The Hunt

“Ranger station. Soapie Kramer lives up there. But he was planning to try to beat the storm and head up to Copperhead Ridge to the high station on avalanche patrol—just in case anybody gets lost on the mountain.”

He’s running, thought Keegan. Somebody tipped the son of a bitch off and he running.

“How good’s this Kramer?” he asked Harris.

“Twelve years in these mountains. Don’t figure they get any better.”

“How good are you, Duane?”

“Not that good. I’m good but I’m not old Soapie.”

“How about Trexler?” Dryman asked.

“He’s damn good, too,” said Harris. “Could have been a real competitor but he wasn’t interested. Likes the quiet life.”

“Does he smoke?” Keegan asked.

“Smoke? Yeah. Rolls his own.”

“Does he have a cigarette lighter?” Dryman said.

“Why, yes

“Gold lighter with a wolf’s head on the top?” Keegan said.

“Yeah,” said Harris with surprise. “You must know him pretty well.”

“I know him real well,” said Keegan flatly. “What d’you say? Let’s give it a shot.”

Harris shook his head as he climbed back in the car.

“I’ll try anything once,” he said. “But we got about a twenty-five-degree slope here. I can’t promise anything.”

“I’m sure you’ll do your best,” Keegan said.

* * *

Trexler drove as fast as his Hudson Terraplane would safely maneuver the road to Dutchman Flat and Soapie Kramer’s cabin. He was reviewing his plan, checking it for holes.

The road finally began to level off. He picked up speed, coursing down through the ridge forest until suddenly he burst out onto the flatland, a plateau near the top of the mountain. Snow flurries were just beginning and thick woolly clouds were tumbling over the mountaintops, bringing the big wind with them.

What has nature got against me? he thought to himself. First it was the dust storms. Now this. But he wasn’t complaining. Actually the storm would provide his cover. He needed a couple of days and the brewing storm just might provide them. He parked near the cabin, aiming the car out toward the lake that adjoined Kramer’s place. Snow flurries danced across the ice surface. He walked directly to the corner of the building. The phone line was stretched down the side of the cabin, entering it through an outlet near the base of the house. Trexler opened his penknife and cut the wire.

He went around to the front, peered through the glass panel.

Thank God! Kramer was still there.

Snow lashed the windshield and Harris leaned forward squinting as he guided the black ‘35 Ford, twisting and skidding, up the steep dirt road.

“We’re not gonna make this, gentlemen,” Harris said. “Need chains. All I got’s snow tires.”

Keegan was also straining his eyes ahead on the road.

“Keep trying,” he said.

The car fishtailed as the road turned to slush beneath them. The tires started spinning faster and the Ford began to slow. Then suddenly the rear end jerked to the right. Harris spun the wheel to compensate but he was not quick enough. The rear wheel went off the road.

There was a ten-foot drop beside them.

Harris slammed down the pedal, trying o get traction. The wheel spun feverishly, spewing mud and snow behind it, hit a fallen tree and caught. Smoke billowed from tire and log as Harris continued to spin the wheels. The Ford tilted slightly, felt for a moment like it was going to roll over, then righted itself. Harris blew out a breath and lowered his head on the steering wheel.

“Phew, that’s a ten-footer there,” he said. “Long fall in a car.”

Keegan opened the door and jumped out. He was closer to the edge than he realized. His feet foundered in the muddy snow and he had to grab the door to keep from falling into the gully. He pulled himself back up slowly and tried to shield his eyes against the frigid snow which, whipped by a deep, mournful wind, swirled through the pine forest and started to drift against the side of the vehicle. He slowly worked his way to the front of the car, then stared down at the half-frozen creek below. It looked more like a hundred feet than ten. His gaze moved to the rear of the vehicle. The left rear wheel of the Ford was half off the road, wedged against a fallen tree.

Harris got out and appraised the situation.

“Maybe I can bully it outa there,” he said, cupping his hands and yelling in Keegan’s ear. “If I can jockey it back on the trail .

“How long will it take to drive up there from here?” Keegan yelled back, interrupting him.

“We can’t get up this road, sir. Not without chains. Even then it’d be hit or miss.”