Necessary Evil

Chapter 22

" The view definitely takes your breath away."

They looked out over several hundred thousand acres of snow-covered rock and timber. Rock under snow and ice made blue-white mountains stretching to the horizon.

"It looks as good as a Bierstadt," she said.

"You can't feel the solitude in a painting."

"You don't freeze your ass off or die from exposure in a museum," she said. He caught himself frowning. "Oh, all right. But it would be a hell of a lot easier to appreciate it over a hot cup of coffee."

Man Jumps cave emerged far enough down the mountain to be below the sub-alpine forest and in the true fir belt. By the look of the trees, they stood at 5,500 feet, maybe slightly lower.

Below them grew the mixed conifer forest with its Douglas fir, white fir, ponderosa pine, sugar pine, and incense cedar.

"We're up in the true fir, aren't we?" Jessie said. Obviously she was beginning to discern the different species, which served as a primitive altimeter.

To reach the forest from the mouth of Man Jumps cave they had to go laterally along a narrow rock-strewn ledge that followed the face of the cliffs for about a thousand feet.

Kier knew she was trying to look unafraid, even calm, but her head nodded an involuntary "yes" when he asked if she'd like to ride on his back.

"I should walk on my own," she said.

"You don't look like you believe it."

"I'll walk."

"And I'm stubborn?"

A foot or two wide most of the way, the ledge was just sufficient for walking, but narrow enough to be painfully tenuous, bordered as it was by a breathtaking vertical drop. Fractured rock and a dusting of snow along the ledge added to its already treacherous texture.

They moved single file, roped together so that if Jessie fell, she would get a second chance, provided Kier was surefooted enough to hold her. If he fell, they were both dead. Brooding dark clouds hung in the mountains, their tentacles reaching into the valley, portending more bad weather to come. As they walked, he tried to keep her talking in order to keep her mind from the fear. To a degree it seemed to work. Either that or she was becoming more accustomed to heights.

"The cabin is close, just under some Douglas fir down on that ridge. The way the air is warming, I'd expect these next clouds to drop buckets of rain in the valley. Melt the snow. Make it impossible for them to follow us down the mountain."

"I'm growing to hate this business of leaving footprints everywhere we go. I'd just love for the snow to melt. And food. I have this wishful vision of the cabin with plates full of spaghetti and meatballs. Does this cabin have a table and chairs? Can we get something to eat?"

"Table and chairs, it does have. Food, we will get any way we can."

"Why don't you people leave food?"

He found himself smiling. "If we left food, you might be sharing your bed with a bear. Besides, we like to keep it fresh and kicking."

"What is it that'll be kicking?" She set her foot beyond a large loose rock and reached to the wall for support.

"Beaver. Beaver tail is excellent, although I hate to kill them."

"Tail. Oh God."

"Well, there's also cattails. Use the rhizomes on the cattail for flour, young ones for something like asparagus, and the heart, which is hard to describe, maybe like a rich potato. And bulrushes. They're sweeter than the cattails. There's arrowhead there too. Like yam, sort of. Those are all things we can get quick. From the sound of it you'd like an early lunch."

"Well, at least it's food."

"The water there is the key. The creek is dammed up by the beaver, and the pond makes a lot of food for everything."

The ledge came to an end in a rushing stream that plummeted thirty feet down a chute seemingly too treacherous to walk. At the base of the near-vertical drop the stream hit a gentler slope that by the look of it could be traversed.

"I know you won't walk in the snow, so I won't remind you."

''Yes, that way we can pretend you don't think I'm an idiot."

Kier took a line, tied it around himself, then braced against a boulder. With considerable effort, she was able to keep her feet against the rock as she walked backward, going hand over hand down the rope.

Kier, in a hurry and having no good place to tie the line, opted for sliding down the rock variously on his feet and butt.

"You could have broken your leg," she said when he rose stiffly.

He shrugged and started down the watercourse. Still flowing in the middle of its bed, the water cleared the snow and made it possible to walk and leave no track. By following the stream, they could travel downhill to the cabin without leaving any sign. Their hunters might circle the entire mountain and never discover their path.

Tillman squatted alone in the gray light of early morning, studying Kier's footprints. The track led across the bottom of the chasm and disappeared into the head of the avalanche.

Having spotted the prints from the knife-edged ridge above, his men had concluded that they ought to bring in hounds to search the three-quarter-mile-long path of mountain rubble and snow in an attempt to find the bodies.

But before his men arrived, the mountain had told Tillman something was amiss. Scrutinizing the far wall of the chasm, he saw, in the blotchy pattern of white on greenish-gray rock, tiny points and ledges, some no wider than a postage stamp, that lacked the expected dusting of snow.

If Kier climbed the wall, what did he do with the woman? It was a certainty in Tillman's mind that Jessie Mayfield had not scaled the wall either before or after Kier. Not enough snow had been disturbed, even if he assumed that Kier climbed to the top and hoisted her up on a rope. Then he focused on the pine in front of the cave perhaps eighty feet over his head. It would be gutsy, but maybe Kier had strung a line and pulled her across. And if he did, they both went in the cave. Limestone mountains were notorious for caverns and the rock formation he now contemplated was geologically suitable. His research had indicated a network of caverns in this area.

If the cave above were an entrance to those caverns, the tracking would be greatly slowed. Tillman ground his teeth.

Putting men inside the cavern would only give Kier an incredible advantage. Tracking on the stone passageways would be useless. Kier probably had a map of sorts in his head, whereas neither Tillman nor his men would have a clue as to their whereabouts. The Indian would slaughter them.

Iron Mountain was a long ridge with a high spot rising as a summit. Other ridges intersected. Finding where Kier and Jessie might emerge would be time consuming. He would break the men into pairs and have them move fast, looking for any track. If Tillman were Kier, he would emerge from the caverns near a stream that could be followed downhill to avoid leaving sign in the snow. He would instruct his men accordingly.

He considered bringing Doyle up from the Donahue house, but he needed Doyle to lead the next group in. He would summon Doyle when he was closer to trapping Kier. Without further deliberation, Tillman knew to follow his instincts and halt any search of the avalanche. He radioed an alert to watch for tracks on the slopes of Iron Mountain. And he assigned no fewer than two men to search each creek.

Jessie celebrated seeing the cabin with her first smile in hours. They approached the place tentatively, as if it were too good to be true. It was small, she supposed twelve feet wide and perhaps twenty feet long. The peeled logs of its walls were caulked with a black substance in neat horizontal lines that emphasized the uniformity of the cabin's construction. The roof consisted of wooden shingles that still had the color of new straw. Through the roof at one end protruded a rock chimney shaped in a perfect rectangle.

Nestled as it was under the trees and close to a sheer drop, the cabin remained invisible from any direction unless one were within a hundred feet-except perhaps to someone with powerful binoculars on a faraway mountain. Directly in front of the cabin's covered porch, within a stone's throw, a waterfall cascaded into a small pool. Down fifty paces, the stream disappeared over another bluff. The setting was idyllic, and on a sunny, clear day, the view from the front porch would be inspiring to the point of rapture.

Suddenly it struck her that this was not an Indian design. There was nothing Indian about it.

"It's beautiful, but isn't this a white man's design?"

Kier's look told her that he was pleased with the observation. "Yes, that's right. But it's built only of natural materials found on this mountain. Except the windows… they were a real compromise. We do use other people's ideas."

Kier did not even try to open the door. Instead, he crawled under the cabin, which sat on a stone foundation. After he disappeared for a moment, she heard a clunking sound, as if he were pounding with a rock on wood. Shortly there was a clattering, as if something had been knocked loose.

"Door is fastened at the bottom, so it can't be opened unless you first release a catch."

The door was made of several layers of criss-crossed, rough-hewn boards and once released, it would not open without a hefty push. In lieu of hinges, the door was fastened to the wall by leather, which she took to be rawhide of some sort.

"My friend's bride is half Cherokee, but grew up in suburbia,'' he said as he walked in. ''She wanted a miniature English cottage. This was a toughly negotiated compromise. My friend and I wanted a miniature Chumash longhouse. But she's an architect, and she designed the cabin."

Something about this revelation made Jessie smile broadly. Kier suddenly seemed more accommodating, a man among men, not an Indian among white people. And for some reason, at this particular moment, he looked unusually desirable. It hit her hard, like a wave that gathers force as it breaks on a steep beach. Overcome with her sudden attraction to him, she consciously stifled the feeling.

"So they're going to live here for the summer?"

"Well, a month, anyway. Then they're flying to Hawaii for a couple of weeks."

Sitting on the wooden bed platform, Jessie began to muse. She didn't know why, exactly, but after a moment she laughed. When she glanced at Kier, he seemed utterly puzzled.

"It's just so… so very American. I mean, two weeks in Hawaii, an architect, a cute little dollhouse, a cabin that you two slaved to build. It's so… sweet."

She then realized he was studying her. "Well?" She wondered what was going on behind those dark eyes.

"You seem to like the idea," he replied.

To give herself time to think, she turned around and studied the room. Nearest her was a built-in double bed without a mattress, and next to it a simple table with two chairs that reminded her of Amish tastes and methods. Some containers for water that looked to be made of skins hung from the overhead beams. A lovely, rustic-looking cabinet stood against the wall. Its open face had been made from a slice off a log, complete with the bark. A couple of lanterns hung from the rafters, and two fat, wax-bearded yellow candles sat in the middle of the table. A small chest of drawers had been hauled in, and various pegs protruded from the wall for hanging clothes.

When the reality of their situation came rushing back, she felt foolish for allowing herself to be occupied with such trivial distractions. "I can't believe we're discussing this when we could easily be dead in thirty minutes. Where's the food?"

"Just a short way down the creek is the beaver pond."

"Let's go get it."

''Would you like to stay here?''

"No," she shot back, determined to do her share.

"You can help carry the food back."

''Whatever you do, I do." She said it before she could ponder what she was getting herself into.

On his way out, Kier snatched some leather squares from a peg. There was something vaguely familiar about them, but she couldn't place it.

The short walk turned out to be a brisk, fifteen-minute hike down a steep path made slick by the misty rain. The clouds had come down all around them cloaking the land, making a hazy gray of every vista. Kier announced that when they returned, they would be able to build a fire because the smoke would be invisible. For that she was grateful. If not for the gut-wrenching hunger, she would have chosen fire and sleep immediately.

At the beaver pond, Kier moved to a tree and, to her surprise, began stripping off his clothes. From his large pack she saw him pull the leather squares she had seen earlier. It was a loincloth. He hadn't worn one before and she didn't know why he would bother now. At a distance of twenty feet, she watched unabashedly while he prepared himself. She loved the hard, lean contours of his body, and she hadn't grown weary of observing him.

When he was finished, he walked toward her in nothing but the leather piece fastened with rawhide about his waist. He carried a wire snare and a pistol.

"Here." He held out the other loincloth and waited. She blinked her eyes, but otherwise stood unmoving. "After a half hour or so I'll get cold. If you're going to help, I suggest you get going."

"In that?"

Leaving it draped over her shoulder, Kier walked on. ''You can help carry the food back if you have a thing about your breasts."

"I have no thing about my breasts. They're just private, that's all. Unlike some people I don't go around with my genitals hanging out." She caught herself doing it again. "Not that there's anything wrong with them."

"You seem to have a fascination."

"That's not true. That is so silly and so male."

She watched him wade through the rushes without reply and swim toward a teepee-shaped mound of mud and sticks that she knew to be a beaver lodge. He's got to be crazy to swim in that freezing water, she thought. But to show him she could do it, she wanted to go after him. If she was going to be his equal, she had better find a way to go. Almost running, she went to a tree, where she struggled out of her clothes while watching Kier out of the corner of her eye. He disappeared under the water twice, then climbed out on top of the beaver house.

She heard silenced pistol shots in rapid succession, and the heavy thunk of. 45 slugs plowing into the mud and wood. In moments, he was pulling on something, a wire snare she assumed, to haul in a large, flopping brown mass. Two more shots and the animal stopped straggling.

Clad in her bra and loincloth, she deposited her clothes in the backpack, then went to the water's edge and stepped in, grateful that there was no ice crust. She considered that her bra, if wet, would only make her cold after she emerged. She pulled it off and tossed it on the snow. The cold water hit her ankles, then her legs, aching all the way to the bone. She gasped, but forced herself into the water, wondering all the while if the cold might do her in.

She could feel Kier's gaze even though he pretended to be busy with the beaver. As she walked briskly forward, the pond bottom felt like mush under her feet. An icy burn moved up her legs to her thighs, then to her belly. When the water was a little over waist deep, she began to swim. In less than a minute she swam the forty feet to Kier, who hauled her out atop the beaver lodge. The air actually felt warm. She crossed her arms across her chest.

He seemed to send his eyes everywhere but to her body. "Pull this to shore. Get dressed and wait for me. I'll be right behind," he said. He handed her the stick, which was still attached to the wire snare. She managed to take it in hand without moving her arms. Obviously, Kier had snared the beaver by driving the animal from its stick house. The noose was still tight around the beaver's neck.

''Okay,'' she said, jumping back in without further comment. "Oh God, oh God," she muttered through gritted teeth as she swam back.

The cold held her like a monster in its jaws, gripping and crushing all the way to her innards. It felt as though the chilly water were sucking the life from her, constricting her lungs, narrowing her vision. It frightened her. From her survival training she knew this kind of cold could incapacitate a person in minutes.

Towing the dead animal, she swam in a sidestroke, pulling with her left hand, while grasping the stick in her right. The beaver was heavy and made the going much slower, but she had only gone a few feet before she discovered that she could touch bottom. Getting a purchase with her toes, she pushed ahead quickly. At waist deep, she tried to run, pulling with all her strength. Stepping out onto the land gave Jessie one of the most triumphant feelings she could ever recall. The pleasure of it overcame the pain of the cold-something she would not have thought possible.

She pulled the dead creature to the water's edge and, still exhilarated by her success, watched Kier, who stood waist deep among leafy plants that looked a little like ivy atop the pond. Making herself ignore the cold, she reentered the water to join him. In a few seconds, she was at his side.

"What can I do?"

''Run your toe down the plant stock to the bottom. Dig in the mud with your toe and then follow a big root out 'til you come to a ball. Break it off with your… '' He grimaced in concentration as he spoke, and a white ball floated to the surface. "As I was saying

… with your toe and you'll get one of these."

Doing as he said, she sent her foot down the stock and tried to find the lateral root. But by now everything ached; her teeth chattered and she felt faint. Still she wanted to do it.

Squirreling her foot around in the mud, she tried to find a root. But it eluded her, while Kier popped up another, then another.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She watched his lips move in seeming slow motion. Her world was swimming in glue. If only she could just get one of those damn tubers.

Abandoning the use of her foot, she ran her hand down the stem, determined to grab one. She went under. On the bottom her hand found a root ball, then a large strand. She yanked. Up she shot. There it was… a white tuber.

"Yes!"

"Come on."

Kier was walking toward the shore with his hands full. Pushing herself, she straggled to follow him, clambering with numb feet up onto the bank. She watched while he deposited the edible portion of the arrowhead plant in the snow. Before returning to the water, he glanced in her eyes, perhaps to determine how she was managing in the cold. Methodically, he bent over and began pulling bulrushes. She could feel him discreetly studying her and wondered if he was admiring her or merely concerned for her survival.

"Grab like this." He showed her to hold fast to the base of the young plants to get the root ball. They pulled up ten or so and moved to the cattails. Kier showed her some smaller plants, no more than a foot high.

"Like this," he said, grasping the cattail inside the two outer leaves and pulling. Then they worked in calf-deep water, side by side, harvesting cattails in earnest. Occasionally, she glanced his way, and when she did, she had a feeling that, even as he worked, he was totally aware of her. After they had half a dozen of the smaller plants, Kier began on the larger ones. But when she tried to stand next to him she discovered that her legs felt like flimsy stilts under a drunken clown.

"You can help most by getting dressed so we can break the plants into the parts we need," he said.

Gratefully, she struggled onto the shore, her feet like dead flesh, and made her way to the backpack. Fumbling through Kier's clothing, rope, ammunition, and hand grenades, she found her clothes. As she pulled out her things and set them on the pack, she looked for something to dry herself.

"Use my shirt," Kier called out.

Turning away from him, standing as near the tree as possible, she shucked the loincloth and toweled herself vigorously.

On the way back to the cabin, hauling the food, Jessie began to feel a chink in her armor. Although she couldn't put her finger on what had changed, there was something about the shared adventure in the pond, the toughness of it, maybe the acceptance of his challenge, that bound them. Whatever-she was developing hope. It was a startling admission, but Jessie had grown weary of denying it. And this hope was a damnably dangerous thing.