alone. Tom Sixkiller had vanished without a sound, as if he had turned into an owl and flew away among the trees. Josh shook his head in disbelief. How could someone be there one moment and gone the next? He scanned the trees and undergrowth, trying to spot a moving branch, hear the sound of a footfall. Nothing. It was as if Tom Sixkiller had never existed.

  Then he heard a noise and turned around, saw his father at the top of the bank, looking down at Josh, concern in his eyes. "Josh, are you okay?"

  "Yeah, Dad."

  Ed Wade scrambled down and stood before him. "My God, Josh, what happened? You’re cut and soaking wet."

  "I stumbled and fell down the
bank into the creek. But I’m okay.”

  Ed Wade grabbed him and hugged him. "I’ve been looking for you since you ran off, and I didn’t yell for fear of driving you farther away." He stepped back and looked into Josh’s eyes. "What got into you back there? You’ve never done anything like that!"

  Josh shook his head. "Something just... happened. When I saw your look when I told you what happened. I freaked out." He looked around. "I think the answer is out here somewhere."

  “Well, thank God you weren’t hurt worse. Let’s get back and tend to those cuts. Wake will have a first-aid kit." He looked around. "Did anything happen out here?"

  Josh’s instincts told him to keep quiet, or he would never get a chance to check this lead with Tom Sixkiller. "I spooked a deer and fell into the creek. I’m sorry I acted so stupid."

  "I didn’t say you acted stupid." He walked a few feet away and scratched his head, then looked at the sunlight filtering through the trees. He squatted and looked up at Josh. "Come over here." Josh went over and hunkered down in front of him.

  "Josh, did it ever occur to you that I have eyes and ears, too?"

  “Sure.”

  "Then give me some credit. Don’t make hasty assumptions about what I know and don’t know."

  "Okay."

  Ed Wade seemed to struggle with the words. "You didn’t give me time to get over my surprise back there at the tracks with Wake. I’m not saying you would lie about something like that. I’m just disappointed that you were eavesdropping where you shouldn’t have been.”

  "I understand."

  "There are times when you are going to have to trust me, Josh. Trust me to do those things I have to do to solve this thing, in my own way. The right way. With nobody getting hurt, if possible." His eyes were intense. "Am I getting through?"

  Josh nodded. "Yes."

  "I know these last three days have been a shock to you. I appreciate that you are trying to help. But I can’t take this on and be worrying about you at the same time. That’s too much on my plate. I’ve already lost your mother. I don’t want to lose you, too. Okay?"