Uncertain Justice

"As my grandmother used to say, I'm beholden to ya," Miles said gravely. "I was about at the end of my rope and that's a fact," he said emphatically. "I'd a' died right there if you hadn't found me, pure and simple." He looked down to conceal his face.

"There's no way I can repay you," he said. His voice was low and strained with unusual emotion. "But if you're ever in need ... get word to me and I'll come a'runnin', my friend." He stopped for another sip.

Cal nodded in acceptance. His people had recognized blood debts centuries before the first European had set foot on the continent. The subject covered, he changed to another.

"The boss lady isn't going to be real happy with me, ya know," he told Miles. "She sent me into the mountains to bring you out and I don't get the impression she's real ... accustomed ... to not getting her way." It was a remark intended to continue the conversation for a while longer, but shift it to a less sensitive topic. In fact, the first statement wasn't particularly correct, and he knew it. Miles snorted softly.

"Linda?" he said. "Nah ... she knows me better than that. She probably knew from the start you wouldn't be able to convince me to leave the mountains, and she knew for a fact I wouldn't be coming with you after I talked to her last week."

The satellite phone Cal had carried into the mountains--the one Linda had given Miles was still back in the cavern--had been used three times. Once to announce Cal had found Miles alive, once for a call where Linda had done everything she could think of to convince Miles to come out to a safe house she'd already set up ... and one more after she'd accepted he wasn't going to come out of the mountains.

That one had been longer and most of it was private. Cal had gone to the mouth of the canyon--to about where they were now, in fact--and waited until he was sure it was finished. The batteries were dead now. There would be no more calls.

Cal drew a glowing branch from the fire and stabbed it into the earth to cool it. For the next few minutes, both men occupied themselves with the task of breaking down the fire. In the morning, one of them would distribute the cold ashes to the wind and sift dirt and pine needles over the remains to conceal the fact that anyone had ever been here.

"What are you gonna do?" Cal asked without looking up. "If you don't mind me asking." Miles avoided the other man's eyes, though it was already too dark for Cal to see the quandary in Miles'. He took in a mouthful of coffee to delay an answer.

"I don't know exactly," Miles finally admitted. "But I'm tried of running from something I didn't do." He paused and stared into the dusk for a moment, brooding on things that might have been. "And I can't undo what's been done."

He rose and leaned against a thick pine that grew almost at the edge of the brush so he could see further to the north, checking for any movement or campfires up that way. His silhouette blended with that of the tree to make him invisible beyond a few steps. The motion was smooth and easy. The twinge of pain in his side was faint and no longer an impediment to quick movement.

"I think," he said slowly. "I'm gonna see if I can't convince them they should leave me alone." Cal looked in his direction in the gloom.

"How're you gonna do that?" he asked. The disbelief that couldn't be seen on his face was evident in his voice. "You gonna kill all them U.S. Marshals and FBI agents ... and everyone else that comes in here after you?"

Miles had told Cal as soon as he could talk coherently that he'd killed one of his pursuers and Linda had been told of the incident in the second satellite call. She'd passed back the information that there'd been no announcement of any such thing in the media. The three of them had agreed with each other that the death of a law enforcement officer would have created big waves.

They assumed the man Miles had run into was not an officer of the law, but beyond that, they had no idea who the stranger had been. Since Miles had no idea where the fight had occurred, they would probably never find out who he'd been or why he'd waylaid Miles.

"Gonna try to not kill anyone," Miles countered. He slipped around the backside of the tree trunk to look south. "On the other hand, if they shoot at me, I get to shoot back, don't you think?" Cal grunted derisively.

"They did that already ... and you did ... and all it got you was a couple holes in your hide and damn near cracked your skull." He paused. "You real sure you want to get into that kind of situation again? Seems to me you didn't come off too good last time you tried it." Mild amusement colored his tone.

Miles chuckled softly. "Yeah, I know," he replied. "But remember I had my back turned the first time I got shot and I was feelin' real poorly the second time ... I figure if I keep folks from gettin' behind me to begin with, I should be okay."

Cal let the speculation pass without comment. He changed the subject slightly.

"That guy you had to shoot ... he was holding a rifle on you? And you still got a couple rounds into him?" His tone was questioning rather than skeptical.

Miles nodded in the gloom.

Cal whistled quietly, the sound inaudible beyond the little hollow where they hid. "So ... you be the fastest feller with a gun since Jesse James, huh?" Though tinged with amusement, the question had deeper roots. Miles knew the man well enough after three weeks of close contact to understand Cal was heading somewhere with all this but he wasn't sure where. He went along with Cal's pace and laughed gently.

"Nah," Miles replied, "but I do have pretty good reactions--you know that."

Cal nodded in the near darkness. Three days ago, Cal's elbow had knocked a newly made pot of coffee off a low tree stump beside him.

Miles' right hand had swept up from his knee and caught the pot, by the handle, before it hit the ground. It'd saved them the loss of the handful of ground coffee that had already been dumped into inside. Cal had been surprised and suitably impressed.

"And then ya gotta understand," Miles continued. "My hand wasn't more than an inch or so from my holster ... my pistol only has a four-inch barrel so it wasn't a big deal for me to get it into action pretty quick." He paused and looked away. "He made a couple bad mistakes too," he continued.

"Whoever he was ... he'd already decided to shoot and I could tell he had. I don't know why he wanted to kill me, but I could see it in his eyes and the way he was setting himself.

"But he wanted to talk about it ... maybe he was trying to justify what he was gonna do or something ... and then, well, he just didn't think I was going to fight 'im. He figured he held all the cards because he had a rifle pointed at me.

"When I said something, he stopped to listen for the tiniest fraction of a second and ... that little advantage was all I needed.

"I was moving--he was thinking."

Miles was silent for a time. The knowledge that he had taken a man's life still weighed heavily on him. Ever since the concussion had eased enough for him to think clearly, he'd gone over the events in his mind ... those he could remember, anyway. Cal knew this--they'd had little to do except talk during the past thee weeks--and he finally circled around to the point he'd had in mind from the first.

"Thing is, man," Cal said carefully. "You go back out there...." A casual hand pointed vaguely southwest. "You're gonna have to be ready to kill again, ya know. Situation is gonna be exactly the same as it was. Miz Linda said the TV had pictures of all them marshals have automatic rifles. You got to figure they'll use them. Hell, they already have. They ain't gonna suddenly quit and go home. Even if all you do is shoot back when they shoot at you, sooner or later someone is gonna be killed." He stopped short. "You ready for that?" he challenged.

Back in the trees, a few hundred yards away and inside the canyon, one of the horses stamped and snorted explosively. The wind, shifting with the coming of evening, had brought the scent of the wolves to them. They moved around nervously, suddenly uncomfortable in the makeshift brush corral the two men had fashioned. When the breeze ... and the scent ... faded, they quieted and returned to cropping the plentiful grass. After a long silence, Miles shifted his weight and replied.

"Yeah ... I am," he said in a low voice. "Ya know Cal, all along the only thing I've been doing was what I had to jus' to keep my ass outta prison. I didn't do anything to be put there in the first place, an' I've done nothin' since that wasn't forced on me." Miles came back to the fire and dropped to his haunches, poking a twig into the coals at the edge of the fire.

"Cal," he said, almost plaintively. "I can't stop now. I ... look ... that valley over there is my home. When I was in the Army, what with all the movin' around, I never had a place I could call home. In fact, in all my adult life, I've only called two places "home" and both of them were taken away from me by force.

"Dammit, they ran me out a' Texas but I'm just not gonna let that happen here." He stirred the coals again, more angrily this time.

"I turned tail and ran way back when. And ya know what? I didn't do too much thinking about it at the time, but I really didn't like it. Maybe I didn't have too much choice, but it still pisses me off." Absently, he examined the tip of the twig to see if it was heating enough to catch fire again.

"This time, Cal, it's up to them to back off, not me. I've had a bellyful of taking all their shit. I'm just not gonna do it anymore ... period."

"But look, man," Cal argued, his voice a little exasperated. "You told me about that Army school--that 'escape and evasion' course. You can 'escape' this bunch out there without working up a sweat--you know that as well as I do. Hell, most of those city boys can't find their way across a log without help." He sniffed derisively; he'd been guiding other men just like them on hunting trips for most of his life. He knew them well.

"And then," he continued. "You could 'evade' them all the way to Canada or ... or South America an' be there a couple weeks from now." He settled back, then thought of something else.

"Listen, man," Cal said quickly, a sudden thought coming to him. "You know Linda isn't going to think less of you if you do. I only talked to her for a couple a' hours, but I don't think anything could change the way she feels about you," he confided. Miles shrugged, the movement nearly invisible in the gathering dusk.

"Probably ... but I would think less of myself," Miles answered. He was quiet for a time before trying again.

"Cal, I tucked my tail between my legs and ran scared before and it did things inside me that I can't explain. I'm just not gonna do it to myself again. This time, I'm not moving. I'm gonna fight back and I'll do it on my terms, not theirs." The fire burned low as the silence built.

"On the other hand," Miles said in the gathering darkness. "I'm not stupid."

He grinned at his companion and friend to lighten the mood. "I know for a fact that if I kill just one of them, they'll hunt me down like a dog with rabies and they'll put me down without thinking twice about it." He snorted as another thought occurred to him.

"But that's not very much different from what they have in mind for me right now, is it? It's just that it'd take longer if they put me in prison."

Cal rolled his shoulders and twisted around in both directions to ease cramping back muscles. He'd done his duty; he'd tried to convince the man to come out. He'd owed that much to the boss lady ... she was paying the bills, after all ... but his heart was with the man beside him. The Nez Perce nation tried for many years to get along with Europeans who came into the continent but finally even they had been forced to fight for their land and their self-respect.

"Pardner, you be careful out there ... you hear me?" Cal cautioned. "You're gonna be all by yourself and the boss lady said there's all kinds of cops lookin' to nail you," Cal said more soberly. "Pretty long odds," he added.

"Besides ... the boss lady thinks an awful lot of you for some reason and she wouldn't like it if she had to bury you some day real soon, ya know." He was trying to end with a muted piece of humor and Miles responded in kind.

"Nah, I'm not alone, Cal," he said. "I've got all my friends out here to help me out." His outstretched hand swept around in a big arc that encompassed all of the forest at their backs. "You know that," he added confidentially. His right hand snaked inside his shirt to stroke the turquoise amulet.

He'd found warriors of the People waiting to speak with him when he'd recovered from the concussion. He was glad his friends were here again.

Cal stiffened. The conversation had turned in a direction Mile'd gone a couple of times before, and Cal didn't understand, or like, the topic. He remembered other campfires and other trips into the lonely mountains.

Cal fought an involuntary shiver. He'd seen things at times he didn't really believe--things he hadn't discussed with Miles or anyone else. Sometimes he thought he was drunk when he saw apparitions in the shadows. Other times he was sure he was dreaming. Sometimes ... when he was stretched beyond his limits, he thought he saw ... other times he wasn't so certain.

He grunted in lieu of an answer and turned to spread his blankets on a pile of pine boughs he'd collected for his bed. He flinched and held himself stiffly for a split second when he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

The branch from a wind blown sapling waved slightly in the freshening breeze but that was the only thing in sight that moved. Resolutely, Cal turned back to his blankets.

Miles grinned at the Wolf Clan warrior who'd tugged at Cal's jacket. It was a good joke.

§

In the new day, Cal woke to an empty campsite. Some time before dawn, Miles had silently collected his gear and left, probably so he could get across the large expanse of unforested terrain to the west before full light. Cal shook his head, not really surprised he was alone. He stretched tentatively, trying to work out the kinks and small pains he always got these past few years sleeping on the ground.

On of the horses back in the temporary corral whinnied, the call loud in the crisp silence of the early morning. All seven--Cal's three and Miles' four--were rested and eager to be on their way. They'd all be going home with Cal. Maybe they knew a warm stable and fresh oats for food waited for them at the end of the journey.

He grunted as he pulled himself out of his sleeping bag and began to move around stiffly. Getting' old, he told himself but he didn't really believe it. Nah ... he'd never been one for quick rising, he told himself.

He pulled together the makings for a small fire. He had six days of hard riding before he got out of the wild and be damned if he was going to start the day without his coffee, even if Miles hadn't waited for some.

Just no accountin' for some folks, Cal decided.

§

Squatting in the deep shade beneath the broad branches of a bulky fir, Miles watched the huge camp of law enforcement officers spread out below. He was high above the encampment, just below the crest of a high ridge. A full week ago, he'd come through the mountains, circling far around to the west until he was close to the valley of the People. He'd crossed the huge mesa from northwest to southeast, arriving at last at a point almost directly above the cavern and the stone house.

He'd half expected to see large numbers of armed officers swarming about the valley but there was almost no one there. After three days of watching, he'd seen only two small patrols that penetrated as far as the river ford ... and they had turned back after a perfunctory look around. Drifting south to find the source of all the helicopters he'd seen flying, he found the well-established encampment in the valley's southernmost reaches.

The activity he saw below reminded him of an ant bed stirred with a stick. There was much scurrying around, with groups of men marching south and west from the main camp and disappearing into the heavy forest. Two teams went east and one group of four or five was moving north back into the heart of the valley. None came in his direction, perched as he was on a high ridge that was part of the mesa.

While he watched, he munched on deer jerky and sipped clear river water from a canteen. Cal's hunting had resulted in much dried and smoked meat ... more than either Cal or Miles could use alone. They'd split the supply when the decision had been made to separate. Miles wouldn't need to hunt for many days.

In a broad, open space gouged from the heart of the surrounding mountains by ancient glaciers, the marshals had found a good-sized clearing. The clearing was more recent than the ice age though. A lightning strike some years before that had ignited a forest fire. The flames burned for only a short time before the same heavy thunderstorm that generated the lightning dumped enough water on it to put it out. But while it lived, it burned ferociously hot on the abundant fuel in the thick undergrowth. A hundred acres and more were gone in an hour.

New grass and trees--only a few aspens so far--were only beginning to get a purchase on the earth as the forest crept back inward from the fringes of the unburned forest.

The ruined trees and brush were brittle charcoal sticks that could be easily removed and a work crew had done just that. On the other hand, the big trees had left behind massive root systems that had not burned and they tenaciously fought removal. The workers labored long and hard to get them out and level the ground.

In a relatively short time they managed to expose a large expanse of nearly flat ground beside a stream. The water ran in a northerly direction here, then arced in a sharp bend to the east around a huge outcrop of mountain that had been resisting ... and failing ... erosion before the first Americans wandered across the Bering Straits.

Two double rows of canvas tents were set up on either side of a wide central area that was apparently going to remain clear. The wide-open area in the middle of the compound struck Miles as too similar to a military parade ground for comfort.

The last two tents--big ones--on the western side of the suspected parade ground were set up so they touched. For all practical purposes, it was one gigantic double-length tent. People frequently came out of the tents to get water from a big tank mounted on a long trailer a few steps away on the outside of the camp perimeter.

A generator mounted on another smaller trailer was positioned close to the tent and cables were strung from the generator to what was clearly a kitchen and dining facility. The grating clatter of the gasoline engine could be heard for miles.

On the east side of the compound, directly across the parade ground from the dining hall, a large red cross on the top of the tent designated it as a hospital. On the northeast corner of the camp, they erected a shower tent with water hoses snaking off to the small river that flowed by the camp on its eastern periphery. On the northwest corner, the nearest one to the bluff where Miles watched, a forest of portable toilets had been established. Between the shower tents and the toilets was a big group of supply tents. With the big open area in the center of the camp, the whole thing had the appearance of a gigantic, square horseshoe with its open end to the south.

A path had been cut through the woods west of the camp and another area cleared. Here, pierced steel plates had been laid to make a temporary hard stand for rotary-winged aircraft.