I glanced back up and half expected him to be standing there with the paws of the giant grizzly swaying in the breeze beside his massive girth, but there was still nothing, only the tracks that continued to follow the other three. It took the better part of a mile to get to Lake Helen, and Virgil continued to follow the others. As I trudged along, I thought about the Crow Indian. Had he known that they had left Freddie in the Thiokol and continued on? Why was he following them? Was he the guide whom Hector had alluded to, that Beatrice had mentioned? If he was, then why had he taken the time to fool with me?
He said he’d been watching them last night before waking me, and if that was the case, wouldn’t he have seen them leave? If he was the so-called guide, then why wouldn’t he have simply joined them there?
The moonlight had given way to dawn, and I could see some movement on the trail far ahead. I pulled the binoculars up again and looked.
The blue patches of the early morning sky were succumbing to a wall of gray, but it was light enough that I could see the Cloud Peak massif rising above the valley. The granite-ribbed peaks gave way to the subalpine forests trickling down to scattered groves of conifers that strung all the way to Mistymoon, one of the last lakes before the true high country.
I used the ridge as a guide and followed the trail from there to the area below where I could see three people struggling to make their way up to the next hanging plateau. The one in the back was stumbling under the weight of a large pack and was unarmed-must be the real Ameri-Trans driver; the one in the middle with the blonde hair had to be Agent Pfaff; and the one in front carrying a large pack, an automatic rifle, and what looked to be a black duffel had to be Raynaud Shade-confident son of a bitch.
I lowered the binoculars and thought about what Omar had said in his cabin before I’d left: “Kill ’em, kill ’em as fast as you can and from far away.”
I unclipped the center strap of my pack and carefully slipped the rifle off my shoulder. I figured just a hair over six hundred yards-at the edge of my limit. All my instincts were telling me to take the shot, to do it now and end it. I would never have a better opportunity or conditions.
It would take about a half second to reach out to Raynaud Shade, but there was something about shooting a man, even a guilty man, unawares from great distance that didn’t sit well with my job description.
They’d made the ridge but weren’t moving too rapidly, mostly because of the Ameri-Trans driver, who seemed to be having trouble keeping up. I looked at him for a moment, then moved the rifle back to Pfaff, and then to Shade. He had dropped his bags and was standing on the ridge, the. 223 aimed with his eye pressed to the scope.
Watching me.
I had that same eerie feeling I’d had every time I looked at him and had found him looking at me. It was possible that there was no surprising Raynaud Shade.
He knew that the Armalite wouldn’t reach this far. He was aware, also, that what I was carrying would, but he still didn’t move. We stood like that, the two of us, for a long second.
Waves of unease overtook me, and I remembered the last long-distance shot that I’d taken with a Sharps buffalo rifle and how it had ended in tragedy. In some ways they all ended in tragedy, no matter which end of the slug you were on.
He lowered the tactical carbine but continued looking at me. After a moment his left arm came up and he waved, but it was a strange wave. Then he closed his fingers as if grasping something.
The satellite phone in my pocket rang.
I lowered the rifle, pulled the device out, and hit the button.
“Hello, Sheriff. We are somewhat at an impasse.”
I measured my words. “You need to stop this.”
He breathed into the phone. “That is what I’m trying to do.”
“Let the two hostages go, and maybe we can figure all of this out.”
“They tell me you don’t believe in them.”
Of all the conversations I wanted to have with Shade, this was the one I wanted to have least. “Shade, look… We need to get you some help.”
He laughed, but there was nothing but depravity in it. “I have all the help I need.” He was silent for a moment. “More than I can stand.”
I waited.
“You should acknowledge them; so few of us can. They discovered me when I was very young, but from the reading I’ve done and what the psychiatrists and therapists tell me, that isn’t abnormal.”
“No.”
“They took part of me with them then. I’ve been trying to get that part of me back ever since-that’s why they speak to me so much; that’s why I listen.” He stopped talking but didn’t disconnect, and I pulled the binoculars up to watch him remove something from the bag he carried and place it on an uncovered boulder alongside the trail. “I’m leaving this for you because they tell me it is what I must do.”
The phone went dead, and I watched him for a few more seconds as he loaded up and continued on over the ridge with the other two following.
Adjusting the optical ring at the back of the binoculars, widening the aperture, I scanned the slope behind them, half expecting to find a giant Indian wearing a bearskin. I trailed the optics along the path all the way back to the southern edge of the lake but still couldn’t see any sign of Virgil.
I needed a drink and settled for water. I sat my pack on the trail. The bottle was on top and, as I pulled it out, the satellite phone began ringing again from my inside pocket. “Shade, listen…”
“Hey Sheriff, there are fucking Indians up here.”
“Hector, how did you get this number?”
“You were right, they’re sequestered or something like that…”
“Sequential.”
There was a jostling. “I’m not kidding. These two Indians were just here, and they’re looking for you.”
“I know. They’re on our… they’re on my side.”
“Well, I just thought that with you bein’ a cowboy and all I better call you up and let you know. These were some really tough-looking hombres. The one guy, the really big one? I mean, they had guns all over ’em, but the one guy, the big one? He had this axe thing between his shoulders.” There was a pause. “He took the gun away from me. I told him it wasn’t loaded, but he took it anyway.”
“It’s okay. He’s a friend of mine.”
“I’m jus’ sayin’.” There was some noise in the background, and I could hear someone else talking. “I’m tellin’ him about the Indians.”
I held out the phone to look at the display. “Hector, you’re eating up my battery.”
“Sorry, Sheriff, but I’ve got this Wop cop here who wants to talk to you.” More fumbling, and I heard Hector say ouch. “Hold on, here she is.”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m providing a phone messaging service for the entire Bighorn mountain range.” I waited and was glad she wasn’t nearby. “It’s really good to hear your voice.”
“Where the hell are you?”
I glanced around at the eye of the storm. “I am currently enjoying an exquisite alpine idyll.” I’d loaded up, discovering that I could multitask-both talking and tracking-and, keeping an eye north, made my way down the cutback of the boulder field. I figured I could stop if the signal started breaking up. “Lake Helen, then Lake Marion and probably Mistymoon here in about an hour-I figure that’s where I’m going to catch up with them.”
“The weather is going to turn to frozen shit in a matter of hours-stop.”
“I don’t think so.”
There was an audible sigh of exasperation, which was my undersheriff’s usual response to me. “Why not?”
“He’s more likely to play nice if he knows I’m here.”
There was a pause. “He knows you’re there?”
“Yep. We just had a nice conversation.”
“You what?”
I slid a little on the ice at the base of the trail and steadied myself. “I took the satellite phone I’m talking on
