P Deutermann - Spider mountain

Greenberg nodded. “The population outside of Rocky Falls is estimated to be something between one and two thousand people,” he said. “That’s all in. But the state demographers really don’t know shit, and the federal census bureau has zero credible data. The Creigh clan isn’t that big, but they all tend to react negatively to strangers. The decent folk just try to keep out of their way.”

“So anyone who spots us is likely to at least raise the alarm.”

“And the usual warning shots. Don’t forget them.”

I looked at my watch and roused the dogs. “Why don’t we go find out?”

“How about these canoes-hate to have them stolen while we’re up that hill there.”

“We’ll sink them, pile some rocks in them. They’re aluminum. Easy.”

“How do we get the water out, we come back?” he asked.

“Now that’s hard.”

It took most of the night to get across the aptly named Rockslide Mountain to a position about a thousand feet above the cabin on the east flank of Book Mountain. The firebreaks, which had looked smooth and open from a distance, had turned out to be overgrown and very difficult to walk through without a machete. A bulldozer would have been a great help. We’d ended up traversing the slopes by staying just inside the tree line and using the firebreaks more as a navigation aid. We’d seen some cabins down in the hollows, but few lights. There’d also been some barking dogs, but no reaction from inside the houses.

I had put my dogs’ bark collars on and then deployed them fifty yards ahead of us, where they scouted, making regular returns to touch base with their struggling humans. Greenberg had been true to his word, though, keeping up with me all the way. Our biggest problems had been night insects and not enough water. Fortunately, our perch on the side of Book Mountain included a substantial weep of spring water flowing practically under our feet, so the dogs had water and we could fill our canteens, albeit with a hefty dose of Hal-zone purifier to kill off the ubiquitous giardia bugs.

We set up our hide between two massive boulders, which looked like they were ready to unlimber from the hillside any minute now and roll directly down on the cabin complex below. I had put the dogs on a long down above the boulders to give warning of anyone approaching from behind our position. Our own view into the cabin’s yard was partially obscured by a spotty line of pines, which also screened us, but the scope gave us a pretty good look. We counted twenty-five dogs of uncertain but uniformly large breeding in the dog lot, three even larger pigs in a pen next door, and a pair of goats wandering around eating invisible delicacies throughout the dirt yard.

Three men had come up the front meadow just after sunrise, leading a mule with bulging saddlebags. Nathan had come out of the building to the right of the main cabin. They’d talked for a few minutes, and then the men departed, leaving the loaded mule behind. Nathan took it into the barn, then came back outside. He slopped the pigs and threw chunks of something red to the dogs, causing an immediate dogfight, clearly audible from our hide. Greenberg wondered aloud if the red things were local babies while I sketched details of the cabin layout on a notepad.

The spotting telescope was a sixty-power Swarovski number shielded against making a lens flash. Greenberg pointed out that there were firing ports cut in the logs of the cabin, and that the ground behind the cabin was higher than the visible grade on either side.

“That’s been built up,” he said. “They’ve either got a basement that goes back into the hill, or maybe even a cave.”

I shivered mentally. The last cave I’d been into had been occupied by two starving mountain lions.

Greenberg said he saw a pipe running down from the springhouse to the cabin. “We ever do any kind of siege down there, we’d need to cut that pipe.”

“They have electricity that you can see?”

He said no, nor had I seen any power poles.

Grinny herself appeared midmorning on the back porch of the cabin, sweeping some dust and debris out into the yard. She was wearing a tent-sized housecoat, and from our hilltop vantage point her head looked too small for her body. I was watching her through the telescope and was startled when she stopped sweeping for a moment, cocked her head to one side, and then looked up the hillside and appeared to stare right back into the lens. I didn’t move, and neither did she, for almost ten seconds. Then she went back into the house.

“Shit!” Greenberg exclaimed. “She see you?” He’d been watching through his own small binocs.

“There’s no way,” I said. “But she might have sensed us. Some of these mountain women have what the locals call ‘the sight.’ Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s detected someone or something watching the cabin.”

“She looked right up here, and that’s, what, a thousand feet of elevation difference? We should move.”

“No,” I said. “Movement is a dead giveaway. She couldn’t have seen the lens; it’s recessed at least three inches into the tube.”

I watched the back windows for signs of curtains moving, but no further movement disturbed the morning calm. “I don’t think it’s anything,” I said, with more confidence than I felt.

Fifteen minutes later we saw a big dog burst out of the barn and go sprinting across the front yard. Nathan stepped into view for a moment, but the dog disappeared into the woods and kept on going.

“Looks like a dog got out,” Greenberg said, watching the show through the telescope. “The tall guy looks pissed off.”

I was using Greenberg’s binoculars now, which had a much bigger field of view than the telescope. It was getting close to noon, and it was hot in the little hollow between the two big rocks. I wondered if my dogs needed water. I was about to slide my way out to them when I saw a flash of metal through the trees below the cabin.

“Vehicle,” I announced.

Greenberg looked up to see where I was pointing the binocs and then swung the telescope in that direction. “Well, looky here,” he said. “The high sha-reef himself.”

“Mingo?”

“Yup. I can see him through the windshield. Apparently he’s allowed to drive on the grass, because he’s coming right up to the cabin.”

We watched as the sheriff’s patrol car drove up the meadow to the front of the cabin. Nathan came out of the barn to meet him. We couldn’t see whether Grinny was on the front porch because the cabin blocked our view. Nathan and M. C. Mingo talked for a minute, and then Nathan opened the left rear door of the cruiser and removed a young child, none too gently.

“Boy or girl?” I asked.

“Girl, I think, although with all that hair in her face… she’s done something wrong, the way Nathan’s manhandling her.” He kept his eye glued to the scope. “This thing have a camera port?” he asked.

“Yes, but no camera,” I said. “Sorry.”

“Lemme see if this fits,” he said, fishing in his vest pocket while keeping his eye on the scene below. He produced a small digital camera. “Screw this onto the top and shoot some pictures of Mingo talking to these bad-asses.”

I took the camera and tried it. The threads were wrong. “No go,” I said.

“Shit,” he replied. “Whoa-here comes the Big Mamu.”

I watched M. C. Mingo, Nathan, and the child, all standing next to the cop car in front of Grinny’s cabin. Then something large took over the image. It was Grinny Creigh’s ponderous backside, coming down off the front porch, one haunch at a time. Her head still looked too small for that enormous body as she shuffled painfully down the grass to the police car. She put her tiny little hands on her massive hips and bent down to address the child, who appeared to be terrified. At one point the child tried to run and Nathan restrained her by her hair. He pushed the kid back in front of the angry woman.