Beneath a Winter Moon (21 page)

The constable gestured toward the couch inside the cabin. “Might as well have a seat, Mr. Tucker. Alan did, plopping down on the couch with a frown. His thoughts whirled through his head as he replayed the evening’s events, and he realized he’d missed something. He turned to look over to the small dining room table, where the constable sat.

“What about the Svensons?”

The constable grunted. “What about them?”

“Aren’t you going to ask Air Rescue to search for them? Look for a downed aircraft signal or something?”

The constable rolled his eyes skyward. “Do you have some evidence that he and his hunting party have crashed? Do you have some evidence that they are in some kind of trouble?”

Alan should have been shocked by the man’s attitude, but he was beyond that. He’d gone far over his quota for one day. “Isn’t
this place
evidence enough?”

“An obvious bear attack?” He pulled off his gloves and set them on the table in front of him, and then pulled off the black, wool watch cap. It was cold inside because of the broken door, and Alan saw steam rise off the man’s head. “I checked everything, Mr. Tucker. The Svensons departed with three hunters from the states and all evidence shows that they are somewhere up north on a seven-day hunt. Sure, we’ve been unable to contact them, but that is not uncommon. There is no evidence of a crash, and they are apparently not concerned that there man…Kyle…is out of contact with them as well.” He finally looked directly at Alan. “No, son, I’ve got my hands full right here without going off on wild-goose chases. There are times when you have to take things as they come…and this is one of those times.”

Alan stared back for a moment, but finally lowered his eyes, turning back to look at Seffert, who stood looking out into the night from the gaping hole that was once a doorway. Seffert seemed to pay no attention at all to them and neither did Jaffey, who had gone up to the loft, taking some more pictures. Alan sighed and leaned back fully into the rough cushions of the couch. He was so tired.

He dozed, but never fully slept. The constable continued to study the cabin, talking with Jaffey and Seffert, calling for a photograph here, an opinion there...but time passed quickly for Alan and it seemed like it had only been minutes when he heard the loud rumble of the returning helicopter. He sat up and looked at his watch. He had to squint because someone had turned off one of the massive lights, and dimmed the other—
probably to preserve battery power
, Alan thought.

Almost two hours had passed since he sat down on the couch. He wondered how his two friends were doing.
At least they are warm, now
, he thought. He was freezing. Though Seffert had hung a wool blanket over the doorway, it was still icy cold in the cabin. He stood up, stretched, and looked around for the others, but he was alone in the cabin.

He stepped out into the cold, crisp night as the helicopter settled down, landing in the same location as before. First out of the aircraft were three dogs tethered to a long leash. They looked to be of mixed breed, each having thick, long fur, light tan in color with shades of white mixed in. The dogs strained at their leash, trying to pull their owner off the helicopter. The man, tall and thin in an olive-green winter jumpsuit, finally jumped from the aircraft and hurried from under the still-spinning rotors. The dogs yelped and continued to strain against the leash, but they looked happy—they looked as if they were smiling, their teeth shining in the pale light of the full moon and the faint glow of one of the lights that Seffert had set up. The dog handler shouted a command and all three animals froze in place. Another command had them sitting, then lying in the snow as the man waited for the rest of the passengers.

Elmert stood at the platform’s edge handing down two rifles and two belt-shaped bandoleers of ammunition. Seffert and O’Reilly slung the rifles over their shoulders. Elmert then grabbed a rifle for himself, slung it across his back, and jumped down, reaching behind him to pull down a large backpack. He pointed at something inside the aircraft and gestured at Seffert and the constable. A crewmember pushed several large containers to the edge of the aircraft doorway while Jaffey, Seffert, and Elmert hauled them to the ground. Each man began dragging a container toward the cabin.

Alan thought that maybe he should help them, but he had not been asked…nor had he been given permission…so he stayed back and watched from the porch. Soon, the containers, five in all, were on the porch of the cabin, away from the doorway and the bloodstains. Jaffey seemed particularly interested in one that was marked “forensic.” One olive-drab aluminum container had the international Red Cross painted on it, and looked to be in poor condition. The other three had no markings, but were equal in size and appearance. No one paid any attention to Alan, so he merely stood out of the way, shivering in the cold.

The men had erected a large nylon tent, some ten meters from the cabin’s porch. They had unloaded the large, bundled tent last, along with some folding chairs. The tent was solid red, and Alan thought it an odd color. Alan had helped move all the containers into the tent, and now stood as the others sat in nylon folding chairs. Seffert motioned to the old Red Cross container and Alan gladly plopped down on it.

Alan was asked to tell the whole story again, accounting for every moment beginning with the flight over the camp and ending with the situation in which he now found himself. The constable then took several photos from a file-folder and showed them to the dog-handler. Brad was quizzed on whether his dogs could track the horse and its rider, and whether the search for him should begin now or at first light. Brad pointed out that the horse had very little packed on its saddle, which might indicate that the rider either lived nearby or had his own camp set up somewhere close. The constable guffawed at the idea, but Seffert pointed out that there was indeed a cabin some kilometers to the northwest. This news jogged the constable’s memory, and he asked if anyone knew of the man that most referred to as a hermit. Brad recalled an encounter with the man, who had said his name was “Jeremiah Johnson.” They had laughed at that, but settled when Brad’s face soured. He recalled that he had not felt comfortable challenging the unlikely claim when they met.

“My dogs were scared of him. Well, at first they were. At first they acted really scared, whimpering and trying to back away,…but the guy, this Jeremiah, saw they were scared and he stomped his foot and acted like he was going to jump at them. They got so mad that I could barely hold them off. I thought they would to rip him to pieces if I let go. Jeremiah just laughed and laughed at them, and then purposely scared them again as he turned to walk away. I’d never seen my dogs act that way before.” Brad paused, adjusting the Coleman lantern in the tent so that the room brightened just a little. “I’ve never seen them act that way sense, either. Of course, old Maggie is gone and I don’t have Buck with me…but I do still have Sally.”

The constable seemed interested in the story and asked him if he remembered anything else.

“The man was
kinda
tall, and had long, reddish blonde hair that he tied into a pony-tail…”

The constable scoffed at that.

“…I don’t want to sound crazy, but the guy just spooked the hell out of me. I guess it was the way the dogs acted toward him …but I don’t think I have ever been so glad to get the hell out of the woods. The dogs acted…just wrong. When we left and headed out, I sometimes felt like Jeremiah was following us…or that
someone
was. But nothing else happened.” Brad shivered, recalling the day. He had volunteered to take his dogs out to make a last search for a missing hiker, and had stumbled into the man when he unknowingly neared his cabin.

“Hey,” Seffert spoke up, “There have been a few disappearances the past two or three years…all in this northern tract of land.”

“You mean this
two thousand square mile
tract?” The constable said, conveying the true size of the area where men had vanished. “I’ve read the reports. None of the disappearances were near this man’s cabin, and he would have had to have known where the people were in order to get at them. Two of the so-called disappearances have been attributed to bears…which sounds a lot closer to what happened here than what you seem to be driving at.”

Seffert sunk back into his chair, his theory quashed by the constable’s words.

“This was a bear…I am sure, regardless of what old Travis said about the tracks. I will be the first to admit the tracks look weird, but nothing says it isn’t a bear or maybe two. What I worry about is our mysterious friend on horseback and why he would try to burn Kyle’s body. So, if anyone knows anything else about this Jeremiah fellow, please speak up.”

“He sounds Scottish,” Alan said. “Or at least like he was raised by a Scottish family. My girlfriend said he tried to hide his accent.” He paused, “She said he tried to hide the accent, but it was there. She pretty much described him like Mr. Samson did. Long hair, ponytail, tall.”

When he saw the men staring at him for more, he said, “Well—Kathy worked at the big bank in town and he came in and up to her window. She said she spoke with him a bit. That’s all I remember her saying…that and…” He frowned, thinking that this part was not of any importance, “and that he smelled like a dog.” He snorted. “Isn’t that funny, after what Mr. Samson said?”

Brad frowned the second time Alan used his surname. “Call me Brad, Alan. We do know each other.”

“Sorry, Brad…it’s just that I am in a little trouble here,” he paused and smiled feebly, seeing the constable nodding, “and right now I think I should be on my best behavior.”

“So,” Constable O’Reilly began as he stood up, “I’d like to set out to see where the trail leads…and I’d like to do it now, but you are the dog handler, Mr. Samson, so if we have to wait till sunup, I need you to speak up and tell me why.”

“Won’t be easy in the dark, but so far as tracking, my babies can do it night or day. The real question is safety, constable, so I’d say that falls into your hands.”

The constable nodded. “Okay then. Elmert and I will come with you and your team, and Seffert, Jaffey, and Mr. Tucker here will stay at the cabin. Jaffey will continue his forensic work as we wait for the helicopter to bring in the Wildlife Management team.” He nodded toward Alan, “You will fly back in your Cessna at first light and I trust you to drive yourself to my office and hand yourself over. Will that be anything I should worry about?”

Alan shook his head and lowered his eyes. “No, sir.”

“Okay then—we’ll maintain constant radio communication, with status checks on every hour. Seffert, you radio me as soon as Wildlife gets here. I will need to speak to them personally.” He cocked his head toward the young corporal. “I’m leaving you with a lot of responsibility, corporal, but I believe you can handle this. Help Jaffey, but stay out of his way. Contact me if you have any questions or concerns.” He paused, “ANY questions or concerns.”

“Radios have been a problem out here,” Elmert reminded him.

“True, but I can’t believe it will affect our hand-
helds
.”

“If it does? If we lose contact?” Seffert asked.

“Then you just keep trying, son. If there is nothing by morning, you are to get Air Rescue up and looking for us—our radios have the new built in emergency transponders, but again, you are not to do so
until first light
. The night is already half-gone.”

“If the press comes?”

“Very good question.”

Seffert beamed.

“My boy,” the constable continued, “if Benjamin Raincloud comes all the way out here, I will eat my best cigar…but…on the slight possibility that he has heard something over the radio and sends his boy to ask questions, tell him it is a possible bear attack with no signs of any crime. Clear? Give no indications as to the condition of the casualty, and give
no names
.”