by Wood, Ted
Which meant, I decided, that he had been airlifted out, from right on top of the dead body of the other man. Which meant he had some chopper pilot in his pocket. Which also meant that Laval could have been connected with the same pilot. And that would give Laval a back door to this lake. It also meant he could have had a man air-lifted in to shoot Prudhomme the day before.
I waved Onyschuk after me and headed slowly after the track Sam had been taking. Now that I had seen the evidence of the chopper I didn't think we were going to come on the rifleman here. The chopper which brought him in could have taken him out again. I pushed on between the punishingly tight trees until I met Sam coming back, relaxed. I bent to fuss him until Onyschuk caught up with us.
"There's nobody on the island," I said.
He nodded. "Good. So let's get across to the mainland and stop to make up a sandwich. I've got some bread and kielbasa in my pack."
"Good idea." I straightened up again and we headed back to the canoe, moving briskly now we didn't have to worry about making noise.
Onyschuk had lashed the bowline to the tree and he untied it and we loaded our packs into the center. He looked at Sam a little nervously. "Has he ever been in a canoe?"
"All the time." I picked up my end and Onyschuk took the other and we walked down the rock and floated the craft in a couple of inches of water. "He's as good as gold, lies as still as one of these backpacks. Only thing is, it's best if I go in the stem. That's what he's used to. He likes to be able to see me."
Onyschuk wasn't convinced but he laughed anyway. "Talk about trained. Hell, my dog's so sloppy you couldn't take him in a John boat, let alone a canoe. But if you say. It's your ass too."
I called Sam into the canoe, telling him "In" and patting the side, then "Down" so he lay flat and "Stay" so he would keep down and not throw our delicate balance off when we were out in midwater.
Onyschuk got in next, at the bow, his rifle propped ahead of him, the butt between his knees. He pushed his end away from the rock with a quick, efficient flick of the paddle, then I placed my own rifle in the space behind the first cross brace of the canoe. Finally I gave a small shove away from the rock and knelt in on the seat, pulled my legs through my arms, and picked up the paddle. The canoe rocked a couple of times but stabilized, and with Onyschuk pulling strongly on the left side and me on the right, keeping us on course with a J-twist to the blade on every stroke, we set off across the quarter mile to the nearest point of the shore opposite.
Sam was lying, open-eyed, head resting on his forepaws. He wasn't exactly working, but after a morning's hunt I knew he was sampling the air that blew over him from the light headwind coming against us off the far shore. And as I watched him I realized how vulnerable we were, all three of us, for the next few minutes. We couldn't protect ourselves against attack. The shock of a rifle firing could capsize the canoe. We were sitting ducks for as long as it took to cross the water.
As I thought about it, my mind jumped automatically to assess our distance from shore. Just fifty yards now thirty seconds' worth of paddling. Then, in the same moment I saw Sam's ears prick alert and his head lift off his feet, I heard the echoing bang of a big rifle and saw Onysehuk flop back into the body of the canoe, his left shoulder pad exploded into a pulpy mass of down and blood.
16
Instinct took over. I roared and grabbed my rifle, working the bolt to load a shell. Firing dead ahead over Onyschuk's twitching, clawing hands, I let off a round at the sloping rock on the water's edge. It ricocheted off, spinning up in an angry whine that scythed it through the trees, chopping down shreds of greenery. The shock brought the canoe almost to a dead halt but I fired again, a yard wide of the first bullet, putting another spinner up there where the sniper was hiding. Then I told Sam "Seek," and he jumped out, rocking the canoe so it almost tipped, but swimming for shore faster than I could make up ground with my flailing paddle.
I kept the rifle between my knees, my eyes sweeping over the trees above the sloping rock, looking for anything, a flash of red from a hunter's hat, a flicker of life, but nothing moved. It was possible I'd scared him off. Maybe he'd never taken fire before and had run, blowing his advantage. I dug for the shore, hurling the canoe through the water. Ahead of me Onyschuk lay and bled and groaned. I had to help him or he would die. But until I had stopped the sniper I would die first.
Sam reached the shore and as he scrambled out I shouted "Fight." He raced ahead up into the bush, barking, snarling. And over the laboring of my own breath I could hear the crashing of his progress, and of the man he was chasing.
I beached the canoe and leaped out, stopping only to grab up Onyschuk's Winchester as well as my own rifle. His had a leather sling and I slipped it over my shoulder as I ran after Sam into the bush.
I reached the edge of it and rolled into cover against a tree trunk, listening to Sam. He sounded to be forty or fifty yards ahead, among the trees. I could tell from the noise he was making that he had cornered somebody. And it sounded as if the somebody had dropped his weapon. I had Sam trained to terrify, then fall silent before he attacks. And he won't attack until he sees a weapon of some kind in the man's hands.
I moved up the way I would have advanced under fire in Nam, moving for three or four paces, rolling sideways, advancing. I didn't know how many attackers there were and I wasn't going to act confident because Sam had one of them up a tree.
It took me thirty seconds. As I rolled up against the trunk of a big hemlock I saw Sam holding his ground against another tree. A man was backed against it. I could see his hands held high and hear his fearful voice calling Sam a good boy, telling him "Easy." Sam ignored him, barking and snarling as if his dearest wish was to tear the man's throat out. I scrambled to my feet, looking all around. With my rifle trained on the man I moved around in front of him. Before I made it that far I found his gun, an old British Army Lee Enfield, the kind Misquadis had carried. It was lying on the ground with the bolt open. I put my foot on it and called out to Sam "Good dog," and he redoubled his barking. Then I took the final couple of steps that brought me in front of the man and I almost shot him. It was Carl Tettlinger.
"You murderous bastard." I raised the rifle and aimed it between his eyes and he whimpered and covered his face, sobbing like a child. For a moment I almost squeezed the trigger. I was a marine again, up against a killing enemy, but my police training took over. I told Sam "Easy," and he stopped barking. I patted his head while Tettlinger uncovered his eyes in the first dawning of hope. Then I told Sam "Seek," and pushed him off into the bush. He left and Tettlinger began to relax, the fearful stiffness going out of his arms. I looked at him and he dropped his eyes. His nose was still cased in a dirty plaster from the last time we had tangled. I got no pleasure from the sight.
"Take your boots off," I told him. He looked up at me and swallowed nervously, then did as I said. I waited, then told him, "Take the laces out and toss them to me."
He glanced at me again, but did it. I stood looking at him, with the laces at my feet, and whistled Sam. He bounded up and I told him "Easy." Then to Tettlinger I said, "On your face, hands behind you."
He turned nervously and lay flat on his face. He was craning around to see me over his shoulder so I brought Sam close to him on that side and instructed him "Keep." Sam looked into Tettlinger's eyes and snarled. Tettlinger pressed his nose straight down into the moss beneath him. I picked up his bootlaces. They were stout leather, thirty-six inches long. I used one of them to tie his thumbs together behind his back. I didn't overdo the tension. He didn't have to lose his thumbs. I just wanted him out of commission. Then with the other lace I tied his elbows together behind him. He was braced in two places, too stiff to move. But I still didn't trust him so I rolled him onto his back and took his belt away and unzipped his pants. Now he would have to shuffle, holding up the back of his pants with his fingers. I knew that would keep him from causing any more trouble.
"On your feet," I told him, and he looked at me fearful
ly and struggled to his knees, then upright. His pants slipped and he crouched to hold the back of them between his fingertips, glancing at me nervously, not sure what he expected me to say. "Make your way to the lake. And don't try to run or I'll send Sam after you for real. You haven't seen anything yet."
He licked his lips but didn't say anything and I turned away, scooping up the army rifle and bursting back through the bush to the shoreline where Onyschuk was lying in the canoe.
He was still conscious, trying to stem the bleeding with his right hand. I lifted him out of the canoe and laid him on the rock. "Don't move," I warned him and took out my clasp knife. His eyes widened in alarm but he said nothing and I cut away the shoulder of all the layers of his clothing.
The wound was bad. The round had hit about an inch and a half below the shoulder, smashing the collarbone. Bits of bone protruded on either side of the smashed flesh.
"You'll be fine," I said and tipped my backpack out onto the rock, scrambling through the contents for my field first aid kit. It had Mercurochome in it and a couple of big sterilized pads. I slapped the liquid on the wound and then applied the first pad. It didn't stop the bleeding so I put the other one over it. The blood seeped through again, more slowly now but insistently. I dug out my spare shirt, clean and pressed from the laundry at Murphy's Harbour. I opened it, not touching the inside, and folded it into a bigger pad that I laid over the others. This time the blood didn't penetrate and I quickly tied my triangular bandage over the pad and under his armpit.
Onyschuk looked at me and tried to speak, but the words didn't come. His eyes were blue and unclouded. Both irises were the same size so I guessed the hydrostatic shock hadn't reached his brain.
"I'll give you a shot of that snakebite medicine in a minute," I promised. "First, where's the radio?" He gestured feebly to the canoe and I looked in. His own pack was in the bottom and I pulled it out and tipped it carefully. The radio was a police-style walkie-talkie. I didn't think it would have the power we needed so I asked him, "What's the range?"
He whispered at first, then found a full voice, trembling and shocked, but clear. "Not sure. We just use them in town. Line of sight, I guess."
I checked the controls. "Is everything set for the frequency?"
He nodded, then lay back, putting his right hand over the pad and pressing gently. There were tears of pain in his eyes but he did not make any sound. I put the radio down and found both our sleeping bags and wrapped them around and under him. He made an attempt to speak but I patted his good arm and told him, "Save it, we'll have you out of here double-quick."
I left him, picked up the radio, and ran to the top of the rock. There I switched it on, gave it ten seconds, and started calling for help. "Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Bennett at the lake. We have a casualty to be air-lifted out. Mayday. Mayday. Mayday."
There was a rustle of static but no answer. I looked around. There was nothing else to stand on. I switched the radio off and clambered up the nearest big tree. It was full of brushy branches at the lower level so I had to force my way up it. It tore at my combat jacket and scratched my hands and face but I didn't stop until I was high up, at the point where the tree could carry me no further without bending.
Below me I could hear Tettlinger blundering through the brush. I switched on the radio and called again, almost shouting into the radio. "Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Bennett calling from the lake. Come in please?"
There was more crackling, but this time I could hear the calm voice of the operator at Olympia. "Come in, Bennett, we hear your Mayday."
"Constable Onyschuk shot. Need medical aid soonest. Re peat. Constable Onyschuk shot. Need medical aid soonest, over."
The girl was pro. "You're breaking up. Understand you need medical aid." Her voice faded and came back. "Notifying hospital and airfield. Location, please?"
I shouted down to Onyschuk. "What's the name of this lake?" With his voice full of pain, he called, "Tell them Turtle Lake. They'll know."
"Location Turtle Lake. Landed here an hour ago. West shore. Will light a fire, over."
Again the bush-fire crackle of static and then the voice. "No helicopter available, sending plane. Over."
"Message understood. Will light fire. West shore. Hurry. Out." I switched off and slipped the radio back into my pocket. It was on my mind that I had left the rifles loaded at the base of the tree. I didn't think Tettlinger could handle one but I took the precaution anyway. I shouted to Sam "Fight," and heard his instant snarl and Tettlinger's frightened yelp.
Good. He was helpless. I took a moment then to look around and check what I could see of the lake. There were no canoes or boats anywhere and I couldn't see any of my immediate surroundings for the trees, but I had a clear view of the island with its sloping rock surface where we had landed the day before and its one prominent rock standing out like a miniature Gibraltar. Then I started down, slipping and sliding down the trunk.
Tettlinger was on the water's edge, half a step from falling back and drowning, looking fearfully over his shoulder at the water, then back at Sam who was slavering and snarling six inches from his knees. I called Sam off and he came over to me, wagging his tail. I patted him and told him "Good boy," then called to Tettlinger "Sit down"—and he did, almost in the water.
I went back to Onyschuk. His eyes were closed and his teeth clenched against the pain. I knew how he felt. My last wound in Nam had gone through the bone in my forearm. Bone pain hurts worse than any other. "Hey, Mike."
He opened his eyes. "I got through. Help's on the way. Be here in half an hour, tops."
He tried to grin. "Bullshit," he said softly.
"Sooner, likely. They're just picking up the nurse from the hospital. That Gloria."
"My wife'll kill me," he said, and closed his eyes again.
I left him and pulled together some dry wood, then found a birch and ripped off a piece of the white bark. I stuck it under the sticks and lit it with matches from the waterproof tobacco tin I carry everywhere in my combat jacket. It flared and smoked with that rich dark smoke and the intense heat that makes firelighting so easy in the bush. Within thirty seconds I had the twigs going and was feeding in bigger pieces.
I went to my tipped belongings and picked up the pot and filled it from the lake. Then I found a couple of stones and set them among the flames and set the pot on it. "Coffee's on," I told him, and he groaned again.
"You said you'd give me a drink."
"Not yet. It's bad for growing boys," I kidded, and he groaned again. I took no notice. I had aspirin in my first aid kit and I gave him two with a sip of water, knowing they would do him more good than whisky. It's only in old Westerns that they give you raw hooch. It's lousy for you when you're in shock.
While the water boiled I found more sticks, hacking them off deadfalls with my knife and piling them beside the fire. Then I told Sam "Seek," and he whisked away into the brush again, keeping us safe from other intruders.
When the water boiled I made coffee from the tin of mixed coffee, powered milk, and sugar in my pack, then found a mug.
"Where're you hiding the rye?" I asked Onyschuk.
It took him a half minute to reply, then he reached down to his side pocket, under the sleeping bags. I did it for him, pulling out a mickey of cheap rye with one of those deep caps you can use as a shot glass. I measured out one shot and put it in the coffee, then sealed the bottle and set it aside. "See, I do so keep my promises," I told him.
When it had cooled enough to drink I fed the coffee to Onyschuk a sip at a time, supporting him against my knee as I crouched beside him. He didn't want to drink it. He wanted to lie down and think about his pain but I kept him at it until he had taken it all. Then I laid him down again with his pack as a pillow and covered him up warm.
Tettlinger was watching every move and now I went over and stood above him. He didn't look up so I prodded him gently with my toe. "Look at me, I want to talk to you."
He looked up, craning his neck high, sta
ring into the sun that was playing tag among a flock of woolly cumulous clouds. "Okay. Now there's just the two of us here. You're not under arrest. You're still on the run in the bush. Understand?"
He didn't, so I spelled it out for him. "I'm not a policeman in this locality. I'm a citizen who's been shot at. I'm going to ask you some questions." I kept my voice even and reasonable and he relaxed a fraction. I smiled at him, a big friendly smile, and added the fear element. "You have the right to remain silent. But I also have the right to bring my dog back to tear your guts open. I want you to think about that. Your hands are tied behind you so you couldn't do a thing except scream."
"You wouldn' do that?" His voice ran up in a frightened whine. I looked down at him and smiled again.
"With real pleasure. You're already going in for attempted murder of a peace officer. Nobody's going to grieve if you just didn't come back in one piece."
He swallowed. "It was an accident. You never gave me a chance to explain. I was shootin' at a deer f crissakes an' your buddy was in the way. I'm sorry."
"You will get a lot sorrier," I promised. "Now tell me what I want to know. Who set you up to shoot us?"
He made the obvious noises. "I dunno what you're talkin' about. It was an accident."
I reached down and grabbed him by the hair. "On your feet," I said, and yanked. He groaned and came up, all the way up, two inches anyway taller than I am. He had lost his hold on the back of his pants and he was standing in his long underwear with the green work pants puddled over his high boots. Without turning I whistled for Sam. Tettlinger's eyes widened with horror and he tried to duck for his pants but I held his head and he gave up instantly.
Sam came loping out of the bush and I summoned him over and patted him. "Good boy. Ready for a feed?"
