by Patricia Fry
Michael joked, “Could be we’re spending too much time together, bro.”
“Never,” Keith said. “We’re still making up for the time we lost out on, remember?”
Michael nodded, then cleared his throat and asked, “So you think we should camp out there and make him show his hand?”
“Let’s do,” Clay said.
Keith looked surprised. “You want to go with us, Dad?”
“Sure do. If you have room here, we can stay maybe a couple of nights. How about we spend tomorrow night in the area of… you said the Old Witch Tree?” He cocked his head. “Yeah, I remember that place. There’s some good fishing out there.” He looked at Michael. “Did anyone ever teach you to tie a fly?”
Michael grinned. “No. But I can braid a reata and shoe a horse.”
“Also worthwhile skills,” Clay said. He winked, “…that is, if you have a horse.”
Just then, Rags raced into the room and pushed his head between the drape panels.
“Now what?” Savannah asked, joining him.
Adam and Cassie also ran to the window to look out.
“Someone’s out there,” Adam whispered loudly.
“Who?” Michael asked, standing.
“Some man.”
When they heard a knock, Michael and Keith both hurried to the door and opened it. Cassie and Adam joined them and Savannah grabbed Rags. “Hello,” Michael greeted. “Can we help you?”
“Howdy,” a man of about sixty, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, replied. “Say, sorry to bother you folks; I was just looking for my pouch of flies… um… fishing flies.” When the brothers didn’t respond, he continued, “It’s a heavy canvas pouch where I keep my best flies for fishing. I left it with my tackle on the porch last night.” He motioned to the left. “I’m staying in cabin two, up yonder. When I gathered my tackle this morning to go out to my favorite fishing hole, it was gone. Oh, the other stuff was there; just the pouch was gone. I looked all around. Can’t find it nowhere. Thought maybe someone picked it up by mistake.”
“Adam, go get the flashlight off the kitchen counter and see if you can help him find it,” Michael suggested. He stepped out and glanced around.
“I was out here earlier getting wood,” Keith said. “I didn’t see anything like that.”
The man pointed at the stroller. “You folks better not leave that out here on the porch, not if you want to keep it. There’s quite a bit of theft in this area. Never heard of it happening before, but this week it’s been bad.”
“Really?” Keith said, frowning. “What kind of things are missing?”
“Oh, well, one of my fishing buddies, he lost a candy bar—you know, one of those Abba-Zabas.” He gestured to his left. “I heard of a couple who’re honeymooning in that cabin between the two pines—she left a brassiere out to dry—well, it went missing. And she lost some sort of headset. Yeah, I’ve been up here every summer for the past ten years and I’ve never seen nothing like it.”
“Well, we’ll sure look around,” Keith said. “If we find anything, we’ll let you know. Cabin two, you say?”
He nodded. “Thank you.” He pointed at the stroller again. “Better take that inside, I’m telling you.”
Michael stepped out and reached for the stroller. “Thanks for the tip.” Suddenly, he heard Savannah shout, “Watch it!” Before he could react, a gray streak ran past him and down the porch steps.
“What was that?” the man asked, recoiling a bit.
“Oh, our delinquent cat,” Michael grumbled. He ran his hand through his hair and walked quickly in the direction he’d seen Rags go. Before he could catch up to him, however, the cat had doubled back and returned almost obediently to the porch. As if he were a member of the welcoming committee, he sat down next to the man and looked up at him.
“Well, hi there kitty-cat,” the man crooned. He squatted and began petting Rags, who leaped into a head-butt against his hand. Rags then rubbed his entire body length against the man’s leg, turned, and head-butted his hand again.
“Man, he’s friendly, isn’t he?” the fisherman said, obviously enjoying the attention Rags bestowed on him. He looked up at Keith and then Michael, who had rejoined them. “Is he a fisher cat? I’ve heard of a fisher cat or a fishing cat that’s an expert at catching fish.”
Michael shook his head. “No, he’s just a cat. Part Ragdoll and part scoundrel.” From behind him, he heard Savannah chuckle. He moved aside and she stepped closer to the man.
“Actually, he did catch a fish once,” she said. “When I adopted Rags, I had a goldfish. In the middle of that first night in my apartment, the cat managed to tip the bowl and all I found in the morning was a huge puddle on the floor. Never did find Bubbles. I guess Rags helped himself to a midnight snack.”
Michael shook his head. “And you kept him even after he murdered and cannibalized your pet fish?”
When Savannah reached down and picked up Rags, the man asked, “Do you always travel with him? I’ve never seen anyone bring a cat up here before and, like I said, I’ve been coming up here for ten years.”
“He’s going hiking with us tomorrow,” Adam said. “And camping.”
The man tilted his head. “No kidding?” He took his phone out of his pants pocket. “Can I get a picture? My wife loves cats. Heck, if we had a cat that would travel like that, she’d probably go more places with me.”
“Sure, you can take a picture, if you want,” Savannah said.
“How about if you get a picture of me holding him?” he asked.
Savannah grimaced, then said, “Okay,” as she handed the cat over to the fisherman and took his phone.
“Evvie will love this,” the man said, after releasing the cat to Savannah and taking his phone back. Suddenly he frowned and asked, “What’s he got?”
“It’s a card,” Adam said, laughing. “He took it out of your pocket.”
The man patted his shirt pockets. “Huh? A card?” When he looked more closely at what Adam now held in his hand, he shouted, “My credit card! How’d he get that?” He looked at his phone screen again and started to laugh. “Look here; you got a shot of him reaching into my pocket. Well, isn’t he quite the little pickpocket. Oh, Evvie is going to get the biggest kick out of this.”
When he started to walk away, Savannah said, “Wait. Do you and your wife have grandchildren or young nieces or nephews?”
“Um, well, yes, we have a grandson and a granddaughter,” he responded hesitantly, “Grayson and Emily.”
Savannah handed Rags to Michael and instructed the man. “Wait here.” When she returned, she handed him a couple of books. “Rags, this cat here, he’s featured in these children’s books. You and your wife might enjoy reading them to your grandkids.”
The fisherman was stunned. “What?” He took the books and looked them over. “Well, how do you like that? I never…” He smiled at Savannah. “Thank you. She and the kids will love these.” He walked away shaking his head. Once he’d descended the few porch steps, he turned and said, “Thank you again.”
Keith waved. “We’ll keep an eye out for your fishing flies. Let’s hope they turn up.”
****
“Do you have everything?” Savannah asked the following morning as the three men and Adam prepared to leave for their overnight stay in the mountains.
“I hope so,” Keith said. “If not, we’ll just have to do without.” He grinned at the women. “That’s the way of the mountain man—right, Michael?”
Michael nodded, then said to Savannah, “We’d better take some of Rags’s treats in case we need to lure him out of trouble along the way.”
“What sort of trouble are you anticipating?” Clay asked.
Michael grinned. “With this cat, you never know.” When Clay looked bewildered, he added, “And I hope you don’t have the chance to find out.”
“Why are you taking him, anyway?” Dorothy asked.
Savannah re
sted one hand affectionately on Dorothy’s arm. “He’s their guide. They think he’ll lead them to Scott Hanson.”
Clay cocked his head, then turned to his wife. “Ma, this might be one of those adventures I’ll want to add to my memoirs.”
“Could be,” Michael said, winking. He then asked Savannah, “So you girls are going to pick up Aggie this afternoon?”
“Yup,” she said. “Can’t wait to see her.”
“And what are you doing today, dear?” Clay asked Dorothy.
“I’ll stay here with Gladys and help with these darling children.”
Clay kissed her on the cheek. “Well, have fun.”
“Bye, Grandpa,” Cassie said, rushing into his arms.
He hugged her. “Good-bye, peanut.” He reached out for Bethany, saying, “Bye, cupcake.”
“Bye, Grandpa,” Bethany said.
Savannah poked the three-year-old in the tummy and teased, “So you’re a cupcake, are you?”
“I’m not a cupcake, I’m Bethany.”
“I punkin,” Lily said shyly.
Savannah and Michael started to laugh and Savannah said, “Yeah, I guess we do use that term a lot with her.” She looked at Lily. “What else do we call you?”
Lily thought, then said shyly, “Sweet pea.”
“That’s right,” Savannah said, laughing.
Clay patted Lily’s cheek. “Okay, you’re sweet pea punkin.” He then waved into the room. “Good-bye ya’ll. I hope to see you sometime tomorrow.” He rolled his eyes and added, “…unscathed.”
Keith slapped his father on the back playfully. “You’ll do just fine, Dad. Come on. Let’s get on the road—I mean, the trail.”
The men, the boy, and the cat had traveled for an hour when Clay said, “I can’t stand it any longer.”
Michael and Keith stopped abruptly. Alarmed, Keith asked, “What, Dad? Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact. We’ve passed at least a half-dozen prime fishing holes and my line’s still dry.”
Keith chuckled.
Michael looked at his fitness watch. “Well according to my pedometer, we’re making pretty good time; wouldn’t you say so, Keith?”
He nodded. “Want to stop and rest here at this fishing hole, Dad?”
Clay removed his pack. “Don’t mind if I do. Come on, Adam, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
As Clay outfitted the boy with a fishing rod and prepared one for himself, Michael pulled out bottles of water and passed them around. When he noticed that Rags wasn’t helping himself to the river water, he filled the cat’s collapsible water bowl and placed it near him. After securing the end of the cat’s leash, he sat down in the shade and lay back on his pack to rest. He smiled at Adam’s enthusiasm for Clay’s lessons on some of the intricacies of stream fishing. Michael had just closed his eyes for a moment, when he heard Adam shout.
“No! No! Rags, you go get your own fish! This is my fish!”
Michael looked up in time to see Adam trying to hold a freshly caught fish up out of Rags’s long reach. Finally, Clay stopped laughing long enough to take the fish from Adam.
“Hey,” Michael said, “did you catch that?”
Adam smiled from ear to ear. “Yeah. All by myself.” He looked at Clay. “Well, Mr. Pettit threw the bug in the water, but I got to wind him in. Look Dad, isn’t he huge? See my fish, Uncle Keith?”
Keith laughed. “It’s gigantic. Hey, we’d better get a picture of it to show your mom and your aunt and Cassie.”
“And Grammy and GranGran,” Adam added. He became more serious. “But can’t I take it with us to show them?”
Michael frowned. “Son, we don’t have any way to preserve the fish.”
Keith prepared to take the picture. “Now, Adam, hold it out in front of you as far as you can,” he prompted. After snapping the picture, he looked at it and said, “Yeah, that’s a good one.” He showed it to Adam.
“Whoa!” the boy exclaimed. “It looks like a really big fish there.” He studied the fish he held for a moment, then asked, “How’d you get it to look so big, Uncle Keith?”
Keith smiled. “A trick of the trade.” He then said, “Why don’t we let him go? You know how to catch a fish now, so maybe you can snag his older brother or his grandfather up near where we’re camping and we’ll have him for dinner.”
“Oh, okay, I guess,” Adam said. “Should I just throw him back in?”
Clay chuckled. “Why don’t you ease him in? You don’t want to conk his head on a rock. Then he won’t be able to swim away.”
Adam frowned. “Oh, no. I guess I don’t.”
After Clay removed the hook, he handed the fish to Adam. Michael secured Rags and the boy gently placed the fish at the water’s edge.
Clay laughed. “I think he needs deeper water to swim in.”
“Oh, okay,” Adam said, stepping on a rock and placing the fish in a spot where the water was running more swiftly. “There he goes!” he shouted. “Look, he can still swim real good.” Adam watched as the fish swam out of sight. By then, Clay had packed the fishing gear and they were ready to continue their trek.
****
It was more than an hour later when Adam began dragging his feet and complaining. “Where’s that witch tree, anyway?”
“We should be close. Don’t you think so, Dad?” Keith asked.
Clay looked around. “Yes. As I recall, the old tree is up near that tree line. Isn’t that how you remember it, Keith?”
He nodded. “Yeah. So, Adam, can you hang on for another mile?”
“A mile?” Adam grumbled.
Michael asked the boy. “Need to rest, Son?”
He thought about it, then said, “Naw. I’m okay.”
“Don’t forget to hydrate,” Michael said, tapping on the boy’s water bottle.
After another fifteen minutes or so, Keith dropped back and began walking with Adam. “Hey, do you see that ahead there?”
“What?” he asked.
“That tree. What does it look like to you?”
Adam peered into the distance. “A tree, I guess.”
“Look closer, boy,” Clay suggested.
Adam’s eyes grew large. “Oh. I see it. That’s the witch tree, isn’t it? Boy, it sure does look like a witch! Look at that big mouth and those arms and fingers.” He stopped and thought for a moment. “I’ll bet that looks scary at night.”
“Yes, it does,” Clay said, chuckling. He motioned toward Keith. “You should have seen your uncle’s reaction the first time he saw that. It was dusk, wasn’t it, Son?”
Keith nodded. “Yes, I was about your age, Adam, and it was my first overnight hike with my dad—just me and Dad. When we came around the bend and I saw that thing, it about scared the pee out of me.”
“The pee?” Adam repeated, laughing.
Just then, Keith noticed that Rags was becoming restless. “I think he wants down from there,” he said, quickly approaching Michael. He untethered the cat and Michael lowered himself toward the ground so Rags could jump off the pack.
“Grab the leash,” Michael said.
Keith was just quick enough to step on the end of it before the cat could get too far away.
“Good move,” Michael said, chuckling. He took the leash from Keith and looked around. “Where shall we make camp?”
“Follow me, boys,” Clay said, leading them up a trail on the other side of the Old Witch Tree and among a gathering of large boulders. “How about this? We’re out of sight, but we can keep an eye on the tree between these two rocks.”
“Perfect,” Keith said. He scrutinized the area. “Yeah, this looks familiar.”
“It should. This is where you spent your first night under the stars.” When Keith tilted his head as if in thought, Clay said, “Well, we camped out in the backyard sometimes, but this was the first place you camped in the wilderness.”
“Yeah, I remember spending a lot
of time that night looking at the stars.”
“Why?” Michael asked. “Were you eager for morning so you could do more hiking and fishing?”
“No,” he said, shame-faced. “I was afraid to go to sleep for fear I’d be eaten or dragged away by a rogue bear or something. It can be a scary place.” He glanced at Adam and changed his tune. “But, Adam, I found out there was nothing to fear. I’ve been here lots of times since and no bear has even tried to taste me.”
Adam looked suspiciously around the area, then back at Keith. “What about snakes and things like that?”
“Yeah, they live out here, they sure do. But generally, they don’t want to hang out with us any more than we want to hang out with them. So they aren’t usually a threat.” Keith took a deep breath. “Well, let’s make camp, shall we?”
“Wait, what’s this?” Michael asked, after dropping the pack from his back.
“What?” Keith asked.
Michael pointed. “Peanut shells.” He looked at Keith. “Remember, Mark and Wanda both told us about Scott’s craving for peanuts.”
Adam examined the shells. “Hey, I saw some of those yesterday.”
“Where?”
“Back at our hotel—you know, the lodge. Out by the wood pile.”
Michael and Keith looked at each other knowingly. After a few moments, Michael pointed. “Well looky here. That could be his boot print, or part of one. Remember the pattern on that boot sole?”
“Sure do,” Keith said, “… sort of. Yeah, we kind of messed up any tracks that might have been here already.” He chuckled. “But we know he’s probably been here and he will be coming here again.”
Michael nodded. He looked around at the hillside surrounding them and said quietly, “Or he’s here now.”
After several minutes, the men and the boy began making camp. Once they’d fed and watered the cat and established where they’d bed down for the night, Clay patted Adam on the back. “Shall we go see if we can catch a fish for our supper?”
“Yeah!” Adam said, excitedly. He looked around. “Where’s the water? I didn’t see any water—you know, a river.”
