His pace was starting to slow, and I guessed he might not have eaten in a while.
“Lonnie, hold up for a minute,” I called out.
I shouldn’t have stopped or even engaged him in the first place, I thought, but something is off here.
Jake and Vlad came over with a few ladies and Mike.
“What’s going on here?” asked Mike, hoping it would be something interesting. He was getting bored again.
“I was just talking to...”
“Uh, Mitchell, I mean Mitch. Everyone calls me that.”
“Okay, Mitch, you were starting to tell me why you’re not fishing for yourself with your very own fishing pole on a lake owned by the State of Colorado. I’m sure the higher-ups are not going to fine you if you don’t have a license.”
“Yes, sir. It’s not that. They just won’t let us fish at all.”
“Who are they?” asked Mike.
“The Gradlen brothers,” Mitch said.
“Who?” asked Mike again.
“The Gradlen brothers. There are four of them, and they’re a big deal in Pueblo…well, at least they used to be before…well, you know. They’re all proud bachelors except for the youngest. He’s married with a little girl and is the only one with any sense, as far as I’m concerned.” He made this last statement quietly, looking around.
“So, they think they own the whole lake?” asked Mike.
“Yes, sir. That’s about the truth of it.”
“And you have to pay them off to use the lake, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, kind of, but they won’t take any paper money,” replied Mitch.
“What do they take?” asked Joy.
“Well...I mean…well, ma’am, that’s just it. I mean…”
“What do they take?” she asked again.
“Women, ma’am. They take women in trade. Must have twenty or more already, as far as I can tell. And my girl over there,” pointing to a female sitting on the ground and motioning for her to come over, “is not going to be one of them. Not as long as I’m breathing.”
“See those men fishing on that far bank?” he asked, pointing east. “I know some of them, and they all took the deal. The single men, well, they didn’t have anything to trade and the others who refused headed back to town or are starving.”
“We can drink the water, but that’s it. No fishing or bathing allowed.”
“Just so I hear you right,” said Joy, clearly upset. “These men you know, who traded their wives and girlfriends like some kind of property, are sitting on the bank fat and happy. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Now ma’am,” he backpedaled. “I didn’t mean to cause any problems. It’s just that…well...”
“What do they do with the women?” asked Kat, joining in.
“Well, some they keep, I guess. But the others… Well, uh…”
“They sell them!” called out his lady friend. “They sell them to the highest bidder in a slave auction every Saturday. I’ve got these here binoculars, and I saw five sold just this past week,” she added. “They’ve got fights too.”
“Like boxing?” asked Mike.
“No, like pit fights,” she replied.
“What’s that?” asked Jake.
“Pretty basic, really. Two men in a pit and only one comes out alive. They bet on them, like chicken fights.”
“I thought they didn’t take any money?” asked Joy.
“They don’t,” replied Mitch. “Just silver coins, and maybe gold if they can find it. Some guns, ammo, food, and other things they find valuable.”
“Now, what man would volunteer for that?” asked Kat.
“The ones that fish without asking. They fight, and their women are taken anyway.”
“Have you seen it firsthand?” continued Kat.
“Yes, we saw the first one,” replied Mitch. “They make everyone watch who’s around, even the kids. After that, we moved away, over to this part, but we can still hear the screams most nights as men fight for their lives, only to be killed on the spot if they refuse.”
“What if they win the fight?” asked a curious Mike.
“Then, they fight again the next night.”
“So, there’s a fight every night?” Kat asked.
“Well, not every night,” replied Mitch, “but most nights there are one or two fights. I guess I got lucky and figured it out before putting my pole in the water.”
“These guys, the Gatlin Brothers…” Lonnie said, coming around the front truck.
“I think that’s from a Kenny Rogers song,” I said. It was a bad attempt at a joke.
“Gradlen brothers, yes,” remarked Mitch.
“The brothers, how do they control everyone?” asked Lonnie.
“Well, more than ninety percent of people coming out from Pueblo come from the east, straight up Highway 96. The brothers got a dozen or so men taking weapons and anything valuable if you want to pass,” replied Mitch.
“But you get to keep your fishing pole?”
“Only if you’ve got a lady with you or something else they want. I’m not sure how it all works, but it cost me a good hunting rifle and my 9mm pistol.”
“Why would you agree to that? Why not just turn around and go somewhere else?” I asked, trying not to sound disrespectful but not understanding why a man would voluntarily give up his guns.
“That’s a fair question. I’ve been fishing this lake forever. My pops took me out here nearly every weekend as a kid, and I’ve been coming up here ever since. I can out-fish anyone on this lake, boat or not. Sure, we could have turned around and kept our guns, but then what? There’s not another lake like this for more miles than we can walk. They let me keep my fishing gear and this here water filter,” he added, starting to pull it out of his pack.
His girlfriend looked concerned.
“It’s okay, Babe. They’re not going to take it from us. You’re not, are you?” Mitch asked.
“No, we’re not,” I said. “We’re the other kind of people—different, I
