Copper River

31

T he Killbelly Marsh Trail connected with the Copper River Trail half a mile south of the cabins. Ren turned the ATV onto the well-worn path that wove among the trees and rocks along the riverbank. The river was thirty yards wide and swift flowing. Near the banks, the water was clear and Ren could see the bottom, which was sand and rock. Toward the middle, the water deepened to a black flow.

Cork, who held on to Ren from behind, called, “Stop a minute.”

The boy let the engine idle.

“Bodine’s that way?” Cork pointed east, downriver.

Ren nodded. “About a mile.”

“What’s between here and there?”

“Bunch of cabins on the other side of the river. Summer places. I haven’t seen anybody there lately.”

While he considered the river as it flowed toward Bodine, Cork gently rubbed the place on his leg where the bullet had exited. “Okay,” he finally said. “Let’s keep going.”

The far bank of the Copper River rose in a steep incline. Occasionally sunlight flashed off the window glass of a hidden cabin. A little farther on, they came to the place where the river funneled between rocky ridges as it curved northwest into the Huron Mountains. Ren glanced up the slope at the thick blackberry bramble that covered the entrance to the old mine where Charlie had hidden. From the river, the mine was impossible to see. He considered pointing it out to Cork, but thought better of it.

Cork tapped his shoulder and called, “Stop for a minute, Ren.”

The boy brought the machine to a halt. Cork eased himself from the seat, walked to the river’s edge, and scanned the far height.

“Any cabins along there?” Cork asked.

“No. Some new ones are being built near the county road, but that’s a couple of miles away. I guess it’s too hard to get equipment and stuff all the way to the river.”

“What about on this side?”

“Nothing from here to the Hurons.”

“Any logging roads, bridges, trestles?”

“Yeah. An old trestle crosses a few miles upriver. No trains run on it anymore.”

Cork spent a minute considering the terrain.

It was a warm afternoon and humid as a result of the rain. The blackflies and mosquitoes that often plagued the woods in summer were gone, but the air was still alive with other insects that lazily buzzed past. Ren was aware of the deep tracks the ATV tires left in the wet earth, and he felt bad about it. ATVs weren’t allowed on the trail, which was supposed to be only for hiking and snowmobiling.

Cork started back toward the ATV, then stopped and bent close to the ground. Without looking up, he said, “Your cougar’s been here.”

Ren got off his seat and knelt beside Cork. He saw the print clearly. And he saw something else. “Look. Scat.” He walked over to the droppings, bent and sniffed. “Whew! If what Mr. Schenk said is true, that’s got to be a cougar.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Cork said.

“Do you think he’s following the river?” Ren asked.

“Maybe. Keeping to the trail because it’s easier. Would make sense if he’s hurt. Do many people hike here?”

“In summer. In fall, most of the trolls stay on the road and just drive around looking at the color from their cars.”

“All right.” Cork climbed back onto the ATV. “Let’s see that trestle.”

They rode for another fifteen minutes. The river rushed past tall cliffs and channeled through narrow cuts. Beside it, the ATV climbed hills and bounced across stony brooks. Ren felt the grip of Cork’s hands around his waist, holding tight for balance. It made him feel good-important-to be involved this way. It made him feel as if he were doing something for Stash and Charlie’s father and the dead girl. He was thinking that his father might be proud of him, too.

The old trestle loomed into sight, a black spiderweb of posts and beams. Ren stopped beneath it, and once again Cork dismounted and considered the area. This time Ren saw a dark stain on the inside thigh of Cork’s jeans.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“I know.” Cork didn’t even look down. His eyes ran across the trestle from one end to the other. The south side broke from a stand of maples deep red with fall color. The north side disappeared into blue-green spruce. “You said this railroad isn’t used anymore?”

“That’s right. Not for years, I guess.”

“Where does it come from?”

“An old logging camp at the edge of the Copper River Club, maybe five miles north. Like, twenty miles south, it connects with the main line to Marquette.”

“The Copper River Club, you said?” He glanced back at the boy.

“Yeah. You know about the Copper River Club, right?”

“Some. But tell me what you know.”

The Copper River Club was one of his favorite subjects, a favorite subject of everyone in Bodine, and Ren eagerly filled Cork in.

“There were these really rich guys a long time ago, like a hundred years, see? I mean the richest guys in the whole country. Henry Ford and guys like that. And they didn’t want the Huron Mountains to be spoiled by logging the way the rest of Michigan was. So they bought up most of the land and built cabins for themselves and their families, and they won’t let anybody in there who’s not a member of the Club. They protect the woods and try to keep everything like it always was. Like, once there were plans to build a road from Bodine to L’Anse over on the Keweenaw. These guys kept it from happening. So there aren’t roads or anything that go through that part of the U.P. Now movie stars and famous writers and people like that belong or they visit. A couple of years ago I saw Tom Cruise in Bodine. He was stopping for gas on his way up.”

Cork nodded and looked impressed. “Tom Cruise? That must’ve been something.”

“It was sweet.”

“The river. Where does it go from here?”

“Keeps going northwest. In a few miles it becomes the west boundary of the Copper River Club.”

“All right,” Cork said. “Let’s keep going with the river.”

“You’re sure? Maybe we should look at your leg.”

“I’ll be fine, Ren.” He limped back to the ATV and climbed on.

Ren revved the engine and they took off.

A while later they came to a creek where the trail seemed to end. Ren killed the engine.

“This is Staples Creek, as far as we can go. Everything on the other side belongs to the Copper River Club.”

“So we’d be trespassing?”

“That’s right. And they have these guys who patrol looking for trespassers.”

“Have you ever trespassed, Ren?”

He had, lots of times. It was a kind of challenge. Because the area was so vast and he never did anything to damage the land, he thought of it as harmless and not really wrong. It wasn’t hard to avoid the men who patrolled. More often than not they traveled in pairs and talked, so you could hear them coming.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“What’s along the river?”

“Nothing. Well, almost nothing. A couple of miles from here there’s a cabin that belongs to one of the security guys. I’ve never really been any farther than that.”

“What happens when people get caught trespassing?”

“They just get asked to leave. These people, I guess they don’t want a lot of trouble.”

Behind him, Ren could feel Cork’s eyes steady on the forest ahead of them. Although the Copper River Trail ended, on the far side of the creek was another trail, so faint that unless you knew it existed, you probably wouldn’t see it. It was where the security guys walked when they patrolled. Secretly he hoped Cork would say to go on. Given the importance of their mission, and the fact that Cork was a sheriff and all, it seemed okay. Ren figured there was probably some legal right that allowed them to trespass in pursuit of answers to a crime.

Cork said, “Let’s see how far we get before we’re stopped. What do you say?”

“All right!” Ren lifted his arms as if they’d just scored a touchdown.

He eased the ATV ahead, through the foot-deep water of Staples Creek and onto Copper River Club land.

Before they’d reached the creek, they’d passed a number of “forties,” tracts of land forty acres each that had been logged. Ren knew that in the early days Henry Ford himself had walked those woods, handpicking the trees that would be cut and milled for the side panels on his early station wagons. The trees on Copper River Club land had never been cut, and the forest felt different there, sacred in a way. When he’d trespassed on foot, it had been all right because he’d been careful where he walked. Now he was conscious of the destruction the ATV wrought in its passage: the torn underbrush, the ugly tracks, the noise and smell of the engine, which seemed like a desecration in that quiet place. He slowed, stopped, and killed the engine.

“What is it?” Cork asked.

Ren didn’t quite know how to say it, and he mumbled.

“I didn’t hear,” Cork said.

“This doesn’t feel right.”

“Are we lost?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Ren could hear the river to their left, a low steady murmur over stone. The sky was solid blue and out of it came a wind like a long breath exhaled. The trees swayed and the branches rubbed against one another with a sound that reminded him of old men complaining. He smelled the dank of wet earth and rotting leaves and felt the fullness of summer gone and the patient steady tread of winter coming from far beyond the horizon. All this belonged. The machine did not.

Cork was quiet, then said, “I understand. Let’s go back. I’ve probably seen everything I need to anyway.”

Before the boy could hit the starter again, a voice to their right commanded, “Hold it right there.”

Ren turned and said under his breath, “Oh shit.”

The man who’d spoken wore a green billed cap with Copper River Club in gold across the crown. He was dressed in a green uniform with a patch that said CRC Security on the shoulder of the right sleeve. Above the left breast pocket was stitched Calvin. The rifle he carried didn’t need a patch or badge or identification. It pretty much spoke for itself.

He came through the trees with the stock of the firearm resting on his hip and the barrel pointing skyward. He walked carefully and didn’t take his eyes off Ren and Cork. When he was a dozen feet away he stopped and let the weight of his glare sit on them. He was tall and thin. His pink, bloodless lips reminded Ren of the spongy underside of a mushroom.

“You’re trespassing on private property.”

“I’m afraid we got a little lost back there,” Cork said from behind Ren. “The trail we were on just kind of ended.”

“There’s a sign where that trail ends tells you to turn around.”

“Didn’t see it. Must’ve blown down in the storm last night.”

“I’ll check on that. Right now you just turn around and go on back the way you came.”

Cork nodded toward the rifle. “A Remington 7600?”

“It is.”

“That could do a lot of accidental damage.”

The man cradled the rifle lovingly in his hands. “Nothing accidental about the damage I intend to do with this baby. We got ourselves a mountain lion skulking around here.”

“No kidding?” Cork replied. “A cougar? You sure?”

“Saw it with my own eyes a couple of days ago. Came nosing around my place up the river. I got a shot off, hit it I’m pretty sure, but it didn’t go down. Means it’s wounded and real pissed off. I was you I’d stay clear of the woods for a while.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Cork said.

The thin man settled his gaze on Ren and squinted. “You’re Jewell DuBois’ boy.”

“Yeah.”

“Then you ought to know better than to be on Copper River Club land. I catch you here again, I’ll fry your skinny little ass, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you,” he said to Cork. “Next time, the Copper River Club will press charges. Am I making myself clear?”

“Perfectly, Calvin.”

Under the security guard’s stern scrutiny, Ren made a careful U-turn with the ATV and headed back the way they’d come. When they crossed Staples Creek and were on public land again, Cork tapped his shoulder and called over the sound of the engine, “That guy, his name tag said Calvin. His last name wouldn’t happen to be Stokely, would it?”

“It is,” Ren said.

“Calvin Stokely.” Cork was quiet a moment as if he was thinking. “Your mom told me about him, said he used to scare her when they were kids.”

“He still does.”

“He’s got himself a uniform, a big rifle, and an inflated sense of authority. Ren, I can’t think of much that’s scarier than that.”

Ren laughed.

“You did great back there,” Cork told him.

“Really?”

“You kept your cool. Didn’t volunteer anything you shouldn’t. Not easy when you’re facing a man with a rifle. Now, think you can get us back to the cabins before I bleed to death?”

“You bet I can.”

Ren smiled to himself with the pleasure that came from fair praise, and he guided them swiftly home.