Jack Pine, page 28
“Reuger…” Gus whispered with bloody bubbles on his lips. “Your father…”
“We’ll get you back, Gus, just hold on, we’ll get you back…”
“…Your father.” He groaned again, his eyes fading like candles. “Yer a lot like him…”
He squeezed his eyes tightly as his lips fluttered. Reuger cradled him in the dark wilderness. He saw the light fade in the eyes and heard the final gasp of the lungs, then the mouth opening slowly like some hardening cement.
“Gus! Breathe!”
The beard and hair now blew stiffly. Reuger lay him to the ground as Tommy brought the hand to his chest. The two men kneeled and Tommy began a throaty chant of the original people.
64
LIGHTNING FROZE THE trees with their paddles splashing white before the world flicked to darkness again. Skyscrapers loomed in first light then formed mountains against the wet canvas as Reuger and Tommy pulled the canoes under tamarack with bark smelling like rotten wood. Reuger checked the shotgun, thinking about Gus wrapped in the rain tarpaulin off the portage.
Tommy stared down the portage trail with his cap pulled low and rivulets streaking his wide brown cheeks. Water dribbled from the barrels like a garden hose as Tim shivered in the green poncho. Lightning blinked then shook the land with the rumbling farther north.
“I need you to watch the canoes for me here, think you can do that, Tim?”
He moved to the overturned canoes. Reuger picked up Jim Carpenter’s .30-06 and the sawed-off shotgun and motioned down the path of brown horizon light.
“Take me to that cutter, Tommy.”
“Ya, so let’s go then.”
They splashed down the trail that weaved back and forth and circled around trunks five feet across with water rivuleting antique bark. Moss was green and slick on the bark. Large black birds flapped low through the forest. Rain shook the leaves. They were back in the canopy of trees not much brighter than a canvas tent. Tommy’s army coat clung like a wet bed sheet as he stopped. They heard a whine through the forest.
“Cutter,” he nodded with rain streaming from his hat in three streams of gelatinous light. “Not far, I say less than a quarter-mile, you know.”
Reuger pulled back the bolt on the deer rifle.
“Makes sense he’d run for reinforcement. I’ll take it from here.”
He slung the rifle and picked up the shotgun with the steel slippery and cold then moved down the washed-out trail. The path turned and Reuger fell into the soft mud and heard Tommy splash down. He wiped his eyes, staring at two men with rifles and hard hats. A yellow John Deere cutter funneled blue smoke as the arm pivoted around. It looked like a steam shovel fitted with a titanium-cutting wheel on the arm. A skidder clambered with moon tires over the terrain, grappling logs with tongs. Men cut the trees, spraying fountains of sawdust in the rain gloom. A long slim delimber whirred branches clean in seconds.
Tommy crawled up.
“Ya, those guys don’t look too friendly there,” he murmured.
“They have families at home.”
“Maybe, but they probably fucking hate their wives, you know.”
A screech shot overhead and they watched a white fountain of sawdust shoot out from the cutter. The tree fell back like a lover’s death. Reuger looked around carefully.
“See anybody else with a gun?”
Tommy moved his head and spit mud from his mouth.
“Nope, look’s like they’re the only ones.” He shook his head. “Man, they have a lot of shit up here.”
“Well, loggers aren’t soldiers—let’s get the drop and see how she goes.” Reuger turned. “But if they shoot… let’s take it home…ready?”
“Ya, sure.”
“Let’s go then.”
They charged out of the forest and Reuger lifted the shotgun.
“Deputy Sheriff—drop it!”
The man threw the gun and raised his hands. Tommy raised his Winchester.
“Ya, deputy!”
Reuger glanced at the second man and heard a shot. The man fell back with a bullet between his eyes. A second shot threw Tommy back into the mud. A rush of wind whined by Reuger’s ear, then the stock of the shotgun splintered in his hand. He dove behind a tree with bark chipping around him and pulled up the Colt. He held the pistol high, then wheeled and fired. He ducked behind the tree and flipped open the smoking cylinder wheel and reloaded.
Reuger heard the tractor clank of the treads. He hugged the earth as sawdust seared the back of his neck like warm batter. Hydraulics hissed in his ears with hot wind blowing on his back. He felt the ground move as the tree cracked away like a shadow leaving sun. Reuger looked up covered in sawdust behind a stump not two feet high. He raised his head and saw the gleaming razored discus spinning at the end of the hydraulic arm.
Cliff Johnson opened the door of the cutter and walked on the muddy treads in sunglasses and a wet T-shirt. He held the .30.06 out from him. Patricia stood with a blue flannel shirt and her hair wet. She was gagged and her hands bound in front of her.
“Come on out, Reuger, or how about I blow a hole through your girlfriend here.”
Cliff grinned with a thumb of Skoal in his lower gum like a swollen cyst. He swung up the deer rifle and cocked back the bolt. Men stood around in the rain in hard hats with beards and dark eyes and jeans and suspenders and heavy work boots. Dual exhausts caps tapped a slow rhythm.
Reuger stared at Patricia and felt a rage that blinded him. He thought about picking off Cliff, but he moved around behind Patricia and put the gun to the back of her neck.
Reuger threw his pistol in front of the stump and raised his hands.
“I’m coming out.”
Cliff pulled the gun tight to his shoulder and Reuger felt a searing in his stomach and saw the men huddled in yellow slickers, the engine of the cutter breathing, the hum of the titanium wheel. The barrel exploded.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
He looked up from the mud and saw a big man facing Cliff.
“You can’t shoot the sheriff in cold blood there!”
Cliff spat tobacco juice on the steel tread.
“Just showing what a chicken shit he is.”
Reuger climbed up from the mud, facing the wet and tired men. A big man with a bushy beard stood over him with a rifle. It was Carl Günter. He had knocked the barrel of Cliff’s rifle high. Reuger wiped mud from his eyes and looked at him.
“Cliff Johnson is wanted for the rape of a girl down at Pine Lodge,” he said hoarsely. “He shot Gus in cold blood last night.”
Cliff laughed and smoothed back his short spiked hair.
“That fucking old man probably tripped over his own fucking rifle. He’ll say anything to save his skin now.” He pointed with the barrel. “He’s in it with Jorde and been killing loggers! Hell, that one there shot Al Hanes in cold blood, and he raped the girl—and Reuger there let him go!”
Tommy sat in a puddle with long hair clawing his cheeks. A man held a rifle to his neck.
“Ya, that’s true, Carl, I heard about that,” a ginger-bearded man nodded. “Came up here and shot Al. Maybe we should do same for them here.”
“Sure they did.” Cliff’s face reddened, the pack of tobacco mutating his face. “They’re trying to take jobs away from you men and killing loggers—hell, they just shot Jack there!”
“That bullet came from Cliff Johnson’s rifle,” Reuger said steadily.
“Fuck you, tree hugger.”
“Cliff Johnson burned out Foster Jones, then shot him,” Reuger continued steadily, not taking his eye from any man’s gaze. “He wanted to make it look like Tom Jorde did it.”
“Ya, that’s a big one.” Cliff spat down on the tread, motioning the rifle to the sky. “Why don’t you ask your fucking friend Gary Chatoee about that one.”
“Might have to do it, Carl,” a man called out. “They’ve been killing loggers…I say we do the same for them.”
The rain filled in the silence. Reuger looked at the big man holding the rifle. He paused, feeling the weight in his vest pocket.
“Annabel enjoy that graduation party last year?“
Carl Günter turned slowly and stared at him like he had been slapped. The rain beat down harder and splattered in the mud around them. His dark eyes narrowed.
“What the fuck would you know about that?“
Reuger lifted his chin to the cutter.
“Why don’t you ask Cliff there.”
“Ya, he’s talking shit.” Cliff waved down, rain plastering his T-shirt to his torso. “Don’t listen to him, Carl.”
Reuger nodded to Cliff.
“That one there believes he can do anything. Not hard to believe he’d shoot a man in cold blood or rape a girl in a woodshed…“
Cliff spat on the tread.
“You’re lying.“
Reuger kept his eyes on the big man staring at him suspiciously.
“A year ago I found Annabel just before the landing. She was wandering down the road in the middle of the night with her shirt torn up and her shorts spilt through the crotch.“
Cliff swung the rifle around.
“He’s talking shit…”
“She was afraid to tell me what happened, Carl…afraid to go accuse the son of Ben Johnson of rape.”
A spidery vein dipped from the swollen sky and deafened the men. Cliff grinned and shook his head.
“Ya, sure, Reuger. This is all more of your tree hugger bullshit here.” He turned back to the dark eyes and hair plastered to wet skulls.
“You men have known me here and my dad all your lives. We give you your jobs, and we’ll keep you logging.” He turned around, jabbing his finger. “This son of a bitch here wants to take that away from you! I told you I would keep you working, and I’ve been doing it…”
“Keep you men working by logging in federal lands.” Reuger stared at the men with the trees lying behind them. “See here the new model— Cliff is going to outdo his father by breaking the law—Ben always bought the law, so why not…”
Reuger heard the bolt of the rifle and saw the stock by Cliff’s cheek. No man made a move to stop him and the long dark barrel loomed down from the rain. He touched his vest and looked at Carl Günter.
“I’m going to reach into my pocket…something I want you to hear…
“Get out of the way, Carl!” Cliff shouted.
“I can prove he raped your daughter,” Reuger said steadily.
Carl Günter stood close, his hard hat pouring water from the brim, trickling through heavy beard. The ground shook with light.
“Ya, you have one minute here.”
Reuger pulled the wet micro recorder from his pocket and pressed the button. He didn’t hear anything and hit the fast-forward. He pressed the play button again.
“He’s made up some kind of bullshit, Carl…”
Annabel’s voice crossed the dead air like a flower in a coal mine.
“He was tearing at my clothes…I couldn’t stop him. He tore my panties in two and pushed my legs apart with his knee and kept his hand on my mouth so tightly…I fought him…” Annabel sniffed. “I couldn’t stop him. It was supposed to be a graduation party, it was supposed to be fun.“ She was crying now.“… But that Cliff Johnson… he raped me there in the sawdust in the back of his truck…”
Carl stared as Reuger clicked the tape back and played it again. The mechanical voice tortured the air. Carl Günter’s eyes blinked and his lashes were wet and a rash rolled up from his neck. He was a big Scandinavian. A man who had labored all of his life in the forest and took for granted what was finite. Now, he looked as if someone had just told him the world was composed of air.
“She didn’t want to say anything, Carl. She didn’t want you to lose your job.“
Carl suddenly reached forward and grabbed his bicep, crushing down with a gasping whine from his mouth. Reuger winced, holding the big man off, then he was gone into the rain. He slogged through the mud then stopped and stared up. Cliff spread out his arms.
“You aren’t going to listen to this bullshit! Carl, it’s all shit he and those tree huggers cooked up!“
Carl Günter stood below with rain falling on his cheeks. Cliff stepped back on the lead colored treads and fell down. He scrambled to his feet and pointed.
“He’s fucking crazy!“ Cliff swung his arms against the sky and stared down. “Now my father has treated you well—this son of a bitch has you all going now!“
A bolt of lightning exploded in the forest.
“You know me and my dad!“ Cliff hit his chest. “We employ you, not the goddamn tree huggers here!“ Another roar of electricity flew overhead, and the rain came down harder on the men and the machines. Cliff screamed against the storm. “He’s a traitor…he’s in it with Jorde who’s been murdering loggers…”
Another sonic crash of light broke against the sky. The men surrounded the cutter and looked up at Cliff. The exhaust pipes steamed in the rain. Cliff saw wet beards and eyes and water dribbling off the brims of hard hats.
“You men…” His voice went up an octave. “You men do as I say here!“
The sullen wet men encircled him closer.
“Cliff burned out Foster Jones then shot him,” Reuger continued in a low voice, walking closer. “They wanted to keep Foster quiet about what’s been going on up here. Then they framed Tom Jorde for the murder. All part of Ben’s plan here. He wanted to get these trees out a long time,” Reuger nodded gesturing to the forest. “He knew if Tom Jorde was fighting a murder charge then he could log it out.”
The men stared at Cliff with the dead man behind in the mud. The cut trees now looked like some unholy accident. The world blinked as a tree split like a rifle shot. Cliff swung the rifle around dangerously, spitting the Skoal from his swollen lip.
“You men know me!“ He was almost shrieking. “That old man Foster was dead when I got there…we wouldn’t kill loggers!”
“Then he shot Gus Vanzant in the back.” Reuger shook his head, opening his hand to the trees. “Logging is dying in the Northwoods here. Logged out a hundred years ago and this is all that’s left except for the small trees and the jack pine. Ben could set his price on these trees here.” He stared at the men. “But it’s over now, and Ben knows that—he’s known it for years. This was the last act of a desperate man…”
The explosion blinded them, then the crack took away sound. The bolt had struck so close it knocked men off their feet. Reuger saw Cliff pull the rifle tight to his shoulder and the barrel flash and heard the bullet go over his head. Then Cliff was gone. He had flown off the tread into the mud with the rifle clapping beside him. Cliff stared up as Carl Günter marched toward him splashing water and mud.
“Ya little shit, ya raped my goddamn daughter!“
“Don’t believe him,” he screamed, backing up on all fours. “I didn’t touch her! I swear I didn’t!”
Carl Günter hoisted Cliff up by his neck as another tree burst into flames.
“I didn’t do it, Carl!“
“You little fucking shit!“
The muscles on Carl’s forearms bulged as he squeezed down on his neck. Cliff struggled against his iron grip and kicked air. Jet engines roared overhead as thunderheads collided and destroyed trees. Carl Günter squeezed his neck closed.
“Ya…little…fucking…shit!”
Reuger brought his elbow down on Carl’s forearm and Cliff fell and retched on the ground. He groaned and turned over slowly, rolling in the rain and mud then scooped the rifle Carl had dropped.
“You stupid bastard,“ he yelled hoarsely.
Carl Günter lunged at him, and the Winchester flamed the damp air with the bang ringing in Reuger’s ears. Carl fell in a muddy slide, and Cliff threw the rifle and sprinted into the titanium razor wheel spinning at five hundred miles an hour. A viscous splotch of blood and intestines and body organs splattered the yellow machine. Cliff separated like a man at odds with himself, and his trunk fell next to the cedar.
65
REUGER PARKED IN front of the reservation store the day after he returned. Dust winded down the street and the tin roofs of the buildings scraped and flexed noisily. Farther down the road, he saw two men walking with sledges toward the lake. He swung out and walked up on the store porch and tried the screen door, then trailed around back to a wrecked station wagon and piles of tires.
The back door was older but locked. Reuger pushed up a window and reached around and turned the lock and let himself in. The store was a wreck of boxes and mops and stacked soda pop bottles. He walked steadily toward the front and looked out the window. He turned and walked through the storeroom past the toilet and turned to another door. There was a cot and a dresser and the room smelled of dirty socks. A detective-style lamp was lit over a desk and a device resembling a red bicycle pump.
He crossed to the desk and picked up .22 and .44 caliber brass casings scattered on the top. A tub of gunpowder was on the floor next to three stacked white boxes. He reached down and thumbed open the lid. The percussion caps gleamed like mined silver.
* * * *
Gary Chatoee lay in the hospital room and nodded to a nurse putting down a vase of flowers by a dirty window not open to the late summer day. The arrangement was a mixture of wildflowers. The nurse left and Gary turned and grinned.
“I have a secret admirer here.”
Reuger scraped up a chair and laid a brass cartridge on the bedside tray then a silver bracelet next to the cartridge. He doffed his hat and looked at his old friend.
“Want to tell me about it, Gary?”
His face lightened to a sallow hue and he stared down at the sheet with peaks of gray in his hair. Gary looked out the window past the flowers. Reuger spoke quietly.
“I searched Tommy before he got on that plane. He had nothing in his pockets, but you sat next to him.”
Gary stared down at his big hands and moved his thumbs. Reuger saw his eyes go to the cartridge.
“Found three of those reloads there. One from Tom Jorde’s pistol and one behind my cabin, and one in that fire up by the old logging camp.” Reuger dropped a boot to the tile floor and moved so the Colt wouldn’t jab his side. “I pulled those shells from Tommy’s Winchester. He told me he bought his ammo from you at the store, but he didn’t know they were reloads. So I went to your store and saw the reloader and the .22 and .44 jackets next to the box of silver percussion caps.” He tilted his hat back and shook his head doubtfully. “Smart to use reloads, Gary. But you know, nowadays…” Reuger shook his head again. “Most people don’t reload their own ammo anymore, and you don’t own a .22.”
