Winslow- The Lost Hunters

by David Francis Curran

  Nate couldn’t even sit down. He felt like his blood was pounding in his veins. His eyes focused on a small snow globe on Bull’s desk. Nate figured it was probably a gift from Bull’s daughter who was eight. Nate transferred the phone to his left hand and picked the globe up in his right. As the phone rang Nate squeezed the glass ball in his right hand so hard his hand hurt.

  Finally, the phone was answered. “Beasley’s Supply.”

  Nate did not recognize the voice.

  “May I speak to Bobby Wesley, please?”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Just one second,” the voice that answered said sternly.

  Bobby worked at a large plumbing supply company. He did maintenance and the trivial work needed. Finally, Nate heard the phone being picked up.

  “Bobby Wesley, here. Can I help you?”

  “It’s me,” Nate said, barely controlling himself.

  When Bobby spoke, it was a whisper. “What are you calling me here for? You talked to the boss, and he did not look happy about me getting calls. You know I’m on probation with this job…”

  Just then, one of the bartenders came into the office and began looking in a filing cabinet for something. Nate had been ready to shout but forced himself, now, to control his voice.

  “Just checking,” Nate said, “Hey,” he added as if he had just thought of something interesting to say. “It was just on the news. They found that missing ‘hunter.’” Nate put full emphasis on the singular word, ‘hunter.’ “And they're saying his daughter was with him, that they didn’t find her.”

  Nate watched the bartender leave the room.

  At the other end of the line, Bobby was quiet for a long time. Finally, he said. “Oh, my God. I’ll tell them I have an emergency there and see if I can get right over. Should I meet you at the hospital?”

  “Someone’s listening, I get it,” Nate said. “Make it the bus stop by your house.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you at the hospital in about twenty,” Bobby said, playing along. Nate could hear the panic in Bobby's voice.

  The phone went dead. Nate slammed the receiver in his left hand down. For a moment he tried to control his temper. Finally, he looked down at the snow globe in his hand and in a rage threw it against the wall furthest from the phone. It shattered in a burst of glass, water, and fake snow.

  A New Morning in Darkness

  October 25: 8:07 a.m.

  On the fourth morning of her imprisonment, Cassie awoke feeling warm in the old sleeping bag that had been left for her. But her right side, the side she always slept on was sore from lying on the stone floor of the mine for so many days. As far as the injuries she had received during the accident were concerned, she knew, now, that they were not severe. Her headache was gone. And she hurt more from sleeping on the stone floor than she did from the bruises she'd received when she, she assumed, hit the dashboard after taking her seat belt off.

  In the dark, she could make out the tiniest of embers in her fire, which was just about out. She lifted herself to a sitting position with the sleeping bag still around her. She listened. Aside from the sound of a packrat moving around, there was no other sound. She was still alone.

  It occurred to her that whoever had brought her here might have found her after she wandered off from the accident. That would explain the strange, smelly sleeping bag. And if she had wandered off, it was possible that her father was all right. She didn't want to think too hard on whether that was realistic. As far as she knew, her Dad was alive. She noted the time, turned the headlight on, and got up.

  The pain that she had seemed to feel all over was almost gone now, and she found she was able to move faster. She quickly gathered some wood and built her fire up. Then, she switched off her precious headlight and made a mental note of the time. The mitten-socks were good. She once saw a show on television about two guys who, after being dropped off in the wilderness, had to make it back to civilization on their own. One of the guys always wore just socks on his feet without shoes or boots. If he could do that, even in the winter in snow, she could.

  As the light from her fire grew, she examined the chamber. She had twenty-one and a half bottles of water left. She could add to that by gathering snow that had fallen or blown through the metal grate and melting it in one of the empty water bottles.

  There were no new supplies. Whoever had dropped off that first group of stuff had not come back. She preferred he not come back. But then, what would happen to her when she ran out of jerky?

  What if whoever it was never came back? Or, on the other hand, he intended to make 'use' of her... and at some point kill her?

  She had no way to be certain her abductor was a 'he,' but she felt that it most likely had to be a guy. Whoever had carried her in had to be pretty strong.

  At Billy's Trailer

  October 26: Afternoon

  Bobby Wesley sat silently in the passenger seat as Nate drove them both out of Missoula toward the nearby town of Clinton.

  Bobby's brother Billy lived in a small trailer in a wooded area on the opposite side of highway 90 from the Clinton Market. Nate took the exit ramp, not slowing down from the eighty mile-an-hour speed limit until they were almost to the stop sign. But he did not stop. Instead, he swung through the right turn onto the bridge road so fast Bobby felt like he was on a roller coaster. Bobby knew Nate was angrier than Bobby had ever seen him. They were just lucky no other vehicles had been coming in either direction when they made that turn.

  There were two cars making the turn onto the bridge road from the frontage road, and Nate had to slow down. He turned left onto the frontage road and spoke for the first time since he had picked up Bobby at the bus stop. Then he had simply said, "Get the fuck in.

  "If that brother of yours has that girl in his trailer, I'm going to kill the both of him."

  Bobby Wesley's heart was already pounding. He said nothing. He knew if Nate tried to kill his brother, he would have to try and do something about it. But Nate had five inches on him and outweighed him by sixty pounds. Even though Bobby exercised regularly and was no longer the skinny weakling he had been when he was first sent to prison, he knew he was no match for Nate in any kind of fight. For now, he said nothing. He just clenched his teeth and looked into the trees lining the service road on the passenger side.

  The houses and trailers seen through the trees grew further apart. Nate seemed to be driving at a normal speed, and they passed a two-story log cabin that was just barely visible behind the evergreens and drove the last two hundred yards to the turnoff to the driveway that looped through the woods to Billy's trailer.

  As Nate turned, Bobby took a deep breath. To himself, he thought, 'Don't be there, little brother. Please don't be there.'

  Billy's trailer was a single-wide fifty-footer with beige siding that was going to rust. There was a rusted wheelbarrow with a broken left handle and a flat tire covered with five inches of snow not far from the door. Gravel at the bottom of parallel tire tracks marked the empty parking area.

  "His car is gone," Bobby pointed out.

  Nate turned to him, a scowl on his face. "I can fuck'n see that myself," he said, as he pulled to a stop on the grass in front of the front door.

  Bobby said nothing as Nate got out of the truck. His hand shaking, Bobby opened the passenger side door and got out himself.

  The snow in front of the house was almost untouched but for a path that led from the door to the gravel drive. Nate walked up to the door and pounded on it four times. "Open up, you damn pussy!" he roared.

  There was no sound but for the low distant hum of traffic on the highway.

  "He's not here," Bobby offered.

  Nate turned and looked at him for a moment. "He'd better not be." He turned back to the door as he fished in his right-hand jacket pocket. "You better hope he isn't."

  It took Nate, who had been convicted of burglary twice, seconds to pick the flimsy door lock on the trailer. Nate grabbed the knob and turned it. The
door opened. He pushed the door in and let go of the knob. The door swung in on its own. The smell of beer, cooked bacon, and dirty laundry drifted out.

  "Last chance, Asshole. If you are in here, you'd better damn well come on out."

  There was a cry of a bird that blended in with the traffic sounds from I-90. But there was no reply from the trailer.

  Nate turned and looked at Bobby for a moment. Then from his left pocket, he pulled a snub nose revolver. Bobby knew it. It was a .38 police special.

  "Come on," Bobby said, pleading.

  Nate just glared at him and pushed into the trailer. Bobby hung back. If Nate found his brother and the girl inside, he would kill them. Bobby was sure he would. He felt like a coward, and he tried to summon his courage, but he could just not force himself to go inside.

  Bobby had been holding his breath, dreading a gunshot, or more likely two, when Nate stuck his head out the door.

  "They're not here," Nate said. "Get inside and help me look for clues as to where he might be."

  "I'm sure he'll be back," Bobby said, thinking he had better get Nate away from here anyway he could. Nate would kill his brother if he showed up now.

  "I said, get in here!"

  Bobby reluctantly climbed in. His brother Billy was not a great housekeeper. Nate was looking around the kitchen, so Bobby headed the opposite way, toward the bedroom.

  Bobby tried to give everything in the bedroom a look but found himself barely examining things. He was about to move on when Nate said from the kitchen, "Found something."

  Bobby hurried to him. Nate was kneeling over a garbage can he had pulled out from under the kitchen sink. He held up two receipts.

  Bobby took them. One was from Needly Thrift: a thrift store in town, a charity, which took clothing and other donations that were sold to support the homeless around the state. The date on the tag was the day after the accident. The single item listed on it was a sleeping bag. The other receipt was from Hunters & Fishermen. This receipt was for some jerky and a waterproof headlight and battery set.

  "Your brother already has a sleeping bag?" Nate asked.

  "Yeah," Bobby managed.

  "So why is he buying some cheap-ass $5.99 sleeping bag?"

  "I don't know," Bobby said.

  Nate grabbed Bobby by the arm and swung him around.

  "He bought this for that girl. The one that obviously was not dead. That has to be what all this stuff is for."

  Bobby said nothing. Finally, he slowly nodded.

  "Where would he take her?"

  Bobby shook his head.

  "Don't shake your damn head at me!" Nate cried angrily, grabbing Bobby again and shaking him.

  "You know most of the places he knows. Where would he go?"

  Bobby shook his head. "He had three years while I was inside to find new places. I can't think of any place he'd take her that I know of."

  Bobby looked at Nate, who, now, had a far-away look in his eyes.

  "We have to find him and the girl. I don't want to go back to prison."

  "Neither do I," Bobby said.

  Bobby looked at Nate for a long moment. When Nate got this way in prison, there was only one way to calm him down. Now Nate was on a hair trigger. If Billy showed up before Bobby could get him out of here, Nate would kill him. Bobby moved close to Nate and brought his lips up to Nate's bearded face. As he kissed Nate on the lips, he reached his right hand down and rubbed his palm over Nate's crotch through his tight jeans. For a fearful moment, Nate tensed, and Bobby steeled himself least Nate hit him instead of giving in to the invitation of sex. To Bobby's relief, Nate gave into the kiss, extending his tongue into Bobby's mouth. Relieved, Bobby moved his hand up to Nate's belt buckle and began undoing it.

  A Pleasant Invitation

  Friday, October 27: 8:45 a.m.

  When a knock came at my door before nine in the morning, I assumed for some reason it was a desperate Callie Carew looking for an update on the search for Cassie. The dogs were both out again, and I figured they were nearby and would have barked if there was danger. I had been cleaning my frying pan after a breakfast of bacon and eggs and with the pan still in hand, opened the door.

  My visitor, who to my surprise turned out to be Shawna Edwards, was out there petting the dogs. Shawna was on one knee in the snow with Mariah’s head hung over her knee scratching Mariah’s ear with her right hand while she tried to pet a wiggly Irene with her left. I caught just a bit of the woman’s smile when a dark streak zipped past me.

  “Blu!” I cried.

  The dogs jumped at my cry, and Shawna stood up and looked at me quizzically.

  “I didn’t want him to get out,” I said in explanation. "There're too many things around here that could hurt him.”

  “Gotcha,” Shawna said, turning and spotting the kitten just a few feet away by a building where Lomahongva kept chickens while she was alive. “Will he come when you call him?"

  “Not usually,” I said. Then I turned to the kitten. “Blu,” I called. He ignored me and looked from me to Shawna and then darted back toward the cabin between us. He moved so fast he was like a dark streak. Shawna tried to grab him but slipped and fell in the snow for her efforts.

  “Are you…?”

  Shawna waved away my concern as she stood and brushed snow off.

  The kitten ran up the board from the tailings pile onto the roof.

  Shawna looked at me and lifted her palms in a what-now gesture.

  “He doesn’t come when you call him, but he can be tricked,” I said.

  I walked to the side of the cabin. Standing on the lower slope of the tailing pile, my head was just level with the roof. The heat from my wood stove had melted the snow on the actual roof. But a build-up of unmelted snow ran around the eaves, and this shielded me from view. Shawna came up behind me. Pointing with my fingers, I guided her to stand on the other side of the board going to the roof.

  “He likes to watch birds from the roof,” I whispered. “But this is how to trick him.”

  With that, I executed a short imitation bird whistle. I had gotten pretty good at imitating a blue jay. When nothing happened, I whistled again. I listened. Wherever he was, he wasn't moving. Shawna looked at me questioningly.

  I whistled again and this time I was rewarded with the sound of small feet running across the roof. I pointed, warning Shawna to be ready. A moment later Blu nearly flew onto the board, Shawna grabbed, and lifted him.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “So your name is Blu?” Shawna asked him. He looked right at her and meowed.

  “Let’s get him inside,” I said.

  Once safely in the cabin, Blu ran to his food dish. I turned to Shawna. “Well,” I started laughing and so did she. “What can I do for you? Unfortunately, there's no new progress on the case.”

  “Before I get to why I came, who is that old miner on the road up here?”

  “You met Two Guns?” I said. “His name is Denny O'London, but everyone calls him 'Two Guns' because he always wears two guns. How did you meet him?”

  “I'm working in this area today, don't have your phone number, so I stopped to ask where you lived.”

  I nodded and laughed. “And it’s lucky you got away. He’s lonely and he’ll talk your head off. It’s hard to walk away without being rude. But he’s a great guy and knows more about this area than anyone. Next to him, I'm a greenhorn.”

  Shawna nodded in understanding. “I must have said I had to go ten times before he seemed to understand.” Shawna paused, and then looked me right in the eye. “Actually, I should get to it. I came to ask you out.”

  I must have looked surprised, and my mouth may have fallen open. Shawna looked away.

  “This is a little embarrassing,” she said. “There's a dance tonight in Missoula put together by the Friends of the Wilderness. And I bought tickets. I wasn’t going to go, but then I thought I’d ask you.”

  I looked into her emerald green eyes and felt like a deer caught in he
adlights. Stunned, I said nothing for a moment.

  “I know it's rather last minute, and I understand…”

  “I would love to go,” I said, interrupting her.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Really.” I was a little in shock. It had been years since my Lomahongva died. Until recently, I had never even given a thought to dating. Now this woman had asked me out, and I'd just surprised myself by accepting.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, and don't get me wrong because I am flattered by your invitation, but why not just ask someone like Tim Bobbins?”

  Shawna shook her head. “I’m not Tim’s type, and I find you interesting. Since I asked you, do you want me to pick you up?”

  I had to think about what to say for a moment. I had never been picked up for a date.

  "Logistically that... Why don't we just meet?" I asked.

  Two hours later I was, along with Lois Renault and Tom Bedder, doing door-to-door interviews along Highway 200 to find out if anyone remembered seeing a red Ford extended cab truck on the afternoon of October 21. Meanwhile, Sheriff Goldstone, either by phone or in person, personally interviewed Greg and Callie Carew's small circle of friends and acquaintances, Cassie's school principal, and her closest school friends. The Sheriff found no red flags. None had been expected. But Goldstone, by conducting his interviews, eliminated any possibility other than the one where Cassie had been the victim of a stranger abduction.

  The dance was held in the ballroom of one of the newer hotels in Missoula. After parking my Jeep, I walked in through two open doors with a Friend of the Wilderness Ball banner. No one was checking entrants. Inside, tables covered with white tablecloths surrounded a dance floor like a circle of covered wagons stopped for the night.

  After checking my jacket, I stood to the side of the door and looked for Shawna. It had been a very long time since I was on a date. Lomahongva had died in 2011. I had married her in 2003 while in the army. I hadn't even done much dating before that. After five minutes of searching the crowd for her, I wondered if I had been stood up, or if something had delayed her. I was about to try and find someone to ask if they'd seen her when I felt a tug on my sleeves. I turned, and there she was, looking at me with those green eyes.