Track of the Beast: A Brock Stone Adventure

3-The Lumber Camp

Everyone looked up when Trinity Paige, clad in a khaki shirt, boots, and snug-fitting dungarees, strode into the middle of the camp. She saw confusion there, even curiosity, but little of the hunger one might expect from men who had been sequestered in a logging camp for Lord knew how long. Not that such looks would have stopped her. She had a job to do.

“That is one cutie patootie,” a young man whispered to the man standing beside him. “I wish she was my filly.”

“You have never ridden horse,” the man replied in a thick, German accent.

“Filly means a pretty dame,” the young man said, grinning.

“I know.” The German’s simple reply wiped the smile off the youth’s face and elicited laughter from all the lumberjacks within earshot.

Suppressing a grin, Trinity chose her target, not the biggest man in the group, but the meanest looking. She marched right up to him, her eyes locked on his.

“Do you have a foreman around here?” she snapped.

“What do you think?”

“I think you don’t know the answer to my question or else you’d have answered me.” She punctuated the rejoinder with a sly smile.

It worked. The man’s hard tone softened and there was a twinkle of amusement in his eye.

“You want Davis. He’s the big fellow who’s always sitting on his behind.” The fellow flicked a glance off to his left.

“Bosses. You should see the backside on mine.” She spread her hands a good three feet apart. It wasn’t true, but it got her a few laughs. It was better to have people laughing with you than laughing at you.

Davis examined her the way a man might look at an unexpected blister on his privates. For her part, Trinity examined and assessed him in an instant: big, soft, slack-jawed, vacant stare. Probably got this job because he knew someone, not because he was a good lumberjack. That might be bad for the crew but a plus for her. She had a nose for things that didn’t belong.

“I’m Trinity Paige, reporter for the Washington Scribe,” she said. “I’m here to investigate reports of deaths.”

Davis didn’t rise from his seat on a stump. He took a sip of coffee, swished it around, and spat it on the ground.

“Nobody’s died,” he said. “Those are just rumors.”

“How about Sam Price?” She posed the question loud enough for others to hear. You never knew who might be listening and what they might be able to tell you.

“He quit.”

“Can you show me his letter of resignation?” She kept the questions coming at a rapid clip, trying to delay the moment when the man realized Trinity had no authority over him and kicked her out of his camp.

“We don’t use those out here, city girl.” Everyone laughed. “He walked off the job.”

“Where could he have walked? There’s no bus station or railroad depot around here.”

“Probably hitched a ride.”

“He never returned home,” Trinity said. “In fact, he hasn’t been seen in weeks.”

Davis shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“How about Jarvis Lincoln?” she pressed.

“That one was an accident. Injuries happen on the job. It’s not like getting your hair done. This is man’s work.”

“But you said there were no deaths.”

“He was alive when they took him. Must have died afterward.” His cheeks turned scarlet. He had let something slip that he had meant to keep secret.

“Who is they and where did they take him?” She had him on the ropes now.

“People from the lumber company. They took him to Seattle.”

“John Kane’s people?”

“I don’t know any John Kane.” The lie was evident in Davis’ shifty eyes.

“He pays your salary,” Trinity said.

Davis shrugged.

“What about the women who disappeared? Do you know anything about that?”

The young lumberjack who had commented on Trinity’s looks spoke up. “That ain’t us. It’s the forest. It’s cursed.”

“Shut your mouth, Willy,” Davis snapped. He finally stood and stepped forward so that he towered over Trinity. She didn’t back down despite his rank body odor and coffee breath. “You listen to me, lady,” Davis said. “I don’t know a John Kane and there has been no string of deaths or disappearances. You tell your newspaper that. Now, get out of here. We’ve got work to do.”

Trinity was tempted to refuse, but if Davis wanted her gone she stood little chance of stopping them. And she was not about to give these great oafs an excuse to manhandle her.

“May I quote you on that?” she asked, by way of a parting shot.

“I don’t care what you do. Just do it outside of my camp. For safety reasons.” The smirk on Davis’ face suggested he was not only talking about the possibility of an accident befalling her.

Trinity nodded, turned, and headed back the way she had come. It was a long way back to town, but at least she had rattled their cages. Despite what Davis said, men had gone missing from the camp. But what was happening to them?

She heard the rumble of an engine somewhere behind her, coming her way. Instinct told her to hide. Moving off the path and into the forest, she watched as Davis drove by in a battered truck. Trinity smiled. Unless she missed her guess, he was going to try to make contact with his superior. There was neither telephone nor telegraph in town, which meant he had a long drive ahead of him. If only she could be a fly on the wall when he finally made contact.

Her reporter’s nose itching, she turned and headed back toward camp. Remaining hidden in the forest, she watched as the men finished their midday meal and returned to work. Among their ranks she spotted the young man Willy, who had spoken up earlier.

“There’s my bird,” she whispered. “Now to make him sing.”

Keeping her distance, she followed until the two of them were well clear of the others before making her presence known.

“Willy, may I speak with you?”

The young man nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, lady! What are you doing here? If Davis catches you, he’ll fire me and Lord knows what he’ll do to you.”

“Has he done things to women before?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Willy held up his hands. “He’s got a temper, and there’s no law out here to speak of. Everybody has to take care of their own selves.”

“Believe me, I’ve dealt with far worse than Davis.” Wasn’t that the truth? If the young man only knew half of the things she had seen. “Besides, Davis just left.”

Willy nodded. “Look, I don’t want no trouble. I need this job.”

“I’m not here to create any problems and I’m not looking for quotes for my article.” At least, none with attribution, for the moment. “I’m going to be spending a lot of time in these woods and I need to know what to look out for.”

Willy’s blond locks flapped as he shook his head. “You shouldn’t be out here at all. You’re right. People have gone missing.”

“Price?”

Willy nodded, then took a step back. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Please,” she said. “I have a job to do and I won’t leave until it’s done. That I promise you. The question is, are you going to help me stay alive or not?”

His shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes. Trinity almost laughed. All men had the same body language when they finally gave in.

“Fine. A couple of us found Kennedy’s body. He was all smashed up.”

“Like a car crash?”

“Like he was pummeled to death with, I don’t know, clubs, or rocks or something.”

“What was done with his body?” She had to suppress the urge to take out a pad and start writing.

“We tried to tell Davis, but he wouldn’t listen. He actually covered his ears. Said if anyone told him anything about it, they’d be fired on the spot. Anyhow, when we went back to bury him, his body was gone.”

“Any idea what happened to him?”

“No. And I don’t know anything else. We’ve had people go missing, the women in town have disappeared. If anybody in this camp knows what happened to them, they aren’t talking.” He looked around. “I really have to go.”

“I understand. Is there anything else that might help me?”

Willy’s dull expression suddenly turned sharp.

“Finish up this job of yours and get away from these parts as quick as you can.”