by Jeff Noonan
Lee looked around, somehow expecting something more. But it didn’t come. Instead, the judge calmly thanked the jury for their service as the audience filed out quietly, as if they were leaving a movie theater. Everyone silently watched as the sheriff took custody of Wards and steered him toward the prisoners’ exit, but no one reacted to the sight.
Lee followed the crowd, but his young mind just wasn’t comprehending this calmness. A man had just been sentenced to death! Surely there must be more to this than just this quiet group of people walking slowly toward the exits. He stopped and turned to watch Wards as he was escorted toward his exit. Even from this distance, Lee could see that Wards was shaking badly as he and the sheriff went through the door. Somehow it all seemed anti-climactic. Shouldn’t there be some clamor, or drum-rolls, or background music, or something? Wryly, Lee shook his head, realizing that there was a difference between the scene unfolding here and anything similar in the movies. This was real. Lee turned, and followed the crowd out toward the parking lot, walking in a daze, still not fully believing what his eyes had just witnessed.
Sheriff Frank Rose walked behind and to the right of Bill Wards. One of his deputies followed, walking a bit to Wards’ left. Their caution was unnecessary, however, because Wards just appeared to be defeated. He was shackled and handcuffed and was walking slowly with his head down. No words were exchanged as they made their way through the underground passage that joined the courthouse to the jail.
When they arrived at the cell block, the sheriff pulled his revolver and kept it ready as the deputy removed the shackles and handcuffs. Wards walked into the cell and sat heavily on his little cot. The deputy closed the cell door with a clang.
Wards looked up as the door slammed shut. Seeing Sheriff Rose standing there, he smiled a sad but almost friendly smile. “Frank, this is really some ridiculous shit and that’s the truth. You wanna know the real truth?” The sheriff looked at him quizzically, but holstered his gun and stayed there as the deputy went through the cellblock door to join a friend at the guard station just outside the cellblock.
The prisoner waited to speak until the big door closed. “Frank, I just want you to know that you didn’t get me fair. I didn’t kill that asshole. You got me convicted and I’m gonna hang. But you shouldn’t take any credit for this. You weren’t smart enough to get me for anything I actually did, so you had to trump this bullshit charge up. I dunno what dumb shit killed Kochran, but I’ll be paying the price for his stupidity. It took a real twist of fate to get me into this position.”
The sheriff moved closer to the cell. “I guess I don’t savvy that, Bill. What do you mean?”
“Hell, I’ve killed enough people to have earned this sentence a dozen times over. But I knew I wouldn’t ever be caught for what I did. I was too fucking careful and you law dogs just aren’t smart enough to get me for anything I actually did. You’ll never find any of my bodies or any evidence of what happened to them. My only screw-up was getting sloppy during that thing with Moore on the mountain. But I could of got off that with a slap on the wrist. It was the Kochran crap that cooked my goose. I couldn’t get out of that one, even though I didn’t do it. Hell, maybe it was divine retribution or something. I gotta think about that.”
“Bill, if you didn’t kill Kochran, where the hell were you when you said you had a flat that morning, Bill?”
“I had some other business that I ain’t about to tell you about. It would’ve made a lousy alibi anyway.” Wards was actually laughing now. “Like I said, Frank. Divine retribution.”
The sheriff was taken aback at this revelation. “What business, Bill? Another body?”
“It don’t much matter now, Frank. I don’t need any more trials or any more of your jail food. I’m headed for death row over in Deer Lodge. I didn’t kill Kochran, but I can’t say the same for Owens or Johnson or a few others. I guess it’s just my time. Let’s let the hangman do his thing without any more lawyer bullshit.”
“Are you sure, Bill? You could always fight this if you didn’t do it.”
“Yeah. I’m sure, Frank. Let’s face it. Even if I tried, you would go all bulldog on me and you wouldn’t rest until the hangman had me in his sights. No. It’s time to get this over with.”
Sheriff Rose studied the prisoner’s face for a long moment before replying. “Okay, Bill. Sleep well. Tomorrow we’ll drive you over to Deer Lodge.”
As he left, the sheriff passed by the two deputies, standing just outside the cellblock door. They hadn’t heard the conversation between Wards and the sheriff. Since there were no other prisoners in the cell-block that day, no one had heard Wards, revelations except Sheriff Frank Rose, and this was a conversation that he knew he would never repeat.
CHAPTER TWENTY: THE VETERAN
Lee and Mike arrived at to the mouth of Thunder Creek early on Monday morning. Both of them were glad to be back on the river again after working the Green Chain the previous week. They were aching from a dozen different muscles pulled out of shape by throwing the heavy lumber into stacks. These aches caused a lively conversation as they wryly commiserated with one another.
“Mike, I can’t believe that you’re still sore. You been doing this shit for about a hundred years haven’t you?”
“Yeah, but you talked me into going on the river and getting soft, you asshole!”
Lee laughed. Then after a moment, “So you’re serious about this Navy thing, eh?”
“Yeah. Dead serious. I don’t want to do this lumber mill thing all my life. I look around town and can’t help but to see too many people that look far too old for their years. My dad and his friends were all loggers. They were tired and broken up before they were fifty years old. Most of them died before they were sixty. I ain’t gonna go that way. I can’t afford college, so maybe I can find something else to do with my life if I get out of here. The Navy is a start. Plus, I should be able to do some travelling this way.”
Lee silently thought about Mike’s comments as they drove for a while. They were passing under the railroad tracks now, on a tiny dirt road that paralleled Thunder Creek. Lee could see the Clark Fork River spreading out a hundred yards or so in front of them. He always marveled at how his friend seemed to know every road and trail in these mountains. Mike never needed direction and he always ended up exactly where he wanted to go.
Mike pulled the truck around and backed it down a gentle slope to the river’s edge so they could unload the raft directly into the river. As he turned the truck off and started to open the door, Lee finally spoke. “Mike, what would you think about having another friend with you in boot camp?”
Mike turned to him with a huge smile on his face. “Are you kidding me? I’d love it and so would Tony. We actually talked about asking if you were interested. Hell yes! We’d love it!”
Lee returned the big man’s smile. “Then let’s do it. I don’t know what I want to do eventually, but this is one way to figure that out. I don’t think I want to do any more time in the sawmill than what we’ll do this winter. Also, San Diego is gonna be a hell of a lot warmer than Montana when we get there.”
They talked excitedly about this plan as they unloaded the big grey raft from the truck and put their daily supplies into it. Soon they were back on the river, with Mike rowing as Lee took samples and labeled them. In about an hour, they had all the necessary samples from the junction of Thunder Creek and the Clark Fork.
When they finished with the Thunder Creek area, they were on the north side of the river. They decided to stay there and move downstream for a mile to their next sample point. This was the relaxing part of the job, since the current brought the raft downstream and Mike only had to paddle occasionally to keep it headed toward the right spot for the next sample. It was only a few short minutes before they stopped and took another sample. Now came the hard rowing as they tried to cross the river directly in order to get the next sample.
They were about halfway across when Lee looked up and spat out an expletive
. “Shit! Do you see what I see?”
Mike stopped rowing for a moment to look at the river bank behind him. He laughed. “Yeah, that thing sticking out in the lee of the land outcropping is one of the old outhouse piers. The pier is built out from that shack on the river bank into a place where the spring floods won’t hit it. Then there’s an outhouse built into it. There used to be a bunch of them, but the floods a couple of years ago wiped out most of them. This one must’ve survived. When we get closer, you’ll be able to smell the shit in the river.” He started rowing again, guiding the raft slightly upstream to counter the current. Soon they were out of the current, coasting past the point of land that shielded the outhouse pier.
“I’ll get extra sample bottles ready. The university will want a bunch of samples around that thing.” Lee got down in the raft, busying himself with the sample bottles. Mike put his back into crossing the heavy current in the center of the river.
“Blam!” A shot rang out and a plume of water erupted in front of the raft. The raft shook as both of its occupants jumped at the sound. Mike stopped rowing. “What the fuck was that?”
Lee was already clambering up from his squatting position on the bottom of the raft, one of the sheriff’s rifles in his hand. “Somebody’s shooting at us.”
Mike was twisted around and half-lying on his bench as he tried to see in front of them. “Jesus Christ! It’s old Nate. He’s got a gun and he’s gone crazy!”
Lee raised his head and took a quick look. It was true. The little man was on the outhouse pier, literally jumping up and down as he waved his long rifle wildly. As Lee watched, he threw the rifle to his shoulder and fired again. The hasty shot missed them, splashing a few yards to their left.
Mike now did the unthinkable. Standing up on his rowing bench, he began shouting. “Nate! Nate! You crazy son-of-a-bitch, its Mike. Stop shooting, Nate! It’s Mike!”
The current was now playing right into old Nate’s hands. It was pushing the raft into the lee of the land outcropping, directly toward the outhouse pier. They could hear Nate’s garbled screams now. “Japs! Japs! Everyone take cover! Those fucking Japs are back!”
Mike kept trying, even as Nate raised the rifle again. “Nate, God Damned It! It’s me, Mike Morse! I’m not a Jap. I’m Mike Morse! Nate! I’m Mike Morse. You remember me. Dad went to war with you! It’s me, Mike Morse!”
Even as Mike yelled, Nate was bringing the rifle to bear again, still yelling about “Japs”. The raft was only about thirty feet from him now. Lee finally raised his rifle and levered a shell into the chamber. He didn’t want to shoot the old man, but it didn’t look like he had any choice.
Mike was still standing and yelling. Nate was drawing a bead on him while chanting, “Japs! Japs!” in an almost frantic-sounding shriek.
Then something clicked in Nate. He was staring down his rifle barrel at Mike’s head when it suddenly seemed to dawn on him that he wasn’t looking at a Japanese soldier. He kept the rifle raised, but his head came up and he spoke. “Mike? Is that you? How did you get here? Are you a prisoner too?”
“No! Dammit, Nate. We’re in Montana. We ain’t prisoners. You’re shooting at your friends.”
Nate went into an agitated dance on the pier. His legs were moving, keeping him hopping up and down. At the same time his arms, with the rifle outstretched, were waving frantically. Lee became worried that the wildly jerking motion would cause the rifle to discharge and accidentally shoot someone.
But now Nate turned suspicious again. With his feet still shuffling and his body movements still jerking, he managed to steady the rifle and bring it back to the ready position, this time pointed at Lee. “Why you in a Jap boat, Mike? Are you sure you ain’t a prisoner? Who’s with you?”
“Dammit, Nate. I showed you this raft at the café in St. Dubois. Remember? It’s my raft, not a Jap raft.”
Nate was still looking suspiciously at Lee, who made a very exaggerated show of dropping his rifle as he addressed Nate. “I’m a friend of Mike’s, Nate. My name is Lee. Lee Raines.”
Nate’s dancing and wild arm waving came back. Now he was literally running from one side of the pier to the other. “It’s really you Mike? We’re in Montana? No Japs? Really?”
“Really, Nate. It’s me and you’ve been shooting at me. Put the damned rifle down now before you hurt someone.”
The raft bumped against the upstream side of the pier. Unconsciously, Lee reached over and grabbed onto a brace on the underside of the pier, holding the raft in place. Nate was still doing his dance at the end of the pier.
Mike continued. “Nate, Put the rifle down. You almost killed me. What the hell are you doing?”
Nate suddenly stopped his jerky dance and started shaking visibly. He looked down at the rifle in his hands and slowly his hands opened, dropping the rifle to the deck.
Still shaking violently, Nate looked at Mike and said, “Mike, I’m sorry. I love you and I almost killed you. I’m sorry Mike.” The shaking stopped and Nate seemed to straighten to his full height. His hands came up to his chest, almost in a prayer position. Then he crumbled to the deck and lay still.
Mike scrambled onto the deck as Lee held the raft in place. At Nate’s side, Mike frantically checked for a pulse. After a moment, he sat silently beside Nate and gathered the old man’s head and shoulders in his arms. Looking across the limp body, he shook his head at Lee. “He’s gone.” Tears unashamedly flooded his cheeks.
Lee dropped the rifle into the raft’s bottom and grabbed the mooring line. He tied the raft off to the pier and climbed up to join his friend. He tried to find a pulse and realized that Mike was right. Nate’s troubled, tortured, life was over. Nate was dead. Apparently the excitement had been too much for the frail little man.
Not knowing what else to do, Lee squatted down beside Mike and put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. Mike was hunched over the little body in his arms, crying aloud. Lee waited silently.
Finally, Mike’s shoulders stopped heaving and he drew a long breath. “Lee, we need to get the sheriff out here. I’d like to stay with Nate. Can you go and get him?”
“Certainly. The jail is to the west down the railroad tracks, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s about two miles down the tracks. The fastest way would be to just walk down the tracks until you see the jail off to the right.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Later, when he thought back on it, Lee didn’t remember the passage down those railroad tracks. He knew that he’d run all the way, but that was his only memory until he barged into the jail office and saw Patty Rose sitting at the reception desk. “I need the sheriff!”
Patty took one look at him and wasted no time. Picking up the intercom, she announced, “Sheriff to the office, please.” Soon running footsteps could be heard. Patty never made an announcement like this except in an emergency and the sheriff wasted no time responding.
As soon as Sheriff Rose entered the room, Lee gasped out his message. “Old Nate is dead. Mike is with him, just west of Thunder Creek. I just ran down here to get you.”
“C’mon, Lee. We’ll take my car. You can tell me about it on the way. Are you sure he’s dead?”
“Yeah. No pulse at all.”
“Shit. Let’s go.”
When they were in the car and rushing down the road parallel to the railroad tracks, Sheriff Rose resumed the conversation. “What happened, Lee?”
“We were on the river taking samples and we spotted an old outhouse pier on the south side of the river, just west of Thunder Creek. We were rowing over to it when all hell broke loose. Old Nate started shooting at us - -”
“What?” The sheriff almost shouted the question.
“Yeah, he started shooting at us. He was dancing around on the pier and running back and forth. He shot at us a few times, but missed. Mike stood up in the boat and started yelling at Nate. Nate tried to shoot some more, but he was shaking all over. The current brought us right up to the pier and Mike was sti
ll yelling at Nate. Finally Nate recognized Mike and he started getting rational. He dropped the gun and apologized to Mike. He told Mike that he was sorry and then he just grabbed at his chest and collapsed. By the time we got up on the pier and took his pulse, he was dead.”
“Oh shit.” The sheriff was lost in thought for several minutes. Lee waited, not wanting to interrupt.
“Lee, what kind of gun did Nate have?”
“A big old rifle. Looked like an army-surplus kind of thing. All rusted up. I didn’t pay much attention to it. It’s still on the pier where he dropped it.”
The sheriff was still thinking. He repeated his earlier words in a distracted, almost hopeless-sounding, voice. “Oh shit.”
They didn’t say any more to each other. The sheriff easily navigated the big patrol car under the railroad where Mike had taken them with the raft earlier that day. Sheriff Rose took an immediate left after passing under the railroad and was soon pulling up in front of Nate’s dilapidated old shack.
Walking around the little building they came to the pier where Mike was still sitting beside his old friend’s body. The sheriff went directly to Mike and asked him the same questions he’d asked Lee a few minutes before. “What happened, Mike?”
Lee was startled to hear the question repeated, but he stayed quiet as Mike repeated the tale, almost word-for-word, that Lee had told earlier.
Sheriff Rose nodded at the end of the story. He’d knelt beside the body and checked for a pulse while Mike talked. Now he turned his attention to Nate’s rifle, which was still lying where Nate had dropped it. “An old Springfield 30-06. They gave these away to a lot of the veterans after the war ended. I’m surprised it could still shoot. It’s in pretty bad shape.” Lee noticed that the sheriff didn’t touch the old gun.
Lee gave voice to all of their thoughts. “Sheriff, what does this do to the case against Bill Wards? Could it be that Nate killed Kurt?”
“It’s possible. Wards told me yesterday that he killed Owens and Johnson and some others. But he swears that he didn’t kill Kochran. Hell, he could get off if his lawyer hears about this.”
