The Totem

PART SEVEN. The Mountains

ONE

Parsons and his men woke half an hour before sunrise. They crawled from their sleeping bags, squinting, shivering in the morning dampness. There was hurried cooking, hunters packing their gear and squatting by the camp's latrine, then scuffing out the cookfires, pouring water on the coals, checking that the embers died before the Jeeps and trucks were started and the caravan moved out. A few men were reminded of Quiller's caravan when he first crossed the valley. Now a different kind was heading up to stop him, and they thought about their families, their businesses, the cattle dying, and they meant to put a stop to this as soon as they were able. Parsons didn't talk much now. If there had been a way to go back to the town, he would have, not because he was afraid, but he was wishing they would do this on their own. If it went wrong, he could avoid the blame then. Otherwise he still could take the credit. But he'd come this far, and he'd be noticed if he left, and so he stayed with them, silent, letting their determination carry them forward. They would drive up through this meadow, take another loggers' road up to a second meadow, then a third. After that, they'd move on foot. By five o'clock, they'd reach the start of the escarpment, and if not today, then tomorrow, everything would be completed.

As the column passed rockfalls, cliffs, and ridges, there were unseen caves that shut out the sunlight, and for now, what hid in there slept uneasily.

TWO

The helicopter was anchored near the runway. Slaughter crouched behind oil drums near a shed and stared at the damp, chill, post-dawn mist that shrouded the chopper. He dimly saw the rotor blades that stretched out from the top, their long ends partly sagging, saw the bubble of the nose, the insect-resembling tail, the smaller rotors at the back. He felt the wind shift, swirling mist so that the helicopter now was thoroughly enveloped, and he turned to Dunlap who crouched beside him, shivering.

"It can't be long now."

"That's what you keep promising," Dunlap said. "What I wouldn't give for a shot of rye to warm me up."

"You want to back out?"

"Try to make me."

Slaughter frowned. Dunlap was in bad shape, more than Slaughter had realized when they had left the jail. But there had been so much to do, so much to think about back then that Slaughter hadn't argued with him. Anyway, what Dunlap had said last night was true-Slaughter did still need a witness, although Dunlap shook so much now that Slaughter wasn't sure how useful the reporter would be. There wasn't any choice, however, Slaughter reminded himself. Events were in charge, and he was compelled to move with them. He could tell himself that, if he wanted to, he could run. But given who he was, he couldn't allow himself to run. His life had trapped him.

When he'd left the jail, his first impulse had been to go after Parsons in a Jeep, but Parsons and his men were too far ahead of him. Slaughter needed something quicker, and he'd thought about the helicopter that Altick had been using. Because it couldn't search the hills at night, the pilot would, have set it down until the morning when he would take off again. The hard part was to find it. Slaughter didn't think the pilot would have gone back to his home base in a neighboring valley. Given the emergency, the pilot would have saved time, staying here. Slaughter drove out to the state-police office on the highway, but the helicopter wasn't there. He checked the park, the fairgrounds, and at last settled on the obvious, the simple airfield from which ranchers flew to reach their cattle in the worst of winter, dropping bales of hay. There was just one airplane that the ranchers leased in common, a gravel runway, one hanger, and a few equipment sheds, but there the helicopter was, anchored near the runway.

After that, Slaughter had risked driving home. He doubted that with so much trouble in town, guards would have time to search for him. Nonetheless he'd been nervous when he reached his house. Relieved to find it deserted, he'd quickly packed two knapsacks with food, canteens, woolen shirts, sleeping bags, lots of ammunition, and a first-aid kit. Dunlap didn't have his camera anymore, so Slaughter had lent him one. If there'd been time, Slaughter would have made coffee, but dawn was approaching, and they returned to the runway just before the sun rose.

Now the mist was thi

"Maybe he's not coming," Dunlap said.

"No, the helicopter's too important. He'll be here. I'm sure of it."

At once, Slaughter heard footsteps crunching on gravel. He tensed as the footsteps came closer. Then the footsteps paused on the other side of the equipment shed.

Slaughter frowned. He glanced at Dunlap, then out toward the helicopter. When the footsteps went back toward where they had begun, Slaughter didn't understand. Who was here? A patrolman?

"So this is where you are."

U

"Christ, don't sneak up on me," Slaughter told him.

"He's not here yet?"

"Who?"

"The pilot."

"No, we're waiting. How'd you find us?"

"Process of elimination. Yesterday you talked about a helicopter that the state police were using. I drove around until I found it."

"Where'd you get a car?"

"A truck. It was my father's. Look, I'm going up there with you."

Slaughter noticed the rifle Lucas held.

"What's happened?"

Lucas didn't answer.

"Some tiling with your father?"

Lucas gazed out toward the helicopter. Then he looked at Slaughter.

"They killed him." Lucas squinted. "He was evidently hunting them. He had some cattle staked out for bait, and he was going out at night to shoot from a tree. He must have killed a lot of them. There was so much blood."

"You found the bodies?"

"Only his. As much as I could recognize when they were finished with him." Lucas wiped his mouth. "They disemboweled him for a start. They-"

"You don't have to talk about it."

"But I want to. Then they ripped his arms and legs off." Lucas spoke without expression. "When I got to the ranch, I didn't find my father. But I smelled this stench that drifted toward me from the foothills. Roasted meat and burning hair. I drove my father's truck out. There was something burning, all right. I could see the flames, mostly from range grass when I got there, and I saw the mangled cattle and the blood, and then I found my father in a half a dozen places. From the empty cartridges around the tree, I'm sure he must have killed a lot of them. Even drunk, he never failed to hit a target. They must have taken the bodies with them. As I said, I'm going with you."

"But you didn't even like him."

"I don't care. I owe him. I took two years from his life, and if I hadn't, maybe everything would somehow have been different."

"I don't know what good you'll be up there." '

"I'll be your eyes behind you. Right now you need all the. friends you can find."

Lucas said the right thing, that was certain. Slaughter stared at him and nodded. "If the pilot ever comes."

Then Slaughter heard other footsteps crunching on gravel. No, a double set of them, and he motioned for Lucas and Dunlap to crouch with him beside the oil drums next to the shed.

The footsteps crunched past the opposite side of the shed and then moved into the open. With the mist almost gone, Slaughter glimpsed two men who crossed to reach the helicopter. One man rubbed his hands together and blew on them. The other unhooked the helicopter's mooring cables.