Rocky Mountain Justice (The Legend of Camel's Hump) (7 page)

Mrs. Parker thought about this for a moment. It was Dawn that finally broke the silence. “Mom, he’s right. Please help.” That tipped the scales. “Let me see your lists.” Jerry handed them to her and she started studying them, occasionally looking up to ask Jerry a question. Getting a pencil, she started making notes on the papers. Finally she looked up. “Jerry, what do you have planned for today?” His response was slow and thoughtful, “I wanted to drive out and see the Moore place. Then I want to go up to the mine and talk to Dad. He needs to know about everything that’s happened and I want him to hear it from me. I also want to offer the Moore’s the use of our house here while their new one is being built, but I need to talk to Dad about that before I make the offer.”

Mrs. Parker reacted with a start. “Darn it! I’d forgotten about all of the other part of this. What are we going to do about Ike and the sheriff? Your father is going to go hunting them if we let him. We certainly don’t want that!” It was Jerry’s turn to be startled. “You’re right. I’d been concentrating on the Moore’s problem so hard that I hadn’t thought about that.”

Now it was Dawn that thought the fastest, “Stop! We can’t do everything at once and the Ike problem is not something that we want to get wrong. We know now what those bastards are capable of and we’ve gotta be careful.” She looked a bit embarrassed and glanced at her mother when she said “bastards”. But uncharacteristically, her mother ignored it, so she went on. “I think that we need to concentrate on helping the Moore family right now. But, while we’re doing that, I think we need to keep an eye on Ike and make sure he doesn’t surprise us with anything. When we have the Moore family in a home, we can worry about dealing with them. That will give us time to come up with a plan for Ike and his buddy, the sheriff.”

Once again, Mrs. Parker was taken aback. “Man! I sure wouldn’t ever want to get on the bad side of you two. Jerry, can you get your dad to be cool for a while?” Jerry’s answer was, “I dunno, but I’ll give it my best try.”

“OK, Team. Here’s the plan. Dawn, I want you to put these signs up in the post office, grocery store and the garage. Stick one on the front door of the school too. Then go home and type these lists up, double-spaced. I think I can get to the school’s mimeograph machine if we can type them fast enough. I’d like to have them available for tonight if we can. Jerry, it’s your job to get to your father and make sure that his Irish temper doesn’t make a mess before we’re ready for it. Let’s plan on meeting at the school at about a quarter after five to get our act together before the meeting. OK?”

Within an hour, Jerry was on the road. First he went to the Moore’s home site. Although he had steeled himself in anticipation, it was a real shock to see the piles of debris that were the home he’d shared just a couple of days ago. He got out of the car and walked around the yard, staring numbly at the devastation. Everything that had been close to the house had burned. Even the old outhouse, the woodshed, and the well house with its hand-pump were gone. The volunteer fire department had done a good job. They’d cleared all of the debris back at least forty feet from the house so that there was no chance of the fire spreading. It looked like a huge barbeque pit, with the fire pit in the middle where the house had been and the area around it scoured clean. A few of Mrs. Moore’s prized lilac bushes had survived, standing forlornly in the midst of the desolation.

He heard the chickens cackling in the coop that stood behind the big cottonwoods. “
They were probably forgotten in all of the hassle.”
He went back to the little shed beside the chicken coop, got some feed, and filled the little troughs that fed the chickens. After that, he filled their water troughs and then got back in the car and began the long drive to the mine.

He went through town before turning onto the dirt road that led to his father’s mining claim. From here, the drive was a beautiful one and he cheered up a bit as he navigated the winding road. The mining claim was about fifteen miles back into the mountains that lay along the Montana-Idaho border. To get there, the road followed a small creek up the side of the mountains toward its headwaters. The towering cedars that lined the road were spectacular and wildlife was everywhere. Jerry loved this road, with its wild isolation and incredible beauty. Today it helped to take his mind off of the destruction of the past few days.

Too soon, he came in sight of the little lake that lay in the center of his father’s mining claim. The lake was nestled in a small valley framed by mountains on all sides. Already known to the locals as Flynn Lake, it was a thing of beauty. Back in 1910, almost forty ago, a forest fire had gone through this area and shortly thereafter a small earthquake had partially dammed the creek, creating the lake. The evidence of the old fire was everywhere. The placid lake still had some charred, dead, trees along its sides. There were even a few sticking up from its depths like grey skeletons. Somehow all of this just enhanced the lake’s wild beauty. The deep blue of the lake contrasted with the grey of the sheer cliffs on two sides of the lake and the deep green fir and cedar forest on the other sides.

The little cabin that Jerry’s father had built was barely visible, setting back in the cedars at the base of a mountain. His mine shaft and its pile of tailings were completely hidden unless you walked back behind the cabin to the mountainside. Nothing marred the pristine beauty of the little valley.

Jerry stopped the car when he came over the last hill and sat there, looking down into the valley. He usually did this because he loved this spot and he liked to take his time absorbing it. Today, he admitted to himself, he stopped so that he could gather his thoughts before he had to face his father. He was dreading this. Finally he started the car down the hill and parked in front of the cabin beside his father’s big pickup truck.

Jerry’s father, Wayne Flynn, was a product of these mountains. He’d been born on the nearby Flathead Indian Reservation and had lived there until he was twelve. Then his family had moved to Big River where he had grown up. But he had never liked the bigger town, so he’d moved to Dublin as soon as he graduated from high school. He had earned his living by logging for a while and then working as a carpenter, helping to build homes in the area. At the age of twenty, he’d married his high school sweetheart and settled down. Jerry had come along a year later. Then Wayne had gone off to war, coming home four years later with shrapnel in his shoulder and a deep, deep, appreciation for the life that he and his wife had here in Dublin.

Soon after his return, he started helping his wife’s father in a little mine across the valley from Dublin and had caught gold fever. That mine had eventually played out and he had gone on to other jobs. But even as he worked the other jobs, he had spent most of his free time prospecting in the mountains. Then he had found “color” beside the little lake and in the hills around it. He filed his claim three years ago and had been working here since then.

So far, the one-man mining operation had produced enough gold and silver ore to keep them fed and clothed. It hadn’t made them rich, but Wayne kept at it, always hopeful, always working toward the dream that he once shared with the wife he’d loved so very much.

Shaking loose from his thoughts, Jerry gave the horn three toots in their accustomed signal, parked the car, and started walking around the cabin toward the mine shaft where he knew his father was working. Before Jerry got past the cabin, he saw his father coming out of the mine shaft, tossing his gloves aside and wiping his hands on an old rag.

He was an imposing man, standing easily 6’4” tall and weighing well over 200 pounds. But his face held a permanent sadness and there was a premature slump in his shoulders. He had aged tremendously in the past two years. Jerry and many Dublin friends had tried to cheer him up, but the light behind Wayne’s bright blue eyes had gone out when his wife died.

Jerry waved and his father waved back as he clambered down the slope. Judging by the lack of excitement in the wave, Jerry knew that Dad hadn’t seen his face yet. But that came soon enough. At the bottom of the slope, Wayne came to an abrupt stop as he finally noticed the swath of bandages surrounding Jerry’s forced smile. The question Jerry was dreading came immediately. “What in hell happened to you?” Jerry had thought about this and his response was carefully planned. “It’s not as bad as it looks, Dad. Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you the whole, long, story.” Looking more alive and alert than Jerry had seen him for a long time, Wayne nodded curtly and continued walking toward Jerry. When he reached him, he gave Jerry a hug and, at the same time, said, “This had better be good. You aren’t in any trouble are you?” Jerry shook his head and the two big men walked to the cabin.

Wayne said, “I’m really thirsty. Would you go for a Coke?” Jerry replied in the affirmative and his father went inside to get one for each of them. Then the two sat down on the porch overlooking Flynn Lake and sipped their drinks for a moment. Then Wayne opened the conversation. “OK, Let’s have it.”

Jerry started with a question. “Dad, the story I’m about to tell you is gonna really make you mad. Can you promise me that you won’t do anything until you’ve heard the whole story? Will you promise that?” This startled Wayne and he turned to look at Jerry. “What’re you talking about?” Jerry was adamant, “Please promise me, Dad. No action from you until I’m done.” Wayne studied his son carefully and slowly agreed. “All right. But this better be good.”

With that, Jerry launched into his story, starting with the boxing incident and going through everything that had happened. Twice, his father had jumped to his feet, but quieted down again in response to Jerry’s pleas. Finally the story was over and the two sat there in silence as Wayne absorbed the incredible tale. Then, still obviously in deep thought, he said, “Of course Hilda and Ray can stay at our place. That was good thinking on your part.” A pause, then, “The idea of building them another place is a good one. We may actually be able to trade some logs to the saw mill for lumber and build a frame home like they had before the fire. I know the mill owner and I think that I can get with George Parker and make it happen.” With that he lapsed back into deep thought.

Wayne was obviously forcing himself to stay calm. Periodically he straightened up as if to say something, then sat back again, still thinking. Finally, he said, “I still haven’t heard what you guys intend to do about Ike Schumann and Sheriff Montgomery. What’re your plans for them?” Jerry looked troubled then and confessed, “We don’t have an answer yet. We want to get Aunt Hilda into a home before the snow flies. By the time we’ve done that, we’ll have a plan in place, I’m sure. But we can’t do everything at once so we decided to go slow on this.” Then his father surprised him. “You’re right. Moving too fast on this could get a lot of people in trouble. They need to know they can’t get away with this, but we’ll have to be very careful.”

Jerry smiled, relieved at the response. Then his father went on, “Jerry you’ve grown up while I was looking the other way. Not only that, but you’ve become a leader. I’m proud of you, Son. You’ve made some damned good decisions here and it couldn’t have been easy.” With that, he gave his son another hug and Jerry finally relaxed. He hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about his father’s reaction to all of this news.

Wayne stood up, thinking out loud. “But right now, I’ve got the dynamite all set up for a blast in the mine shaft. Once I set it off, the mine will be too dusty to work for a day or so anyway. So I’m going to do the blasting and then I’ll go jump in the lake with a bar of soap. I should be home before the meeting, maybe in time to go see Hilda about the house. I’m sure she’ll accept, so we have some work to do to get the house ready for her; probably do that tomorrow. I’m planning to be at the meeting tonight. I’ll see you there, OK?” Jerry grinned at him, very relieved at the way this had gone. “Sure, see you down there.”

Jerry walked to his car and waited, watching the mine shaft erupt with dust and debris when the dynamite went off. It was an awesome sight, one that Jerry never tired of. The mine was just a silent hole in the mountainside until Wayne touched two long wires to an old car battery that was setting down the slope and to one side of the mine. Then there was a deep, throaty boom, followed by a geyser of grey-brown dirt. Wayne was right. The dust and dirt would not settle for hours now.

Seeing that all had gone well with the blast, Jerry turned the car and headed back to Dublin.

CHAPTER SEVEN:

The Meeting

 
J
erry arrived in town much earlier than he had planned, so he went straight to the Parker home where Dawn was just finishing her typing job. Jerry went through the lists, proofreading them, and soon they left for the school. True to her word, Mrs. Parker had the mimeograph machine set up and ready to go. The three of them worked as a team and were able to get the necessary copies ready much earlier than they had thought possible.

Now it was just a matter of waiting. For Jerry, this was the hardest part. His mind conjured up a million scenarios for the meeting and soon he and Dawn had brought up so many “what ifs” that Mrs. Parker started laughing at them. “C’mon, you two. I’ll make us some sandwiches and we can at least get your stomachs settled. Anyway, George should be home soon and we need to let him know what we’ve been doing.”

George Parker, Dawn’s father, owned one of the larger logging businesses in the area. The business had been running for almost five years before the start of the last war. It was well established when George heard that Pearl Harbor had been bombed. But the business hadn’t been a consideration when, the very next day, George had joined his best friends, Wayne Flynn and Ray Moore, Sr. at the Big River Recruiting Office. He had left the business in the capable hands of his wife and an old family friend.

The three friends had all become Marines. Ray Moore Sr. was the first to come home, but he came in a casket with an honor guard. George was only gone two years before he returned as a highly-decorated veteran with a permanent limp. He had immediately gone back into the woods, hauling out the logs that were needed for the war efforts. Wayne had lasted through most of the war before coming home with shrapnel in his body, captain’s bars on his shoulders, and a chest covered with medals.