“Looking forward to it, Hank. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Monday afternoon, February 22, 1971, Anne came rolling up the driveway after a long day of student teaching in Gridley. Henry was out front painting the trim on the farmhouse that was to be their home until they could afford a place of their own.
“Henry, I’m so excited! Wait ’til you hear the news.”
Placing his brush on the edge of the paint can, Henry walked over to greet his future wife. “I’d give you a hug, but as you can see, there’s more paint on me than on the house. Let’s sit on the porch and you can tell me all about it.”
“Are you doing all this work for me, Henry?”
“I would have painted sooner, but I was waiting for a stretch of warmer weather. Would you like some iced tea? I made some for you.”
“First let me tell you my surprise.”
“Go ahead, Anne. I’m anxious to hear it.”
“Mom and I arranged for you and me to be married at the college amphitheater on the banks of Chico Creek. What do you think about that?”
“I think it’s fantastic. What a great idea!”
“It was actually my mom’s idea. She knows how you and I cherish nature, especially streams.”
“Please tell your mom how grateful I am.”
“That’s not all, Henry. We’re going to have the reception in our backyard. Mom has already rented a big tent, in case it’s too hot in late May. Sometime soon, I hope you and I can sit down and decide on guests to invite. The amphitheater accommodates up to 300 people.”
Henry laughed. “I can give you my list right now, Anne. Let’s see, there’s my parents, Tom and Mary Austin, Larry Jansen, Gary Lytle, Brad Foster, Dennis D’Agostino, Ron and Brenda Travers, Harry Craddock, and maybe a few players from my Riverside City College baseball team. If everyone brings a wife or a girlfriend, that might bring it up to about twenty.”
“What about aunts, uncles, and cousins?” said Anne.
“I only had my uncle Roscoe, and he passed away several years ago. I don’t have any cousins. We could invite Captain Odom and his wife, but Chuck is probably still mad at me about the Bettis investigation.”
“Henry, your captain isn’t still mad at you. You did the right thing, and I have a feeling you’ll solve that case someday.”
“Do you think so, Anne?”
“Mark my words, something will happen and you will break that case wide open.”
“You always make me feel better. Hey, I just thought of two more people to invite.”
“Who?”
“Martha Bettis and Pearl at the diner. That leaves about 275 guests for you and your mom to invite, Anne.”
“Don’t laugh, Henry. My parents both grew up here in Chico and graduated from Chico State. We have enough friends and relatives living within twenty miles of Chico to fill the amphitheater.”
“I bet you do. How was school today?”
“It went well. I found out there’s going to be an opening for a seventh-grade science teacher at the end of this school year.”
“Wouldn’t it be great if you could snag that position and teach right here in Gridley?”
“I should have a pretty good chance. I’m doing my student teaching at the school where the opening’s going to be, and they seem to appreciate my work.”
“To know you is to love you, Anne.”
“You’re a little bit biased, Henry.”
“Maybe I’ll drop by once in a while with an orphaned hawk or an injured owl to show your students.”
“I’m sure they’d love that. I would too. You always look so handsome in your uniform.”
Henry’s and Anne’s wedding went off without a hitch. Although late May temperatures ranged from the high eighties to the low nineties, Big Chico Creek provided a cooling effect and all the guests remained comfortable throughout the short ceremony. It didn’t hurt that most of the ninety-four attendees showed up in casual summer attire, as per the bride’s and groom’s invitation instructions.
Sara Nichols was Anne’s obvious choice for maid of honor, and Larry Jansen drove all the way from Lake Elsinore to be Henry’s best man. Sara, who had just signed a contract to teach second grade in nearby Hamilton City, arrived looking radiant. Her appearance didn’t go unnoticed. Larry, who’d been teaching PE and coaching baseball for the past two years, couldn’t have been more smitten.
“What happened to Jeanette Rogers?” mumbled Henry, as he and Larry stood side by side on the cement stage, watching Chico Creek flow by.
“She took one look at Lake Elsinore and said adiós.”
“Well, good luck with Sara. She’s a nice girl. With her being six feet tall and you six-four, your kids are a cinch to make the high-school basketball team.”
“That thought did cross my mind,” said Larry, chuckling.
“Look!” said Henry, pointing to a school of spring-run salmon swimming upstream.
“Only you would notice a school of fish at a time like this, Hank.”
“Larry, I really appreciate your coming all this way to be my best man.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Larry’s eyes were glued to Sara as she walked up the cement pathway and assembled at Henry’s right. As the music began to play, everyone returned their attention to the pathway, where Anne and her father approached. “Good luck, Hank. We’ve come a long way since second grade.”
Henry could almost hear his own heart beating as he smiled and bumped elbows with his lifelong friend. “Here we go.”
After the wedding, it was time to meet and greet guests at the reception. Henry spent the first hour hugging and shaking hands with Anne’s friends and relatives. Looking over Anne’s shoulder, he spotted Gary Lytle, Brad Foster, and Dennis D’Agostino standing near the bar—each with a beer in his hand.
Gary Lytle had flown all the way from Montana to attend the wedding. Henry would have invited him to stay at the farmhouse, but Henry’s parents and Larry Jansen were already occupying the available beds. Brad Foster took up the slack and invited Gary to stay with him and his wife at their home in Willows. Finally catching Henry alone, Brad couldn’t wait to tell him what had happened the previous afternoon.
“This guy rents a car at the Sacramento Airport and drives up to our house,” said Brad. “You know where we live, Hank.”
“I do.”
“Gary pulls up in our driveway, walks to the door, and rings the bell. I had just finished my shift and was on my way home. Did I tell you I made detective?”
“No, you didn’t,” said Henry. “Congratulations!”
“Yeah, it’s almost unheard of to make detective after only two years in uniform.”
“Cut the bull and finish your story so I can go get another beer,” said Gary.
“See what I have to put up with?” said Brad. “Nothing’s changed with this guy. He’s just as cantankerous as ever.”
“So, what happened?” said Dennis.
“Anyway, Gary rings the bell, Susan comes to the door, and Mr. Personality says, ‘You look familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before?’”
“You mean Gary didn’t know that you and Susan had gotten married?” said Henry.
“The same Susan that Gary had embarrassed on her first date with Brad,” said Dennis, laughing.
“Now that Dennis has ruined the rest of my story, Gary might as well go get his beer,” said Brad.
“Thanks, Brad. Does anyone else want one?”
“I do,” said Dennis.
“Dennis, how have you been?” said Henry. “Did Janet come with you?”
“She’s over at the table, talking to Anne and Susan. That was the nicest wedding I’ve ever been to, Hank. Short and sweet, just the way I like ’em. You couldn’t have picked a better location. I saw you pointing at those fish that swam by
.”
“It was Anne’s mother’s idea. She and Anne’s father were married on that same spot, twenty-five years ago.”
Working their way from table to table, Henry and Anne found Ron and Brenda Travers sitting at a table with Tom and Mary Austin. Ron said he’d been promoted to Ranger 2 at Plumas-Eureka State Park. Henry asked about Harry Craddock and learned that he had retired to help his mother and two aunts run a bed-and-breakfast business at the ranch. “Harry said to give you both his best and tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t make the wedding,” said Travers.
“Speaking of bed and breakfasts,” said Anne, “Henry and I are spending the next three nights at a bed and breakfast in Pacific Grove. After Pacific Grove, we’re going to drive down the coast and spend a few days with Henry’s parents in Temecula.”
“Then what?” said Mary Austin.
“Then I become a permanent Gridley resident,” said Anne. “You should see how nice the outside of that old farmhouse looks after Henry painted it.”
“I think the inside of that old house could use a woman’s touch,” said Tom.
“I plan to spend June and July working on the inside,” said Anne. “If it’s not too late, Henry and I also want to plant a garden.”
“Anne just signed a contract to teach seventh-grade science in Gridley,” said Henry.
“That’s wonderful, Anne,” said Mary Austin.
“Thanks, Mary. I start the second week of August, with staff meetings and in-service training. What about you, Tom? Henry tells me you’re retiring next month. Are you excited?”
“I wanted to stay on and help Hank solve the Bettis murder case, but we all know how that turned out.”
“Tom, your captain is right over there,” whispered Mary. “He’s gonna hear you.”
“I don’t care. What’s he gonna do—fire me?”
“No more wine for you. And I’m driving home,” said Mary.
“Tell us about the Bettis case,” said Ron Travers, sitting across the table.
“Hank can tell it better than I,” said Tom. “In a way, he’s been working on it since he was eleven years old.”
“Tom,” said Mary, “Hank doesn’t want to tell that sad story on his wedding day.”
THIRTY
Since Mike Prescott and Tom Austin had retired, Warden Glance was temporarily left with the southern half of Glenn County and the northern half of Butte County to patrol, in addition to his own sizeable district. Having studied a Mendocino National Forest map the night before, Henry decided to spend opening morning of archery deer season patrolling an area of southern Glenn County known as Sheetiron Mountain. It was August 21, 1971.
Glance had never been to Sheetiron Mountain and didn’t know what to expect when he got there. What he found was a tangle of Forest Service roads and logging spurs that led in a hundred different directions. All the roads and adjacent trees were engulfed in a fine, powdery dust from the procession of logging trucks that had rumbled through the forest all summer. To make matters worse, the temperature had reached ninety degrees by noon and the enthusiastic young warden had yet to encounter a single hunter.
Not willing to give up, Henry headed north in the afternoon and eventually came to an intersection. According to the wooden Forest Service sign, he had four choices: turn around and go back the way he’d come, continue on his present course and eventually reach Alder Springs, turn right toward Highway 162, or turn left and eventually reach Bald Mountain. Henry would later write in his daily diary:
Due to the absence of hunting activity, my initial decision was to turn right and head toward Highway 162. I had driven a mile or so toward 162 and home when my gut said to turn around and go the other direction. So I did.
Henry had driven three or four miles up the long, winding road to Bald Mountain when he came to a light-blue, World-War-II-era Willys Jeep. The jeep was parked next to an iron gate with a metal sign reading ROAD WASHED OUT—OFFICIAL VEHICLES ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.
Stepping from his patrol truck, Henry peered into the jeep and noticed a broken arrow lying on the back floorboard. A broadhead was attached to the business end of the arrow, indicating that the operator of the jeep was probably a deer hunter. “He must have walked out this logging spur,” mumbled Glance. “I’ve been up here in these woods all day and haven’t contacted a single hunter. There’s no way I’m going home without checking this guy out.”
Henry rummaged through a box on the front seat of his patrol truck until he found his only Forest Service key. The key fit, so he swung open the gate, drove through, and locked the gate behind him. Judging from the abundance of weeds growing in the middle of the narrow dirt road, Glance figured his pathway hadn’t been graded or maintained in years. With a jungle of chamise and manzanita on his right and a sheer cliff on his left, Henry shoved the truck into low gear and crept up the mountainside. The road eventually leveled out at the top and continued another two miles before coming to a wooden barrier and another sign, this one reading DANGER—ROAD WASHED OUT.
Climbing from the truck, Glance walked around the barrier and approached the cliff’s edge. Looking out over the canyon, he saw what remained of an old clear-cut on the opposite side. To his right and directly below was a massive abyss, filled with dirt, rubble, fallen rocks, and dead trees. “My God!” said Henry. “It looks like half the mountainside sloughed off and fell into this canyon.”
“Hello,” came a voice from the canyon below.
Looking to his left, Henry watched a tall, thin, blond-haired man, who looked to be in his mid-twenties, climb the edge of the canyon on a sixteen-inch-wide deer trail. Strapped to the man’s back was a king-sized backpack, a quiver full of arrows, and a hunting bow.
“Hello, yourself,” said Glance. “That’s a long way down. Did you go all the way to the bottom?”
The hunter removed his cumbersome backpack and sat down on a nearby rock. “I stuck a little forky about ten o’clock this morning,” he said, still trying to catch his breath.
“Did you find him?”
Coming to his feet, the hunter turned and pointed into the canyon. “I wasn’t about to quit until I did. See that patch of live oaks at the bottom-left?”
“Yes.”
“I followed his blood trail through those trees and another half mile before I found him lying dead in the dry streambed. I didn’t want the meat to spoil, so I gutted him, hung him in the shade, and skinned him out.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
“Many times, and I’ve never let a deer go to waste.”
“I’m impressed. What about yellow jackets?”
“They were all over the carcass in seconds, so I boned him out, packed the meat in that big backpack over there, and hiked up here.”
“May I see the antlers and your deer tag?”
“You bet. I have a handy-dandy little meat saw I use to remove the skullcap and the antlers.”
“What’s your name?”
“Dana Adler. What’s yours?”
“Hank Glance. Glad to meet you, Dana. I wish every hunter were as conscientious as you seem to be.”
“Thanks for saying that,” said Adler, handing Glance a small set of forked antlers with a filled-out deer tag attached. “I respect the sport of hunting and the game I hunt.”
“Is your hunting license handy?”
As Adler unzipped the side pocket on his backpack and reached inside for his hunting license, an orange styrofoam ball fell out and rolled across the ground at Henry’s feet.
“What’s this?” said Henry, reaching down and picking it up.
“I was wondering the same thing myself. See that pile of slash and dead trees near the bottom of the canyon?”
“Yes.”
“I was about forty yards from there when I spotted that orange ball you have in your hand.”
“You
must have good eyes if you spotted this on the ground from forty yards away.”
“It wasn’t on the ground; it was dangling in the air. I knew it had to be attached to something, so I walked over to investigate. What I found was a heavy-duty wire sticking up out of the ground. The ball you have in your hand was attached to the end.”
“That’s strange,” said Glance.
“I’d like to stay and talk, but I’d better take care of that deer meat before it spoils.”
“Throw your gear in the back of the pickup. I’ll give you a ride to your jeep.”
Henry and Anne were sitting on the front porch, watching the sun go down. “Henry, you look like you have the whole world on your shoulders. What’s on your mind?”
“Huh?”
“Henry, what are you thinking about?”
“Something that happened today. What time is it, Anne?”
“It’s 8:15.”
“I’m gonna make a quick phone call to Tom Austin.”
“Take your time. I need to work on some lesson plans anyway.”
“Hello,” said Austin.
“Tom, this is Hank. How’s retirement treating you?”
“Great, Hank. How did the archery opener go?”
“I decided to work the west side of the valley, in Mike’s old district.”
“Let me guess. It was hot, dusty, and you didn’t check a single hunter all day.”
“You’re close, but I did check one hunter.”
“Archery deer opener is usually a big waste of time. Don’t feel like the Lone Ranger.”
“Something happened that I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I like that. It means you haven’t forgotten about me.”
“I found this old logging spur behind a locked gate. The road is closed because half the mountain came down at some point and washed it out. To make a long story short, this hunter I contacted showed me an orange ball he found at the bottom of the canyon. It was attached to some kind of heavy wire that was sticking up out of the ground. I know it’s a long shot, but—”
The Case of the Missing Game Warden Page 24
